He kept picturing her standing on the doorstep about to say something important. He could tell it was important from the seriousness in her eyes. It would be something honest and well-considered that would leave him more conflicted.
She wasn’t like the others. Everything with her was real. If she said something, she meant it. If she laughed, then the joke really was a good one.
Kiss her and it was real.
Don’t think about kissing Maeve, Brodie.
It wasn’t a game.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the moment their lips almost met upstairs at Logan’s house, the sweet, subtle scent of her perfume, the softness of her skin, the wildness of her eyes; the exquisite, satisfying moment her guard dropped. When her hand reached up tentatively and her fingers touched his neck. When they had danced at the Summer Fair and he could see where the tiny gold heart she wore dipped beneath the neckline of her dress, and where the loose tendrils of hair, fallen from her braid, brushed her pale skin. And in contrast, the endearing blush on her cheeks, which he knew she’d hate but which he relished—tried as hard as he could whenever he saw her to make that telltale blush break past her stony façade.
What was he thinking?
He moved away from the window. Walked aimlessly around the condo.
Brodie, you idiot.
He had been playing with treasure, not realizing it was real, underestimating its value, everything that it meant. You didn’t walk away from someone like Maeve, but that meant you didn’t walk away from Autumn Falls.
He thought of his stifling life there before the band. No sense of self, no value. He thought of staying there and being gradually ground down again. He thought of the orchard for sale, of his dad’s open disdain—always in the background, judging.
Brodie blew out a breath, standing back at the window, this time in his bedroom, he stared out at the wide navy sky, the endless blanket of stars. This wasn’t the place for him. He couldn’t breathe here. He couldn’t be himself.
Or maybe he could. Maybe this was exactly where hecouldbreathe. Maybe when he was with Zoey and Maeve that was exactly who he was. Who he was meant to be.
But what if it went wrong? What if he couldn’t hack it? What happened when there were problems bigger than Slime? What if he messed it up—which was more than likely—what then?
He could feel the urge to flee rising up inside him.
You gotta sit with it.
He sat on the side of the bed, hands either side of him, staring at the bland pale gray carpet. Voices started crowding in his head.
You’re bored.
You lack purpose.
You run from what’s inside.
He stood up again and went to the window.
Of course he’s staying. Such a cute baby. Shame you missed it.
He turned, leaned with his back against the glass, the four walls getting closer, tighter.
All you have to do is be there, shepherd them.
Maybe now you’ll have to grow up.
Before the thoughts could engulf him, Brodie’s suitcase was packed, the top was down on his car and he was hurtling along the highway out of Autumn Falls.
ChapterForty-One
The next morning, Brodie was late coming over.
Maeve called him but it went straight to voicemail. Zoey sat eating Cheerios, checking her watch saying, “He’ll be here in a minute.”
Maeve stood for a moment in the hallway, phone clutched to her chest, remembering his awkwardness the evening before, knowing this was it. Knowing he wasn’t coming.
