That’ll kill the mood.
“Bet she knew we were about to wrestle.” Brooke scratches her fingernails lightly against my scalp.
I growl.
She places a soft kiss on my lips, as if that will pacify me. “Let’s say no real quick and come right back here.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I promise.” She kisses me again and pushes me from the bed. “Now, let’s go win this game. All those Jones babies need a big house.”
We’re dressed, much to my dismay, and upstairs on the roof in five minutes during a rare break in the rain.
However, on Day Forty-Five we aren’t given an offer, but, instead, are forced to choose between four mystery boxes again. One containing elimination. The Yankees choose first and are sadly sent home, which makes choosing our box feel much less imposing and all the more exciting when Brooke and I stick with mystery box number four and get five minutes to step outside our Tink.
We rush down the ladder and outside as quickly as we can, laughing like lunatics as soon as our bare feet touch the grass. Brooke’s giddiness at our sudden freedom is contagious. I chase her around the small yard until she squeals, leaping and laughing and completely uninhibited by the eyes and cameras watching us. The giant clock on the screen tells us we have two minutes left of this gift, when it starts to pour.
So I take Brooke in my arms, ready to spend all one hundred and twenty precious seconds dancing with my wife in the rain. I twirl and dip and spin her until we’re breathless and drenched to the bone. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been so happy. Ten seconds starts ticking down. Brooke stops our dancing and wiggles her feet in the wet grass like she’s burying them in sand. She soaks up our last seconds outside, and I can’t help but be transfixed by every raindrop hitting her skin, or the fact that, though the sky is dark, Brooke’s eyes are blazing with light. I give her every bit of seven seconds, and when the clock hits the three second warning, I throw Brooke over my good shoulder and carry her into our Tink.
My wife has promises to keep.
18
SAY YOU WON’T LET GO
JAMES ARTHUR
BROOKE
Suite Hearts, Day 50
“Oh, I felt some heat on that one, son,” Clyde chortles appreciatively, shaking his hand out after catching the ball. He and Owen have been practicing every afternoon for the last few days after Owen’s physical therapist suggested he start reengaging his muscle memory.
It’s wonderful to see him get back to what he loves. Owen lights up when he plays baseball. He always has. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stir up a bit of unease. It’s a reminder that we’re almost done here. No matter who wins this competition, in just over five days, Owen and I will be leaving ourSuite Hearts’home and heading back to the real world. To life together, yes, but I’m still unsure of what that will look like.
“I sure do love these afternoons in the sun.” Gloria fans herself with a celebrity gossip magazine, what she calls her one vice. This particular issue is from months ago and has a pictureof Roman Rivers plastered across the front with my friend, and his wife, Chloe, tucked on his arm at a spring movie release.
I’d tell Gloria we’re friends if I didn’t think she’d be at risk of a heart episode over such news. The wide-brimmed, wicker hat and giant sunglasses shading her face do little to hide the appreciative facial expressions she gives her husband as she sunbathes in a yellow, billowy frock of a dress that looks amazing against her rich, dark skin. “And the view, girls… well, it’s mighty fine.”
Owen’s Badger T-shirt is soaked through with sweat and clings to his chest and torso. It pulls tight across his upper body when he throws another ball to Clyde, then he smiles wide at Gloria’s observation. He's more refreshing than this sunshine.
Mighty fine indeed.
“I agree, Gloria,” Haven says, eyes closed and face tilted to the sky. Thanks to her grocery order, Haven has taken to making us all juices to sip on our roofs each afternoon. I have to admit, they are refreshing, though Owen always pours his over the side of our Tink when she isn’t looking. “I can already feel my force realigning with the balance of the elements.”
“Well, I don’t know what all that means”—Gloria takes a long draw from her straw—“but I’m gonna say thank ya, Lord, for another day of sunshine andSuite Heartswith my sweetheart.”
She raises one hand in the air in praise while the other grips her juice cup, sipping away until her straw slurps up every last drop. The woman loves Haven’spurifyingtincture, though I’m not sure what’s actually in it.
The guys continue throwing the ball from roof to roof while Ocean strums his guitar and sings with the soulful voice of a California Raisin.
It’s a simple afternoon, basking in the sun with our friends. The field of wildflowers surrounding us gently sways in the slight breeze dancing through the air. I can hear the hum of bees andother insects buzzing nearby. The sun’s shining in a way that really does feel like it’s rejuvenating to the soul, almost as if my skin can’t soak up the warmth fast enough.
Owen laughs, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then flips his hat on backwards so that his hair curls at the brim with the humidity. Sweet Clyde flips his trucker hat backwards, too. His wife catcalls him. Haven harmonizes with her husband like an angel.
It’s all so lovely.
A flicker of normalcy in a really weird, unexpected way.
