Page 21 of For Keeps. For Always.

I got what I wanted.

I’m going to Lake Geneva.

To the only place that has ever offered me a semblance of what home should be.

I’m going to see Brooks after eighteen long months.

Reunite with the most important person in my life.

I don’t read into the burst of nerves and excitement that thought fires in my belly.

10

BROOKS

Age 17

I haven’t answeredher texts or her calls.

I don’t know what to say.

That I’m devastated. That I don’t know how to manage my grief. That Gran’s passing has hit me harder than I ever imagined it would. Shit, I had two years to prepare for this.

Twenty-four fucking months and I still want to cry when reality hits that I’ll never see her again.

“That’s my rock.”

I bolt upright, slipping down the mossy rock.

It’s like a fucking dream. Henley, standing right in front of me. Close enough that I can feel her breath as she talks. Close enough that I could reach out and touch her.

Toeing her shoes off, she climbs onto the rock, hugging me tightly.

She smells like soap and mint and not the freshly planted flower bed I was used to. Still, I hug her back just as hard.

“You’re here.”

She moves to pull back, but I hold her tightly. “Give me a minute.”

She stays without argument, but I find myself telling her, “I’m not ready to let you go,” anyway.

Eventually, we pull apart, and I can’t help but just stare at her. My hand itches to reach out and touch her face if only to convince myself that she’s real. That she’s not a dream I’ve conjured up to deal with my grief.

Her freckles don’t seem as bright. The lack of sun during her eighteen months abroad has pulled parts of her away. Her hair is longer than I remember, falling well past her elbows when she sits. Bags hang heavily under her eyes, and I want to reach out and push the pillows of her tiredness down.

Even more broken than before, she’s prettier than I’ve ever seen her.

“You look good,” I tell her honestly.

Reaching up to run her hand over the scruff of hair I haven’t bothered to shave off around my mouth, she smiles. “You’re growing into yourself nicely.”

Again, always so strange.

“I missed you,” she tells me.

“How are you here?”

She shrugs. “I asked, and Mom said yes. I think it had more to do with the fact she wanted a romantic weekend with her boyfriend.”

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