Page 32 of The Love Wager

“Can I ask you a question?”

“God, I wish you would! Ask away,” he says with a desperation that makes me chuckle.

“Why aren’t you married? A small town like Abaline should have a man like you snapped up already.”

“I take it back. Not that question,” he answers curtly.

I should respect his wishes, but now I’m curious. I know I won’t be able to think about anything else until he tells me why he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Oh, come on.” I push. “It can’t be that serious. Let me guess, you dated everyone of interest, and no one stuck. Hmm, maybe there’s someone that got away?” I tease.

“Indie. I’m serious, enough!”

The bite in his tone reminds me of the night we met. It should shut me back up, but honestly, it just pisses me off. “Fine, you don’t have to be a dick,” I throw back and turn my body toward the door, crossing my arms and huffing in irritation at his change in mood.

I don’t see why it’s such a tricky question to answer. All he had to say was that he hadn’t foundthe oneyet. It’s not like that would have offended me. So, we slept together. I don’t expect him to be on one knee by the time Taylor and Spencer are done cutting the cake.

But it’s something more than anger creeping in my chest, and I don’t like the heaviness sitting between us. Fuck him for taking that tone with me and ruining what was gearing up to finally be a good day between us. I was just starting to think we were getting somewhere… deeper.

“Dammit,” Brooks mutters before I feel his heavy hand grip my exposed thigh. “Fuck, Indie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. It’s just a topic people usually know to avoid with me.”

I shrug, and his hand flexes against my leg. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Forget I asked.” My head connects with the cool window. I wish this trip was over. But the last time I saw a sign; we were still 40 miles out.

Brooks lets out a long sigh when I don’t turn away from the safety of the window. “I was… married,” he pauses, letting the news hang between us.

The way he stumbled through the statement makes me swing in his direction. “Oh my god,” I say with a soft gasp. “Did she pass? I’m so sorry, Brooks, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t?—”

“No. That’s not it.” He cuts off my apologetic ramblings. “She’s very much alive. She’s just not in Abaline anymore.”

“Oh.” Is all that passes my lips. I don’t feel right pushing the subject anymore.

The quiet engulfs us again, but Brooks’ heavy hand holds firm to my thigh. The connection keeps me from spiraling completely in my idiocy. After a few minutes of the tires crunching against the tarmac of the highway, his throat clears.

“We got married out of high school.”

“Brooks, you don’t have to. I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s not my business.” I try to backpedal on the entire situation.

“Indie,” his eyes flick to mine before returning to the road, “just shut up and listen for once, would you?”

My face goes hot, but I do as he asks this time, turning into him fully so I can listen and watch him share this unexpected part of his life.

“Caroline and I grew up together. Everyone had us pegged from the start to be your stereotypical jock and cheerleader who got married straight out of high school. We’d pop out a couple of kids and never leave this town to keep our roots deep in Abaline, just as they had for generations before us. We were on that path until my pops fell ill, and I had to take over the bar. I dropped out of college, but she didn’t. Our marriage was over the moment she received a job offer overseas.”

His focus remains on the road, but I shoot across the bench seat to his side.

He doesn’t look at me, but his arm leaves my thigh to cradle across my shoulders, holding me close.

“She never let on how much she wanted out of this town. Had I known she had dreams beyond the city lines, I never would have proposed in the first place. I loved her too much to hold her back. So, when she came to me and told me not only did she want a divorce but was moving to England, I didn’t fight her on it. I signed the papers, we filed, and she was gone within the week.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his chest, and his hold tightens.

“Don’t be. That was fifteen years ago. You’d think the sore spot would be healed by now, but when you poke at a bruise, it still stings.”

“Her loss,” I say softly, unsure if he can hear the sentiment. But my lips on his prickly cheek do the job.

“We’re here,” Brooks announces.

I pull my gaze from his handsome face and look at the windshield. “Wow, I thought Abaline was tiny. Do people actually live here?” I joke, but there is a bite of truth to it. I cansee the welcome and leaving Gatesville sign from where we sit, parked in front of a cute little cottage.

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