Page 143 of Only Between Us

Mom takes out the pinot grigio she’s been cooling for the cribbage game and shocks me to my core by taking a swig right from the bottle before handing it to me. She watches me take my own sip.

“You know, this is the second time you’ve broken my heart in this kitchen.”

Slowly, I lower the bottle from my mouth.

“The first time you were about this tall.” Mom holds out a hand at shoulder height. “Skin and bones. I could see the holes in your sneakers even though the lights weren’t on. Dad asked what you were doing with a backpack full of food from our fridge. And all you said wasI’m hungry. I swear, you could have heard my heart shatter across the country.”

I’d been so fucking scared that night. In all my forays into foreign kitchens, I’d never been caught before.

“And then you made some silly joke about the police and juvenile detention, and I swear, Dad fell in love with you on the spot. That hadn’t even happened withme—it took him ages to ask me out when we met.” She laughs fondly before her expression clouds over. “Siena, you owe us nothing. Do you understand me? We’d have done anything for you, whether you asked us to or not. We love you in a way that isn’t earned or repaid. I’m sick to my stomach knowing you’ve spent even a moment thinking that you owed us for doing what any parent in their right mind would do for their child.”

“I’d do anything for you, too. I don’t even want to think of where I’d have ended up without you and Dad taking a chance on me.”

“Oh, you silly girl. You still don’t get it, do you?” Mom shakes her head. Her smile is sad, her eyes damp. “The day we caught you breaking into this house was the very best day of my life. Every day since, I’ve thanked the universe that you chose to steal from us that night. That Dad got up for a glass of water when he did. That you let us love you when you’d been disappointed so badly before and had every reason not to trust us. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us. Even now, when I’d love nothing more than to shake some sense into you for thinking such ridiculous things.”

Air gusts out of me, tears pouring from my eyes. Body deflating like a mammoth balloon just burst inside me—one I’ve ignored nearly all my life, where I kept shoving every difficult thought I didn’t want to have, every unhappy feeling I didn’t want to linger on. It feels like relinquishing decades’ worth of insecurities, and so much pressure to be deserving of the new life given to me.

It’s like I told Brooks the first time I brought him to our cliffside: I never doubted my parents’ love. Always knew my fears were likely unfounded. But that didn’t make them any less hard to ignore.Doesn’t make it any less meaningful to hear from Mom how wrong I’ve been, with all our secrets out in the open.

Mom tips her head toward the hallway. “Come with me, angel. I want to show you something.”

I follow her slow pace out of the kitchen and to her bedroom. Mom heads straight for the closet to the right, the one that’s sat untouched for two years, and throws it open.

That ever-present ache at the base of my throat—the one that ebbs and surges depending on my mood and on the ways in which I remember Dad on a given day—swells with a vengeance as I take in the contents of his closet. The familiar sweaters and jeans, the pairs of worn shoes lining the ground. It’s possible it’s just in my head, but I inhale deeply because I swear, it still smells like Dad.

I want to dive into that closet face-first. Live in it, wrap myself in all his belongings and pretend it’s him holding me. Simultaneously, I want to shut its doors, block it from my sight for good.

Mom indicates a battered box on a shelf at the very top. I pull it out and sit at the end of the bed with her, where she sorts through the box’s contents before handing me a stack of yellowing papers.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m staring down at my dad’s handwriting. Pages and pages of his rough scrawl indenting the paper, the funny way he writes hisE’s. I used to tease the hell out of him over thoseE’s, but I finger them now as though I might feel him through the ink. I read his words as Mom looks on quietly, every new line deepening my frown. Blurring my vision.

“What is this?” I ask, even though I really don’t need to. It’s all there, laid out by Dad. Every word detailing what appears to be his original retirement plan from Ship Happens. Figures and data points, pages of research on the merger with the local marina he’d wanted to propose to Carla and Evan so they’d eventually take it off his hands.

“He and I spoke about this for years.” Mom smiles wryly. “Most marinas similar to theirs tend to have partnerships with local shopslike Ship Happens. The marina already funnels us most of its business. Carla and Evan would essentially be doubling down on their own clientele, gain both streams of revenue.”

I swallow, barely daring to believe it. Selling them the shop would mean repaying Mom’s mortgage. Keeping Dad’s legacy intact, and in good hands. “This was your plan all along?”

“We only set aside the idea because you seemed to love working there. You spent every waking minute there. You got a business degree specifically to take it over one day. So we kept it for you.”

“You’re kidding me.” I puff out a laugh—a rueful one that’s part relief, part grief. And so much shame that I let guilt and assumptions needlessly dictate my past and almost ruin my future. Mom tucks me into her shoulder. She squeezes me tight and strokes my hair, relieving the tension lingering in my body. My lungs expand in a way they rarely do on land, welcoming the air like they’ve been badly depleted for years. It’s the same kind of freedom I only ever feel on the water, or with Brooks’s heartbeat against my back as he holds me to sleep.

We sit like this a while—my head on Mom’s shoulder, hers resting on mine. Both our tears soak her shirt. Dad’s handwriting is in my lap and his warm scent seeps from the closet, surrounding us like he’s with us, too.

Eventually, Pete wanders in, sitting in front of us with perfect attention.Don’t worry, Petey. We’ll see him soon.I wipe my tears with the back of my hand as Mom does the same. “You think they’ll go for this? Carla and Evan?”

Outside the bedroom, we hear the timely creak of the front door, shortly followed by Carla’s distinct laugh as she and Evan make themselves at home.

Mom pats at her leftover tears. “I guess we’ll find out. But even if they don’t, we’ll find another way, my California girl. I need you to go out there and do what you love and be with that man of yours and give me a brood of grandchildren with exceptional athletic talent.And I promise to teach them to be much better cribbage players than their father, because…” She chuckles and shakes her head. “I say this with all the love in the world, but the man truly hasnoidea what he’s doing with a cribbage board in front of him.”

I muster a genuine laugh. Pete whines and nudges my knee with his nose, as though taking the jab to Brooks personally and demanding I defend his honor. I ruffle his fur. “It’s true, Petey. Nobody’s perfect. We were bound to uncover a flaw eventually.”

Chapter50Brooks

“Brooks! There you are.”

Summer and Parker edge through the crowd, past an elderly couple watching their pint-sized grandson chatter at me excitedly.

We caught up quickly before this morning’s training camp scrimmage, part of the annual Rebels Fans and Family Day held at our practice facility, but I haven’t had a chance to see much of them otherwise. Given the sheen of sweat along Summer’s hairline and my old Rebels jersey clinging to Parker like a second skin, they’ve been braving the sweltering heat in this busy parking lot since, loitering during the autograph session and indulging in the food trucks around the perimeter of the busy parking lot, according to the sweating cup of lemonade in Summer’s hand. They pause when they reach me, noticing the little guy dressed head to toe in Rebels swag.

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