Page 36 of Betting Brett

The room falls silent for a moment - not the heavy, fearful quiet from earlier, but a more contemplative one. We’re both processing, recalibrating, and trying to figure out the next steps.

“I need some air,” Brett suddenly declares. He pushes himself up from the couch. His gaze meets mine, an unspoken invitation. “Want to come? You can stay if you want.”

“No, I want to be wherever you are.” I stand up. We’re face-to-face now. I reach for his hands and lean in for a kiss. My eyes flutter shut, and my heart skips a beat as I breathe him in, sinking into the kiss as if his lips were the warmest, bluest waters around.

“Come, let’s go for a drive.” He leads me to the door, our fingers locked together before he stops. “Let me just go tell Jen.”

“Gotcha, I’ll wait in the truck.”

He trots down the hall, knocking on Jen’s closed door, while I head outside and slide into the passenger seat, the pine-scented air freshener twisting in the gentle breeze of the open door. It’s a calm night, which feels strange. It feels like there should be fire in the sky and ruptures in the ground from how chaotic things have been tonight.

But, with the arrival of Jim, and Jen’s action plan for the morning, things were already looking up. And for tonight, I want to try and alleviate the stress for Brett however I can. A drive around town sounds like a great idea, but I’m up for pretty much anything.

Brett carefully shuts the door behind him, and then bounds down the steps to climb in the truck. As I watch him, I think about how lucky I am that this man, beautiful inside and out, belongs to me.

“We won’t let her win, Brett,” I say as he backs out of the driveway and we head down the quiet streets of Shafter Falls.

“I know, I believe that. I still just can’t really believe she would...” The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished yet understood. The betrayal cut deep. I’m sure that it’s a wound that will take years to heal if it ever even does. Sometimes shit like this just scabs over but never fully mends, ready to bleed again at the slightest scrape.

Brett reaches across to take my hand, and we continue our journey, slipping into a comfortable silence, the quiet ranch town unfolding before us. I’m still lost in thought as Brett comes to a gentle stop beside a quiet field on the outskirts of town. A field I immediately recognize as one we played in as kids. The engine goes silent, and for a moment, we just sit there, the weight of the evening pressing down upon us.

“Come, let’s stargaze for a bit,” Brett says. I open the door and hop out of the truck, rocks crunching under my sneakers.

The night air is crisp, and here, in this moment, it’s just Brett and me.

Brett’s hand is in mine again, a source of warmth and connection. We walk further into the field, the soft rustling of the grass beneath our feet a gentle soundtrack to the night. The moon, full and bright, bathes the landscape in a silvery glow, casting long shadows that dance and sway with our movements. No one else is around for what must be miles. The road we took to get here is one that is rarely traveled, giving us even more seclusion as we walk down a trail, the light of the full moon more than enough to guide our way.

“I remember this field; we came here all the time as kids,” Brett says, his words soft. We’d spent countless nights here as teenagers, lying on the grass, gazing up at the stars, sharing our dreams and fears. It was a sanctuary, a place untouched by the complexities of the adult world.

“Me too,” I reply, as memories flood back.

We pick a spot and sit down, cool grass brushing against our skin. Trees rise up behind and around us, giving another shield of privacy. Making this moment seem that much more separated from everything else. It feels like a dream, and I never want to wake up from it. Brett turns to me, his eyes reflecting the moon’s light. There’s a vulnerability in his face, a raw openness that pulls me in like a fish on a hook. I lean in to kiss him gently and then just lean against him, looking up at the sky. We’re both silent then, watching the stars above us paint a canvas of sparkling beauty.

“Remember that time after football practice?” Brett breaks the silence. I can hear the nostalgia in his voice, the same way I feel when I think back to that time.

I chuckle, “Oh, you mean the Great Mud Incident of junior year?”

Brett laughs, too, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “That’s the one. I swear, I’ve never seen Coach so red in the face.”

I join in the laughter. “Well, in our defense, it had rained the night before, and that field was a mud pit waiting for victims,” I say.

Brett’s laughter continues to make me giddy, spreading to me. “And victims we were,” he says, “I still can’t believe you pushed me into the biggest mud puddle on the field.”

I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. “Me? If I remember right, you were the one who started it.”

Brett shakes his head, chuckling. “Not true. You tripped into it first, and then when you got out, you pushed me in.”

“I think you’re wrong.”“And I know I’m right.”

“Fine, I guess we’ll agree to disagree about history.” I playfully shove him, enjoying any reason to touch. “Clumsy or not, I still scored more touchdowns than you.”

Brett feigns shock. “Only because you were too busy tripping over your own feet to be tackled.”

We’re both giggling now. I feel like I can float with how happy I am. Brett, too. I can tell the tension has disappeared from his shoulders, and the light and warmth have returned to his face.

“And let’s not forget the aftermath,” I add, the memory of mud-caked uniforms and Coach Grey’s anger a vivid image. “I thought Coach would make us run laps until graduation.”

Brett nods, his laughter subsiding into a grin. “I still can’t believe we managed to turn the hose on him while we were trying to clean up.”

---