“Mom!”
She quickly wiped them away. “Coming, honey.”
ChapterTwenty-Four
Brodie sloped home. He felt worse than he imagined. He’d convinced himself that they’d coped admirably without him all these years and that, in a way, Zoey was probably better off without him. He simply couldn’t give her what she needed. But the way Maeve had looked at him, like he had let her down in more ways than he could fathom, it had cut straight through him, made him ache to be a better person. He didn’t know what was worse, disappointing Zoey or disappointing Maeve. It wasn’t meant to be like that. It wasn’t meant to feel this bad.
He stood by the window in his condo, staring blankly out through the dusky rain to the giant polo fields.
I knew you’d do this.
Was he that predictable? Even he hadn’t realized he was going to do it up to that point. But she had seen straight through him from the start. The rain drizzled in rivulets down the window. He watched one droplet meet another and another. He turned and got his phone out of his pocket, messaged Caleb.I’m back in. See you tomorrow.
He got back a bicep emoji.
It felt oddly childish.
He threw his phone on the bed.
He’d made the right decision. He did not want a life where he was moping at rainy windows with an ache in his chest. He looked around the bare bedroom, no pictures on the walls, no possessions. He didn’t need a home. He was a free spirit. A minimalist.
He sat down on the bed, elbows on his knees, chin resting on steepled hands.
He hadn’t always been a minimalist. As a child his side of the bedroom was packed full of toys, basketballs, polo stuff, books, pens, and paper. Noah’s side was all lassos and rodeo trophies and once an orphaned foal, Bumblebee, who, when his mom wasn’t looking, Noah smuggled upstairs to sleep on his bed.
Brodie smiled into the darkness, lips resting against his fingers.
It was the best bedroom ever. They’d lie on their respective beds and chuck a ball to one another, forfeits for whoever dropped it.
He remembered doing the same on the tour bus when they were in Silver Sky. Or out shooting hoops with Ethan at the court near the studio. Brodie had a restless energy that meant he couldn’t sit still for long, couldn’t put in the unbroken hours recording. He got bored, distracted. When he was with his brothers, it was fine because they’d all come out to the court in the end, or bribe him with the promise of a game if he stuck out another recording. Then it ended, Silver Sky disbanded and suddenly Brodie was on his own. Suddenly, there was no one to chuck a ball around with, no one to tell him it was probably time to call it a night, no one to tell him that the songs he was writing were tipping into cliché.
He sighed, looking back out at the unceasing rain. He didn’t like the feeling inside himself as much as he didn’t like the weather. When it rained, Brodie headed somewhere hot—he didn’t have the clothes for rain—and when he felt even remotely sullen he did something to cheer himself up. That, he reminded himself, was exactly why he was going to San Diego.
He got up to grab his case from the top of the wardrobe, flung it open on the bed and started to toss his clothes in. As he packed, he wondered if Maeve ever threw a ball with Zoey. He was pretty certain Carole the babysitter never did. Had anyone taught her how to shoot hoops? Had anyone taken Maeve out for dinner? Where had that come from? Of course people—men—took her out for dinner. Probably handsome, intelligent neurosurgeons who wowed her with tales of operating-theater heroism. His stomach tightened—with what? Envy?
Get over it, Brodie.
He glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he collected his toiletries and shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. His muscles were already itching to move on, his brain planning the best route to San Diego. He’d make up for it when he was back.
* * *
Brodie intended to slip away the next morning, but as he drove past the Silver Sky Ranch gates, guilt made him flick the indicator and turn in, knew his mom would be upset if he didn’t say goodbye. It was still pouring, the weather, the songwriter in him concluded, was matching his mood. There were no rainbows today.
When he pulled up in the drive he saw Logan’s car already there, which, while it would be nice to see his brother, meant he’d be there longer than he intended and really, he just wanted to get going.
Sprinting to the door, he was soaked by the time he pushed it open. His mom and Logan were sitting at the kitchen table. Martha made a face when she saw him all wet and said, “Brodie, why don’t you have a jacket?” as if he was still Zoey’s age.
“Because I’m never anywhere when it rains.” He slicked his hair back and pulled his wet T-shirt from his chest. Then he looked at Logan who was watching with wry amusement because Martha had got up and, grabbing a towel from the downstairs bathroom, was now trying to pat Brodie dry as he tried to push her away. “I’m fine,” he protested, pulling out a chair and taking a seat opposite his brother. “How was Napa?”
“Excellent,” Logan replied without hesitation. “It’s a nice place you’ve got there. And great wine.”
His mom said, “Do you think I could stock it in the shop, Brodie?”
Brodie shrugged like he hadn’t considered it before. “Of course,” he replied, feeling a tinge of pride at Logan’s words of praise.
Stupidly, he glanced around to see if his dad was anywhere in the vicinity to hear as Logan started rhapsodizing about the vineyard to Martha.
“I haven’t actually got that much to do with it,” Brodie admitted.
