"Ah, that's awesome!" Amy says cheerfully, clapping quietly. Selah copies her mom, smacking her hands together and screaming, "Yay!" at the top of her lungs.
"Hell yeah, little sis," Blake says next. "You'll definitely find something. Content creation is huge right now."
Dad nods in approval, chewing his latest scoop of roast and Mom—well, she looks speechless after something I've said for maybe the first time ever.
"Well..." she begins, running her tongue along her teeth. "If it all works out, that'll be an answer to prayers."
I nod, gulping down the rest of my wine. "Yeah," I say.
If it all works out.
12
Drew
Pushing open the door to the locker room, I naturally fall into my usual path over the stark Flames logo on the center of the carpet. I head for my stall without looking up from my phone, the last chorus of my current hyper-fixation song coming to a close. The noise blasting through my headphones at full blast fades out as my shins hit the bench in front of my space.
Swiping out of my music, a laugh quickly replaces the beat, and my head swings toward the direction it comes from. At the same time, Ward walks over to me, nudging my shoulder.
"Yo," he says.
"What's that about?" I ask too quickly, tipping my head toward the back of the room where Brooke is laughing unnecessarily loud at whatever Burnsey just said.
"Uh, I don't know?" he says, taking them in. "I just got here like thirty seconds before you."
I nod, my eyes still lingering on Brooke who hasn't spotted me yet. Taking advantage of the time I have to drink her in, I let myself really admire her for the first time since that night at the gala.
Her black denim jeans hug the curve carved perfectly above her hips, her graphic t-shirt tied up in a knot, sitting just above the button. Her hair hangs in loose waves, framing her face that's locked in on Brett's, which is driving me crazy.
What's worse is that she looks so relaxed right now—her weight settled on one boot, her hands dipped casually into her two front pockets. The smile she's wearing is easy—like she's shooting the shit with a friend. Nothing like she is with me.
For a second, it rubs me wrong. I can't quite place it at first, but something about the way she's acting bothers me, and it goes beyond the fact that my charming friend is clearly leaving an impression. When she lifts her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, a small butterfly tattoo reveals itself on the bottom of her forearm.
Dropping my backpack onto the bench, I inhale deeply then turn on the ball of my foot. I get only a few strides closer before Brooke and Brett both turn my way. I didn't realize it was there before—I guess when her hands were pushed back, pressed against the sides of the sink, I didn't notice. When she was in that motorcycle jacket or her slouchy sweatshirt, I didn't notice either. But now I do. And it hits me why her behavior's nagging at me.
That first night Brooke and I were together, she was like a butterfly with me—bold, beautiful. Her wings wore a pattern that was intricate and unreadable, but they were fully spread. Free.
Now, she's different. Still gorgeous—still elusive as hell—but her wings are tucked, her colors turned inward like she's hiding them away. Like she's keeping them from me.
I know she said she's changed since then—that her priorities have shifted, and I don't fit into the rest of her life like I did that night. But I fucking hate that she's not being herself around me. Not acting with me like she is right now. I want the Brooke from that night back. Even if her plans have changed.
Shit, I just want Brooke, period.
"Yo, Cap, what's goin' on?" Brett holds out his hand, and I clap mine to his. Stepping into him, I bring my other palm to his shoulder, all the while, locking eyes with Brooke.
"What's up, man?" We separate, and he crosses his arms. "Coach asked me to give the new girl a little facilities tour before everyone started droppin' trow."
Brooke smothers a laugh, and I grin more at the way her lips meet in a dimple than at Burn's stupid comment. "How far did ya get?" I ask.
"Uh..." Brett looks over my shoulder toward the entrance, then back at his feet. "To about here," he says, rocking back on his heels.
I nod, give Brooke a quick once-over, then look back at him. "How about you let me take over?"
"Nah, it's all good, Cap. I don't—" I lower my chin and cock a brow. "Oh," he drags out. "Oh, okay. I see you." He nudges my arm, then turns to Brooke and fucking bows. "My lady."
"Brett, you don’t have to—" she attempts.
"Get the hell out of here," I say lightheartedly, shoving him back toward the stalls.
