"I don't have time to wait for you to hand out all that food!" Jasper exclaims as he's halfway out the door. "Just give Ellie a ride."
Before Brooks can respond, Jasper's gone.
I glance over at Brooks. "So, now you're a food delivery guy?"
"I'd do anything for five bucks and a thank-you," he smirks. "Mr. Shaw wanted pie. Rosie in 210 wanted fries. I figured if I was going to the diner anyway..."
"That's actually really sweet," I say, the softness in my voice catching me off guard.
He licks his bottom lip and smirks. "Itissweet of me, huh?"
Dad groans from the bed. "If I have to listen to this flirting, I'm pulling out my IV."
Brooks laughs and tosses me a wink. "I'll go finish handing out the food."
"I'll be here," I say quietly.
When he's gone, Dad raises his eyebrows. "What wasthat?"
I blink. "What was what?"
"You and Brooks. Since when are you two not trying to murder each other with sarcasm?"
I shrug, casually stealing a fry. "We've turned over a new leaf. We're... friends."
Dad squints at me like he's watching a puzzle solve itself. "Right. Friends."
But even I don't believe it anymore.
We talk about the weather. About the dry heat of summer and the way it settles in your bones. About Jasper's naturescapes and how his latest one uses crushed shells to form the shape of a doe in the woods. We even talk about the time Dad took me fishing and I got tangled in the line and cried the whole way home.
But we don't talk about Mom.
We don't talk about the way Dad tires faster with every passing day. Or about how Brooks isn't just Jasper's annoying best friend anymore. He's something else entirely. Something that doesn't have a name yet, but definitely doesn't fit into the old boxes I used to keep him in.
We talk until Dad gets tired.
Brooks returns quietly with a drink in hand and sinks into the chair across from me just as Dad starts to drift off. We sit in a silence that stretches between us. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just present.
I finish my burger. Brooks closes his eyes for a few minutes, the soft rhythm of his breathing a kind of anchor.
And for once, the silence isn't something to run from.
Not like LA, where silence screamed with absence.
Here, it's gentler. Here, it's a kind of permission.
A nurse pokes her head in and gives us a soft smile. "Visiting hours are almost over if you’re not staying the night."
I nod and begin gathering my things. "We should go," I say quietly to Brooks.
He rises and tosses the trash, while I lean over to squeeze Dad's sleeping hand. His fingers are warm but loose in mine.
"I'll be back in the morning," I murmur.
In the hallway, Brooks walks beside me without saying a word. Then, just before we reach the doors, he grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine. He does it so naturally that it takes me a moment to notice. Another moment to realize how right it feels.
His hand is warm. Solid. Steady. And, somehow, peaceful.
