“Correct.” He pops another piece of candy into his mouth as if we’re discussing the weather. “If I don’t want to do it, I don’t. Sometimes that costs me, but I can sleep at night.”
“You wouldn’t do it even if it made someone else wildly happy?”
He swallows slowly, taking his precious time. Then he leans against the table and folds his muscled arms in front of him. “The only person in the world that I give a fuck about their happiness is my mom. And if something makes her happy, there’s no way it can make me miserable because I’d do just about anything to make her smile.”
My chest warms, an ache growing right behind my ribs as if my emotions are growing faster than my body can expand to hold them. The mix of tenderness and love in his face is so pure. Honest.Good.
The man is a walking juxtaposition—a gorgeous riddle. Sharp, yet soft. Intense, but gentle. He’s unfiltered but emotionally open. His confidence is disarming, and hiscarpe diemattitude is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. He’s not the kind of guy I’m used to being around, and the fact that I’m more relaxed around this mischief-maker than I am around men I’ve known my whole life boggles my mind.
Brooks leans back, wincing as he moves. His arm is an angry red and swollen around the makeshift stitches. It must hurt so much.
I grab my purse off the chair beside me and drop it on the table next to my computer. Clearing my throat, I focus on finding a bottle of anti-inflammatory pills. I’m not sure what to say or where to go from here.
“That’s a sweet thing to say about your mother,” I say. “You must have a pretty great dad.”
“He’s dead.”
My eyes flash to his, the pills clinking against the bottle in my hand as I jerk upright. His words are crisp with each syllable enunciated with a definitive, intentional coolness that’s a huge shift from moments ago.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not. We’re all better off with him in the ground.”
Oh.
“He was a giant piece of shit who died when I was seventeen,” Brooks says, breaking a piece of chocolate off the bar and popping it into his mouth. “Dying was the only nice thing he ever did for us.”
If I thought I didn’t know what to say before, I’m really speechless now. It’s obviously a touchy subject, and the last thing I want to do is make him uncomfortable—especially about something so personal and private. And even though he’s playing it cool, I sense a boatload of pain under the surface, and that tugs at my heartstrings.
So instead of speaking, I dole out two small pills and drop the bottle back into my bag.
“Here,” I say, offering him the medicine. “It’ll help with the inflammation.” I point at his wound. “It’s looking a little red, and that worries me.”
His lips twitch as he takes them from me. “Yeah, well, you were poking it with a needle ten minutes ago.”
We exchange the smallest, softest grin that deflates the tension. I’m relieved. My shoulders sag as he pops them into his mouth and swallows them with a slug of tea.
“Do you think we should put some antibacterial gel or something on it?” I peer down at the line, noticing it’s fairly straight.Not bad for my first time sewing someone up. “I bet Astrid has some in her first-aid kit in the hallway.”
He shrugs. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”
“I love how you’re so ambivalent about it,” I say, laughing. “Do you even care that you could get sepsis and lose your whole arm?”
“Not really,” he says, popping another piece of chocolate between his teeth. “I’m right-handed.”
This man.I smile at him as I head for the hallway. “I’m going to find some gauze and cream.”
Energy buzzes through me with wild abandon, a brightness flooding every nook and cranny of my brain. It’s like I stitched Brooks shut, but it somehow opened a part of me—pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I’m in an entirely new mental space. I’m alive in a way that I haven’t been in a very long time.
The cream and the bandages are at the bottom of the medical bin. I grab them and put everything else back in its place.
“Here you go …” I say, my voice echoing down the hall. But as I turn the corner, I come to a full stop in the doorway. My mouth falls open, but words do not come out as I stare at Brooks.Oh, no.
He looks over his shoulder from his seat at the table, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my chest rising and falling so fast that I’m dizzy.
“Just drinking my tea and waiting on you.”
