"Since it’s my fault you ended things," I point out. "You’re the one who asked me what I wanted, remember?"
Brooks swims closer, his voice low. "And you’re the one who answered."
My breath hitches, and I immediately hate myself for it. Hate how the truth sits between us like a live wire. Neither of us willing to touch it.
"Why does it matter?" he asks, his eyes too steady, too knowing.
"Because," I start, but then… I don’t know how to finish.
Because I don’t want you to be with her? Because I don’t like that you listened to me? Because now that she’s gone, I have to deal with whatever this is between us?
Brooks tilts his head. "See? You don’t even know why you’re asking."
I glare at him, hating how effortlessly he dismantles my thoughts.
"Look," he sighs, running a wet hand through his hair. "It doesn’t matter why I did it. I did it. Let’s move on."
"To what?" I demand, exasperated.
Brooks’ lips curve into a slow smirk. "To how you’re doing after everything that happened this afternoon."
I blink. Oh.
I should’ve known. Brooks never lets me get away with pretending.
"I'm fine," I lie, even though I’m not. But then I remember what Dad said in the hospital. Brooks has packed up someone’s belongings before, too. If anyone understands how gut-wrenching it is, it’s him.
"Really?" His gaze flickers with something sharp.
"Really," I repeat, the lie sitting like a stone in my chest.
Brooks makes a quiet noise, something between amusement and disappointment. "Do you ever get tired of lying to yourself?"
I scowl. "I'm not in the mood for this, Brooks."
"For what?" He inches closer, and I try not to focus on how solid he looks in the water, how easily he stays afloat while I feel like I’m sinking.
"This was supposed to be about you," I say. "Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"Deflect."
His jaw ticks. "Maybe I don’t want to discuss my love life with you, Ellie. You ever think of that?"
I roll my eyes. "Because I was your first crush?"
Brooks chuckles, but there’s no real humor in it. "You’re still not over that?"
I cross my arms. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"
His smirk fades, his gaze dipping lower, dragging slowly back up to mine.
"Yeah," he says, voice quieter now. "Some things."
He’s close. So close I can feel the heat radiating off him.
"We should go," I say. It comes out rough, too scratchy.
