CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
BROOKE
The plane humsbeneath my feet as we level out somewhere over the desert. The cabin smells like recycled air and stale coffee, making me feel sick to my stomach. Not to mention the fact that my dad hasn’t said a word to me since we sat down.
He’s just staring at the back of the seat in front of him. The book on his lap hasn’t been opened, and the travel pillow, which he always uses, is still attached to his carry-on under the seat. His silence is definitely intentional. My dad has always been athink before you speakkind of guy, and I have a feeling he didn’t say everything he wanted to say today because we had an audience with Beck, Charlie, and Silas in the room.
I force my gaze from him and look out the window and see Vegas disappearing into brown nothingness. My reflection in the glass is faint, but I can see my messy ponytail needs to be adjusted. And when I lift my hand, the sunlight catches my ring. I shift uncomfortably, wanting to shield it from my dad’s view.
“Do you remember the summer you played soccer and wanted to quit?” my dad says quietly.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I was around ten, right?”
“Yes, exactly ten.” He nods. “When I asked you why you wanted to quit, you looked at me with your little hands on your hips and told me you didn’t love it anymore.”
“I think we can agree that I was pretty bad at soccer.”
“I don’t know that I would say you were bad, but it definitely wasn’t a strength.” He inhales deeply. “My point is, you weren’t comfortable being bad at something that you once loved.”
I’m not really sure where he’s going with this. “Dad, what is it you’re trying to say? Because I’m not finding a connection.”
“It’s because you don’t want to see it.”
He turns toward me, no longer angry and not even disappointed, just thoughtful.
“Brooke, I’m not saying you’ve made a mistake here, but I do think you made a very spontaneous decision in a very exciting moment in time.”
He tries to take my hand, but I pull it away.
I drop my head forward and look at my hands in my lap. Looking at my ring.
“I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t pressured.” I huff a laugh. “Hell, it was even my idea.”
“Don’t you think maybe you just got swept up in the moment though? That’s what I’m trying to say.”
“I appreciate you, Dad, and maybe if we’d had this conversation before yesterday, I might have agreed with you. But Silas seems to want to make a go of this, and I’m not afraid of trying.”
“I believe that.” He watches me. “But your good intentions don’t protect you from consequences.”
Consequences. Interesting word choice.
“Brooke,” he says, “his life is about to change, honey. Fast. There will be expectations put on him that can be overwhelming. Do you think you’re truly ready for all of that?”
Silas’s face pops into my mind. He sounded so sure of us. And when he told me he wasn’t going anywhere, I believed him.
“Yes, I think I am.” My voice is not as confident as it was this morning.
“And what if he decides that he needs to put football first?”
“Did you have these same conversations with Beck? Or with Beck and Charlie?”
“It’s not the same, and you know it.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You’ve always been so centered—anchored really. And I don’t want you to lose yourself. Or whatyouwant.”
He hesitates, then presses on. “And don’t forget your own dreams. Ever since you were a little girl, you’ve wanted to be a climatologist. What does this mean for your future plans?”
“I’m still getting my degree,” I say quickly.
