Page 36 of Shutout
“Oh.” He snorts. “Yeah, it’s fresh. You can use it without catching any cooties.”
“Right.” I swivel around and march into the bathroom to pat my face dry with a corner of the towel. On my way out, I stick my tongue out to my own reflection because she’s an embarrassment. “Thanks,” I murmur in sarcasm.
Brooke sticks his hand up when I’m back out. “Actually, let’s not go outside yet.”
My lips form several silent words but the one that eventually comes out is, “Why?” At the same time, I pray that I’m not blushing too hard. His room’s only illuminated by the streetlights streaming in through his window, and from the screen of his cellphone. Hopefully this means he can’t see how red my face probably is.
“There’s, um, some people behaving indecently outside. I don’t think you want to see that.”
I wrinkle my nose. If it’s anything like what I’ve seen in past occasions at this house, then I definitely don’t.
“Okay. Can we at least turn on the lights?”
“Sure.” He twists around and flips a switch.
Soft yellow light bathes the room. It’s one third of his home bedroom size, but nicer somehow. Back at his father’s place,everything was stark white, stainless steel, black tinted wood—orderly and clean to the point of obsession.
Here, everything is navy blue and white, and messier in a way that shows it’s lived in. His desk has one pile of school textbooks and material, and one pile of hockey magazines. I pick up the first one, aSPORTYissue, and he’s on the cover wearing the jersey from the pro team that drafted him two years ago.
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Bit narcissistic.”
Brooklyn folds his arms and they momentarily distract me. Forearms flexing, with thick ropes of veins traveling under smooth skin and tattoo lines, and a dusting of blond hairs. They should be illegal because they’re an attack on public moral.
“Okay, sue me. I was proud of myself for getting that cover.”
I check the magazine’s issue date. It’s from a year ago when I was in the thick of my anger, unable to even stomach the thought of him. Of course I missed all the important moments he had throughout that time.
Now that I realize that, my eyes prick and I try to keep them from spilling by rifling through the stack of magazines. But there’s only one thing that can relieve the stab of pain in my chest, and that is apologizing.
“I’m sorry, Brookie.” My voice is soft. Biting my lip, I brace myself to meet his eyes and add, “For being such a bad friend.”
And I mean this, in more ways than one. It’s not just that I wasn’t there for him, but thewhyof it too.
He blinks hard, forehead scrunching as more seconds tick. “What do you even—” His phone pings and he checks it by reflex. Grunting, he says, “One second.”
“Okay.” I stack all the magazines again, making sure they’re perfectly aligned while he furiously types on his phone.
“Sorry about that.” Brooke slips the phone back in hispocket and lifts a hand to run his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, back to the topic. What in the hell are you talking about?”
I poke at the magazine at the top. “I missed this. I’ve missed all your accomplishments in the past year and a half because I was too selfish.”
“You weren’t.” Brooke looks down, shuffling one foot against the blue carpet. “You were angry, and you had a right to be. I’m the one who… Basically, I drove you away.” His voice trails off into a whisper.
Oh, he has no idea, huh?
“No.” I take a step closer but pause. What am I going to accomplish by touching him? Instead, I dig my hands into the sleeves of my hoodie. “I was unreasonable. I—I’m the one who abandoned you. You shouldn’t even want to be my friend anymore.”
I press my lips tighter, but that doesn’t keep a tear from falling. I divert my eyes because I’m not trying to manipulate him or anything, and I really wish I wasn’t crying in the first place.
Sighing, he takes a step forward. But instead of hugging me like I figured, he reaches down at my waist level. It takes some seconds for my mind to process that he’s grabbing the two ends of my crop hoodie, his enormous fingers delicately fitting the tabs so he can zip it up. And up. All the way to my neck. Like maybe he had enough of looking at my black sports bra.
I will my face not to heat up but I don’t think it’s working.
Meanwhile, Brooke’s expression is pensive. “I told you that’s all in the past.”
“Is it?”
His eyes soften. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
