"Do you guys do this kind of thing often?" she asks.
"Oh yeah." Brooks fibs. "We call it Adrenaline Rush Foreplay."
I stare at him. Mortified. Of course he says that. Of course he does. I want to disappear into the deck planks.
"You’re banned from words."
"You love my words." He grins, full of himself.
"I do not," I snap, trying to step away, but it’s too late. Brooks grabs me and hoists me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all.
I flail, then give up—legs jelly—while he smugly hauls me down two flights of stairs.
When we reach the bottom, he sets me down with surprising care. I tug my shirt into place, raking my fingers through my hair as I try to regain what little dignity I have left.
"I’m flattered, but I’ve got a girlfriend," I mock, shooting him a glare. "Seriously? What was that?"
He just keeps grinning, cocky as ever. "You really want to sell it, Ellie? We could make out right now. Really drive the point home."
I swat dirt off my shorts. "Absolutely not."
Something shifts in his expression then. The grin fades. His tone softens. "What’s going on?"
I pause, the truth heavy on my tongue. I could lie. I could tell him I’m fine, that none of this is touching me. That I’ve learned to let it roll off like I always have. But I’m not in LA anymore. I’m not surrounded by people who don’t know the full story. I’m here, standing in the thick of it. And maybe for once, pretending doesn’t feel like strength. It feels like avoidance.
"I’m angry," I admit.
He waits. "With who?"
"Everyone," I say honestly. "My mom. My dad. Jasper.You."
"Me?" His brows lift.
"I want to go home," I admit. "But I feel like I can’t. If I leave, I’m abandoning everyone again. If I stay, I lose everything I’ve built. I’m so tired, Brooks. And I’m just… angry. Because I’m the one who always has to hold everything together."
Brooks doesn’t flinch. He reaches up and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch almost reverent.
"Ellie, you’re allowed to feel that way. Anger and grief? They’re cousins. Same bloodline. Just like love and hate."
The truth knocks something loose in my ribcage.
"You make it sound so simple."
"It’s not simple," he says. "But it’s honest. And it’s okay to leave, if that’s what you need. You don’t have to carry all of this. Not alone."
Tears slip from the corners of my eyes. I don’t wipe them away.
Instead, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. Brooks doesn’t hesitate. He hugs me back like he’s been waiting to do it for years, one hand smoothing over my back as the other holds the back of my head.
I let myself breathe. Let myself feel it. Let myself not fix anything.
I’m just being held. And it feels good.
I’m not sure how long we stand like that, clinging to each other like some kind of lifeline, but by the time Brooks finally lets me go and casually drapes an arm around my shoulders, the edge of my anger has dulled. It hasn’t vanished, but it’s softened. Manageable.
"So," he drawls as we walk toward the truck, his tone light, "do you forgive me?"
I blink up at him. "Forgive you for what?"
