I didn’t feel that.
Maybe it was time. Maybe it was maturity. Maybe too much had happened.
But, for better or for worse, what had once been a teenage love was no more. At least, though, there was still a different kind of “love,” even if it didn’t meet the criteria for being called love.
“Brock,” I said, finding it difficult to find the words, “how…how are you?”
Brock started to speak, laughed, cleared his throat, and hardened himself once more. It was not an act, but the fleeting moment of glee wasn’t either. It was sad how easily he could harden himself, not so much in that it said something about him as it did about Santa Maria at large.
“I’m good, I’m…good. You’re…here. You’re still here.”
“Of course, silly. I’m not dead,” I said, flashing a smile. “I’ve just been working on myself bit by bit. I wasn’t going to move away or kill myself.”
Brock didn’t say anything to that, but I could see on his face it had been a real fear. For how long, I didn’t want to know. I’d never seriously contemplated suicide, but I would be lying if I said that the damage done wasn’t severe, deeply impacting, and long-lasting.
“Good, good,” he said, “I did wonder what had happened to you. But I just wanted to…give you space, I guess. We’re still fighting—”
“I know,” I said, “Connor and Mason filled me in.”
Brock looked back for Mason, but he’d already gone to a different aisle. He looked back at me with something resembling a knowing look. What did it mean?
You know what it means. You just don’t want to admit it.
“How have you been? And don’t just say you’re good. Give me details!”
Brock softly smiled, the kind of smile that relieved his fears for me.
“Well, for one, I’m about to be engaged.”
If there was a moment to feel jealous or realize I’d been fooling myself, this was it. But nope. I only felt genuine happiness for him. I needed to be alone to work on myself; Brock didn’t deserve to have parallel isolation.
“That’s great!” I said. “How’d you meet her?”
“That’s…a story in itself,” Brock said with a chuckle, “but suffice to say, I’m very happy with how it turned out, even if it was a bit untraditional and weird.”
I nodded. I saw someone approaching. It was just Mason, but when Brock turned around, he gave him a look that suggested he walk around a little bit longer. Brock and I caught up on smaller things for several more minutes, ten years of not seeing each other slowly falling by the wayside.
It was wonderful. Aside from his soon-to-be-engaged announcement, there wasn’t anything earth-shattering about the conversation. What I’d done didn’t surprise Brock, and he deliberately avoided topics that could have evoked some emotions, like, mostly, the Bandits.
But toward the end, Brock surprised me.
“I should find Mason before he leaves without me. But Rachel, it’s…wonderful to see you out here.”
“And the same to you,” I said. “I think—”
“You know, he asked me the other day if I still had feelings for you.”
Oh, where is this going?I was afraid he was about to say that he wanted to put his engagement aside from me. I suppose maybe,maybe, if we spent enough time together, we could rekindle what we had in our youth, but that just seemed so unlikely, and—
“You should go for him, Rachel.”
Huh?
“I’m serious,” he said as if he could read my mind—or just the perplexed look on my face. “He’s the best of us all. He might have seemed like a hardass loser when we were kids, but now I know he was just the most protective and strongest of us all. I wouldn’t say force it. But if you feel anything for him, go for it.”
“I…”
What could I say to that? Yes, I did feel something for Mason, undeniably so. But to confess that to my former lover? The man driven to murderous revenge because of me? It almost felt like it didn’t matter that Brock had explicitly given me permission to pursue him; that felt like the kind of thing that sounded good in a grocery store but would cause conflict if acted upon.
