Page 75 of Only Between Us

“I’m going to check on her.” I escape before he finishes a single nod, throwing my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, sweaty from my lung-searing run home to get to Mom.

I crack open Mom’s bedroom door and peek inside to find her in bed with a cast on her leg, propped up on a stack of pillows. She does look okay. Cheerful, even, as she crochets the atrociously yellow and teal blanket she’s been working on, her latest endeavor to help maintain the joints in her hands. The weight sitting on my chest since the moment I checked Brooks’s phone lifts. I take my first full breath in nearly twenty minutes.

“Siena?” Mom says without looking up from her crochet hook. I swing the door open wider. “You’re staring like you expect me to burst into flames.”

She tucks her work aside when I sit at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. My phone—”

“Was with Brooks. He filled me in.” She saysBrookswith so much familiarity, it’s like she’s known him for years. “He’s lovely, angel, and I sure put him through some drama. He took me to the hospital to get fixed up after I fell down the stairs, then let me beat him in several rounds of cribbage all day.”

A chuckle bursts out of my mouth. “He knows how to play cribbage?”

“I taught him. He’sterrible.” Mom reaches to stroke the hair off my face. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I’m glad I finally got to meet your boyfriend.”

My guilt is a living, breathing thing inside me, rearing its head at the sight of Mom practically glowing on the wordboyfriend. It’s exactly why I never wanted them to cross paths. She’d been sodisappointed when my last relationship ended, waved a tearful goodbye to any chance of a wedding and grandbabies in the near future. And seeing as Tom never had an ounce of Brooks’s charm, I’m guessing this impending breakup will hit her even worse.

“I know you said it isn’t serious, but if you ask me, there’s nothing more legitimate than showing up to look after your girlfriend’s old goat of a mother.”

A new kind of guilt twists inside me, sharp like the razor tip of a knife. Brooks and I agreed to surface level. I’m his fake girlfriend, a means to an end, and he certainly never signed up to save my poor mother on a random Thursday, when he likely had a whole host of better things to do.

You’d better hope you’re worth all that trouble.

I get to my feet and make it to the door before turning back to plant a kiss on top of Mom’s head. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Mom must see the acute guilt in my face because she hisses, “Siena, do not go out there and sabotage this relationship. Do you hear—”

I snap the door shut behind me, drowning out her hushed warning. I’m not going to sabotage it. If anything, the situation requires quick and thorough damage control.

Back in the kitchen, I find Brooks wrestling with a layer of plastic wrap, trying to get it to cling to a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the counter.

He shoots me a sheepish smile when he finds me staring. “These are fine sitting out for a couple of days, but I’d probably put them in the fridge if they’re not gone by Saturday.”

My gaze falls to the plate. “You made those?”

“It’s my mom’s recipe. I learned to bake before I could ride a bike.” He peers down at the plate, moving as though he means to offer me one but thinks better of it for whatever reason. “They don’t look like much, but your mom said she liked them.”

He’s tentative in a way I’ve never seen from him, usually so collected and confident.

When I don’t do anything but stare, Brooks adds, “I know we said we wouldn’t cross this line. But she kept calling while I was at the gym, and you weren’t on land. I couldn’t leave her hanging.”

My stomach plummets. “You skipped training to come look after my mom?”

“Of course I did, Pip.”

I picture Mom, crumpled up at the foot of the stairs. While I was out on the ship, having the time of my life. Unable to do anything to help even if I’d known. And Brooks, the guy who wouldn’t let the pain in his own body keep him off the field, who wants this comeback more than anything, had to take the day off to step up when I didn’t. Pressure builds in my chest, so heavy and goddamn painful.

After another too-long silence, he tucks his hand in his pockets and asks, “Have I upset you?”

Dagger straight to the heart. The soft tone of his voice, the question on his gorgeous face.

I find that I… very much hate Brooks uncertain.

I hate Brooks questioning whether he’s done the right thing. I hate him losing his swagger, that confident edge. Especially when he’s done a very, very right thing. Saved my ass in a way I could never repay him for.

I’m unraveling. That pressure surges up my throat, and I’m on the verge of damn tears again. I’m filled with the overwhelming urge to hold him or touch him in some way, to thank him and beg him to tell me everything will be fine, and how I can make this up to him. The titanium crate inside me where I keep every miserable thought and agonizing memory is bloating fast, threatening to burst and take me down with it.

You’d better hope you’re worth all that trouble.

Brooks must be able to tell how close to the edge I am, because he begins moving around the small island.

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