Page 79 of Only Between Us

“Now hold it.”

I cut myself off, keep the air in my lungs, and after a moment it starts to center me. The sob falls back down my throat, the burning in my eyes dims. My shoulders fall from where they’d crawled up to my ears.

“Good.” His warm thumbs stroke the sides of my neck. He smiles gently when I resurface from my hands. “You’re okay.”

Which dimension of the universe did we stumble into? That Brooks Attwood—Brooks Attwood, the player Dad and I marveled at for years, the man who’d accused me of fangirl stalking only a month ago—would become the only other keeper of this secret.

Would show me so much grace and compassion, without once treating me like the wounded bird I’m not.

“You asked how I can stand to keep going with the shop when I hate being there. Letting my parents keep paying those people off… it’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. So, tell me it isn’t the least I can do to honor my parents for doing so much for me. To help repay the debt they took on to keep me.”

“I have to confess something, Pip. Rachel showed me old photo albums of you today—” He pauses, visibly course-correcting. “Okay, the truth is that I begged her to show me old photos of you. I swear, she has ten for every year she’s had you, filled with pictures of everyday things. You at the shop. Swimming in the bay. Eating hot dogs.”

My laugh comes out as a puff of air, and he chuckles with me. “She was always obsessive with a camera.”

“Oh, I got that.” He shakes his head. “There was a whole section dedicated to pictures of your dad painting your nails.”

I close my eyes, caught in the same nostalgia as earlier today, on the ship. The hurt and joy that comes with remembering Dad. “I came home from school that day and mentioned I’d never painted my nails before. Mom handed Dad the brush so she could capture my first manicure.”

“Somewhere around the fifth photo album, your mom started crying. She said it really breaks her heart that she missed your first thirteen years. All those other firsts.”

My heart squeezes, both at the knowledge of my mom’s tears, and that she’d felt comfortable enough to shed them for Brooks.

“Your parents love you,” Brooks says simply. “The unconditional, never-fades kind of love. Took me half a day with your mom to know that. I think they’d hate knowing you ever felt like you had to repay them for the things they chose to do for you. That you felt like you were any trouble at all and were making yourself unhappy every day for their benefit.”

“I know. I know that, deep down. But this kind of thing just…sticks, you know?”

Brooks nods. “It would stick for me, too.”

My brows go up. “That’s it? You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

“How could I, with everything you’ve just told me?” Brooks’s unfocused gaze drifts over my head. “But, broken bones and cheating atcribbage aside, I had so much fun with your mom today. She reminds me a lot of mine. Rachel’s leg is broken, and I could tell her knuckles were bothering her, but she still insisted on making sure I was fed and comfortable in her house. I had to order her out of her own kitchen.”

Typical Mom. “How’d you manage to convince her?”

“I pouted, Pip. I told you, that thing’s fucking lethal.” He tips his head, watching me ride out my laugh. “But it’s more than just about liking your mom. I liked that I was doing it for you. You’re not a chore or a responsibility to me, and the only type of trouble you’ve ever been is the kind that has me riding a goddamn death trap against my better judgment. Doing all that today made me happy. It made me feel wanted and needed, and that’s important to me in a relationship. Pretend or not.”

I’m not sure how he managed to make me choke up and choke with laughter with a single speech, but I’m quickly realizing that that’s Brooks in a nutshell. The type to get you off on a gala dance floor, shamelessly flirt and play with you, only to turn around and let your mom embarrass him with a deck of cards for an afternoon and then bake cookies in her kitchen.

Something truly worrisomethunksin my chest. Drop-kicks the beehive lodged in my stomach, setting free its occupants. They buzz around in a way that excites me, tickles my insides. Terrifies me.

Because there’s nothing pretend about putting his day on hold to care for my mom, nor the care with which he handled me just now. Nothing fake about this buzzing in my stomach, nor the way I want to touch him, just to feel the warmth of his skin.

All of this for a man actively working on moving across the country in a matter of weeks.

A strong breeze, warm and providing no relief from the summer heat, slices the air around us. It ruffles the wisps of hair fallen from my bun. We move for them at the same time, Brooks’s fingers tangling in the air with mine, hovering at the edge of my face.

He’d been visibly disappointed this morning on the dock, after I’d swatted him away from my ruffled hair. He looks it again now, hand falling limply at his side as he simply watches the strands tickle my cheeks.

I’m not sure which of us is more surprised when I clasp my hands together. Lift my chin in invitation. But Brooks picks up his cue. He smooths back my hair, tucking strands behind my ears. Dragging his thumbs over my cheeks as he does. An indulgent move more than anything, leaving behind a scintillating feeling. Like Pop Rocks hopping along my skin.

This is going to blow up in your face so spectacularly once he leaves.

Brooks tucks me against him, rests his chin on top of my head.

I let him, because that’s just me. Reckless to the bitter end.

Chapter26Siena

---