Page 66 of Your Secret to Keep

My stomach rumbles at the mention of food. I haven’t eaten since lunch with Wes. I didn’t even get to finish my Doritos—there was no way I was going to have orange fingers in the presence of an NBA great like Blake.

“We can talk about as much or as little as you want, but I need to say a few things,” Brooks states. “One, you can stay here for as long as youneed. There’s the guest bedroom and tons of space. Two, the thing with Rebecca wasnotwhat it looked like. And three, whenever you want, I’d like to hear about you and Blake tonight.”

The mention of Blake makes it feel like everything happened days ago, but it was literally today. It’s only been a few hours since I was riding the high of my dreams coming true and not sucking at it—or at least, that’s what it felt like in the moment. Now, I’m not so sure.

Brooks’ phone dings and he stands to go to the door. He comes back with bags of food and walks to the kitchen. I follow him, with Rocky following me, and sit at the bar. There are a few containers of soup, salsa and queso, chicken tenders, and a few sandwiches. Definitely all from different places.

“I tried to think of what comfort food you might want.” Brooks puts out silverware and a glass of water, then sits next to me, putting a few things on a plate. I pour soup into a bowl and grab a spoon.

We eat in silence, except for the crunch of Rocky eating his own food. Each bite of food makes me feel more like a person and not something floating through space. I’m not sure how much I have left in me, but I’m thankful Brooks thought of this and didn’t leave me alone, like I probably made it seem like I wanted.

Maybe I thought I did. But I really don’t.

After I’ve eaten a bit of everything, I lean back in my bar stool, looking at the clock. I watch the minutes go by before I finally grab the remaining courage I have to say, “Okay. I want to hear about Rebecca.”

My words hang in the kitchen and a pit opens in my stomach. I’m terrified for what could come next.

Chapter 40

Brooks

ThesecondLiagivesme the go-ahead, I spill my guts about anything remotely relevant to the Rebecca situation. Diving deep into the archives, it’s sort of like word vomit. I tell her about our relationship, the terrible breakup, and the lack of contact until recently. Anything Rebecca touched that has to do with me makes its way into the conversation.

Lia doesn’t ask any questions. She watches and listens, sometimes nodding, but not giving me more than that.

“I didn’t invite her. Didn’t know she was coming to the game tonight. Here, take my phone. Look at the texts. Log in to my social media if you want. You’ll see her messages, but you’ll never see me respond. I swear I didn’t.” I slide the phone toward her on the counter.

“Brooks, that isn’t necessary. I believe you. You’ve never given me a reason not to.” Her voice is level and calm but doesn’t give me much of anything besides that.

I let out a breath, one I’ve been holding in with a vice grip. Part of me was worried she’d hear this part and I’d still be fucked. Like she wouldn’t believe me or give me a chance to get it in front of her. Like she’d beg me to take her somewhere else tomorrow.

Fuck. She still might do that. I can’t let my mind get too far ahead.

She flexes her hands open and close. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me when it happened,” she admits.

“Honestly, I didn’t think there was anything to tell. Like, I didn’t reach out and don’t even have her number saved in my phone. I thoughtif I didn’t respond, she’d get the hint and move on. I have zero reservations about cutting her off or leaving her behind.”

Lia nods her head in understanding. She reaches for my phone, sliding it back to me.

“I almost told you the night you showed up, but everything was going so well,” I admit. “I didn’t want her to have any part in ruining it.” I look at my fingers as I rub my hands together, my knuckles turning white.

“Brooks, if she’s nothing, she can’t ruin this.”

I nod because she’s right. I know she is. Guilt creeps in because I’m supposed to be comforting her, but it feels like she’s taking care of me all over again.

“I trust you,” Lia says, her words soft and intentional.

The words warm me from the inside out.

“That might make me the most gullible and naïve person, but it’s true. I trust you,” she reinforces.

Well, that makes me feellessgood.

I stand to the side of where she’s sitting, turning the barstool so she’s facing me. “You can trust me. I promise nothing is going on with her or anyone else,” I insist.

She rolls her shoulders down and back. “Has she always been this bold?” I feel the trace of a joke sitting behind her words.

My fingers go through my hair before letting my hands hit my neck and sort of hang there. “I’m not sure if it’s boldness or her ability to make situations work for her. That’s how it’s always been. It feels good when you’re part of whatever situation she needs to work, but that tide can turn fast.” The pain of how Rebecca treated me rises; it’s quick, but I’m able to push it down.

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