“It’s a rock song by Wrecked. Gray and I used to listen to it while we got ready for rugby games. It’s not really a traditional hype song, but we found it highly motivational as teenagers. What about you? What would your walkout song be?”
I shrug, racking my brain for a song that fits and coming up with nothing. “No clue. Something by a female country singer, probably, because they’re a vibe. And I’d wear pink trunks with some glitter around the waistband and little bows on the side at the bottom, so when I moved, they’d dance around and be so cute.”
Fashion over purpose? Ouch. I guess I’m more like my mom than I thought.
I don’t know how I feel about that epiphany other than it makes me want to shiver.
Brooks grabs his drink from the cupholder. “For the record, I’d pay big money to see you fight.” He takes a sip and then returns the cup to its place between us. But as he pulls his arm back, he grabs at his left shoulder with his right hand. “Fuck.”
“Are you okay?”
He rolls it a few times clockwise and then reverses course. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Just gets stiff sometimes.” He hisses a breath and stretches his arm, all the while looking like he’s about to shout a litany of profanities.
I know what it’s like to be in minimal pain—a broken collarbone at twelve and a car accident a few years ago. Luckily, mine healed quickly, and I could move on with my life. I’m not sure how I would survive if I had to deal with pain long-term. Especially if it were pain that kept me from doing what I loved and making money.
My stomach dissolves into a pit of acid as the perfect segue presents itself to tell Brooks about my conversation with Drew. It’s been in the back of my mind since I climbed into the truck, but I’ve not been able to figure out how to bring it up.
Nothing about our conversation makes any sense to me. The Drew that I spoke to today wasn’t the man I’ve known and loved for the past twenty-seven years. He was so cold and callous, two things I didn’t know he was capable of. The only way it makes sense, even a little bit, is that we’ve never had a direct conflict before. Sure, we’ve argued over the remote and who got the best bedroom on vacation, but it’s never been anything personal.
And I’ve never refused to acquiesce.
I take a deep breath. “So, I talked to Drew today.”
Brooks’s body stiffens.
“He is on the NAFL Combat Commission,” I say. “I’m assuming from what he said that he’ll be on the board that decides your reinstatement.”
He nods slowly as if accepting this piece of information.
“And, um, well, he’s not that thrilled that we know each other, and I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be to you,” I say, frowning. “I put in a good word for you, but … I don’t even know if it went in one ear and out the other, if I’m being honest.”
“Yeah, that’s what I expected.”
“So, you know, I can’t promise you that I’m going to be able to stick to my end of our bargain,” I say.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Oh, no. Guess we’ll have to turn around.”
“Really?”
“Not a chance, Doc.” He slips off his sunglasses and tosses them on the candy wrappers. “But if it makes you feel any certain way that you’re with me and your brother is pissed, then I will absolutely take you back. Just say the word.”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I hate that Drew’s mad. My first instinct is to freak out and apologize—to call him and make peace. But when I pause and take a breath, I know that’s the wrong answer. Why should I sacrifice my happiness for someone else’s peace when they won’t do the same for me?”
He reaches across the console and places his hand on my thigh. I suck in a breath as the weight of his palm rests against me, his fingers pressed softly into my pants. He gently squeezes my leg before returning his hand to the steering wheel.
Oof.
“Okay, then,” he says. “Operation Whimsy List is a go. Let’s run down our checklist before we get to our destination.”
Woah. This guy can transition topics like Gianna—no warning, just a tight pivot.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to catch up with him mentally.
“Read it off to me. Refresh my memory.”
“Oh, no,” I say, laughing and shaking my head. “I’m not reading it to you. Are you nuts?”
He grins. “I’ve pledged my assistance to fulfill your dreams. And, unlike some people I know, I’m capable of following through with my agreements.”
