Page 55 of Your Secret to Keep

Well, shit.

“Brooks is ready when you are,” a trainer calls as he pops his head in the office.

It’s our first time filming since his injury—and the first time I’ll see him face to face. We’ve been FaceTiming before bed but neither of us have made plans to see each other. I get the feeling he’s needed some space. Dealing with an injury can’t be easy and the last thing I want to do is be a burden. That sounds dramatic, but I don’t want to make anything any harder for him.

I practically skip to the training room. The plan was to film some rehab exercises towards the end of the session.

Before I walk in, I stop for a second, smoothing out the fabric of my wide-leg pants. I love the purple—an obvious nod to the team. My heart beats quickly as I try to take a deep breath; like it’s trying to tell meLia your secret man is on the other side of the door in all his hunky athlete glory.

When I see Brooks sitting on a training table, he turns and smirks at me. In my head, I run up to him, wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. The kind of messy kiss where you haven’t seen someone in a while, and they’re surprised and they might laugh into it. A kiss where he dips you back and you push your hips into him. In real life, I wave and walk up to him—how fucking boring.

The ice pack is gone from his shoulder and he’s doing some mobility exercises, testing the range of movement.

“Heard you were ready for me?” I beam at Brooks. But when his eyes look at my mouth, I want to strip in the training room and straddle this man on the table where he sits. Not appropriate, and maybe a little more athletic than necessary, but I can’t help it.

“Is it too warm in here? You look hot, Lia.” The trainer checks the thermostat. He’ll find the temperature is completely fine.

“I’m fine,” I insist, fanning my face. “I just raced Megan from our office. Gotta get that heart rate up, you know?”

The poor man smiles at me because what the fuck else would he do? I told him I ran here, like I’m a middle school boy. Classic. It’s worse when I look at Brooks and he’s trying not to laugh.

“I won. So, yay me!” I put one hand up in a celebratory wave but I’m dying inside. Why am I being so cringy? Another reason you shouldn’t date someone you work with—you might do dumb shit, like pretending you’re racing colleagues in the hallway, and wind up dealing with the repercussions. What if this guy starts telling people I like to race, and then I have to startactuallyracing people in the hallway? Ah, god, this sucks.

“Way to go!” The trainer tries to match my excitement but makes it worse. “Brooks, keep going through the stretching circuit for ten more minutes. Come to the court when you’re ready.”

As soon as the trainer leaves, Brooks’ laugh escapes his mouth. “Are you okay?”

I groan loudly. “Don’t worry about me. How are you?”

“Excited to practice. Definitely needed the laugh from whatever that was.” He points to me before standing and doing a variation of an arm circle with both arms. “You ready for me to record? Or do you need a few more minutes?”

I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows before answering, “Ready.” His voice cracks and he immediately looks away. Brooks turns from me and shakes out both of his hands.

He doesn’t say it, but I can feel it: he’s scared. It’s like the second the trainer left, he let his mask fall a little bit—enough for me to see what’s really going on.

Taking a step closer, I ask, “Brooks… What can I do?”

His body doesn’t stop moving and he doesn’t turn back to me. “You’re doing it. Just be here. Let’s do what we always do.” He shakes it out and looks at me. The seconds stretch and I swear I canfeelthe moment he puts the mask back on. His shoulders roll down and back, and he nods, indicating he’s ready for me.

I grab my phone and get ready to record. Back to work.

There’s no way I was leaving Brooks on his own tonight. Maybe he and I are more alike than I thought. We both seem to have a difficult time asking for help or leaning on others. Seeing him today, in person, let me see the pieces I couldn’t through the phone. The ones he tried to keep from everyone, but he showed me a part of.

After he looked at me like that, I knew I needed to do something for him. My idea may be wild and completely off-base, but I want to make him feel like he matters. Like he’s worth it. Like this injury isn’t a permanent mark that makes him less of what he was. The recent injury, the old injury, it doesn’t matter—it’s true no matter which way you look at it.

It’s late, but we were texting, so I know he’s still awake.

As I was getting dressed, a wave of confidence hit me in my apartment. I walked out feeling like I was on top of the world—so sure in my decisions. Now, I’m sending Brooks a message and kind of losing my grip.

Me

hey, i’m outside. you ready for a visitor?

Brooks

you’re outside?

Instead of texting him back, I walk to the door and lightly knock, the early December air licking at my bare legs. The door swings open and Brooks is standing there in all his fucking glory. He’s wearing a dark green T-shirt and basketball shorts, and when I see his head, I let out a gasp. The man is wearing a backwards hat. He grins, much brighter than earlier, and I know this was the right move.

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