Page 62 of Your Secret to Keep

“Brooks!” someone yells.

Before I can see who it is, a woman runs up, stepping between us like I don’t exist. She wraps herself around him until all I see is dark and curly hair in front of me. The hallway starts closing in; my peripheral vision is nothing but darkness, and the only thing I can focus on is this woman all over Brooks.

She finally lets go of him, only to kiss him on the cheek.

“Baby, you were so good tonight!” she cries, loud enough for everyone to hear. I step back with each letter that comes out of her mouth, needing space, more room. When she looks at me, she offers a pathetic wave.

Thanks to Shelbie, I know exactly who this is.

Rebecca.

Ex-girlfriendRebecca.

The only woman Brooks has ever been known to publicly date. The only ex he told me about. She’s here, right in front of me. Calling himbaby. Coming to his game. Hugging him like that. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t push her away. Just looks at her.

My mouth feels like sandpaper. I can’t say anything. Even if we weren’t secretly dating, I’d never want to be the person who airs their drama in front of others. Even if I were that kind of person, there are no words. Tears form behind my eyes, and I know they’re seconds from falling down my cheeks—probably following the same path of my happy tears from earlier. What a fucking turn of events. I don’t have it in me to cry in front of these people—in front ofher. Slowly, I turn and start walking to the office. I count my steps, doing anything to focus on the task ahead of me.

I allow myself a single look back when I’m almost all the way down the hallway, about to turn.

They’re still standing there. Talking. When Rebecca hugs him again, it’s like a knife being twisted in my gut. I turn back before I can see if he hugs her back. I can’t take it.

Lia, you’re a fucking idiot.

I round the corner and basically jog to the office, grabbing my coat and bag. I need to get to my car. My apartment. I need to leave.

With each step I take, it’s like I’m stepping on my own chest. The pressure is almost too much; I find it hard to breathe. Trying to channel the yogi in me, I attempt to gather enough air to stretch my lungs.

I’m unsuccessful.

I’m in my car. Keys in the ignition. Driving towards my apartment. It’s completely silent besides the muffled sounds of my shallow breaths. When I hit a red light, my head falls forward to rest on the steering wheel and I cry.

The tears rush out, my breath following. Internally, I berate myself. Why would she be at the game? Brooks told me he hasn’t talked to her in over a year. He didn’t even have her phone number.

The breaths aren’t there.

But the panic is.

Her running up to him like that doesn’t track with what he told me. The way she called him ‘baby,’ overly sweet like too much aspartame, the aftertaste so strong it’s disgusting.

The light turns green, and I feel better the farther I get from the arena. Away from the place where I had a dream come true only to be knocked down. Stepped on. Salt poured in the wound.

My teeth grind, obeying the clench in my jaw. I try to relax, to move my head and shoulders, but it’s like my body is frozen. There’s no room. Nowhere to go.

I focus on the road, looking for the next landmark to reach until I’m pulling into my apartment complex. Then I watch my feet as I walk to my unit. One step at a time.

The relief is so close I can taste it as I put my key in the lock. But when the door swings open, there’s a sound of something that doesn’t belong.

Water.

Running water.

The floor glistens with a puddle of water. Slowly, I look through my apartment to find the culprit. There is water pouring in through the ceiling, right over my bed.

No. No. No.

This isn’t happening.

I run, the water splashing across my feet as I look up. The ceiling looks like a water balloon with water coming off the edge, like the balloon isn’t tied right or contained. I run to the bathroom for towels and freeze when I need to decide between a clean or dirty towel. It doesn’t matter. This is a full-on disaster. I grab all my towels, leaving a single clean one in case, and put them on the floor. I walk to where my bed is but it’s likeputting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. The towels are soaked and useless in seconds.

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