That surprises me. "No?"
He shakes his head. "If I went back and fixed everything I screwed up, I wouldn’t be the person standing here with you. It took me a long time to like the guy I am. I still have my regrets, but I wouldn’t change the road that led me to this moment. To you."
The words settle over me like a blanket, and something in my chest softens.
"You mean that?" I ask.
Brooks tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and gives me the kind of smile that feels like a promise. "I’m crazy about you, Ellie. Have been for a long time."
My breath hitches. Not because I didn’t expect it, but because part of me did, and that’s what scares me the most.
I search his face, looking for any sign that he’s exaggerating or joking, but there’s nothing. Just that open, earnest gaze that always catches me off guard.
"Brooks…" I start, but the words fall apart in my throat. I don’t know how to respond to someone who sees me this clearly. Who always has.
He waits. He doesn’t rush me. His thumb is still brushing softly along my cheek, like he’s trying to memorize me.
"I’m scared," I finally admit. "I’m scared I’ll mess this up. That I’ll leave and you’ll hate me for it. That maybe I’m only holding on because I need someone steady while everything else is falling apart."
He nods, slowly, as if he’s already thought about all of this. "I’d rather have you now and lose you later than pretend I don’t want you at all."
The words hang between us, soft and dangerous. The air shifts. The faint hum of crickets, the whisper of leaves overhead all fold into a silence that feels alive. I want to answer him, but the only thing that comes is a rush of air that sounds like his name. My heart beats too fast, like it’s trying to memorize this moment before it slips away.
He looks at me the way morning light touches the horizon—steady and inevitable. And for the first time, I stop wondering what will happen when I leave. I just let myself stand there, breathing him in, hoping time will forget to move.
"That sounds… awful," I mutter.
He smiles, bittersweet. "Maybe. But it’s the truth."
Tears burn behind my eyes. "I don’t want to hurt you, Brooks."
"You will," he says, without hesitation. "And I’ll probably hurt you, too. That’s how it goes. But if there’s even a small part ofyou that wants this, then I’ll take it. We don’t have to name it. We don’t have to figure it all out right now."
His honesty, his acceptance of the risk, it makes me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling.
I rest my forehead against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like pine and wind and something I can’t name but desperately need.
"I do want this," I tell him. "I don’t know what it means yet, or how long it’ll last, but I want this."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Then that’s enough for me."
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that maybe wanting something—even briefly—can be enough.
The world beyond the yard hums quietly. The sound of Jasper’s laughter, a far-off crow, the slow rhythm of life insisting on continuing. It’s all so ordinary, so heartbreakingly normal. But maybe that’s what healing looks like. Not grand gestures or perfect endings, just small moments that finally stop hurting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Words We Never Say
I can’t breathe. The last twenty-four hours have been the hardest, most stressful of my life.
It started with a phone call in the middle of the night. Dad wasn’t doing well, so they asked us to come in. Brooks drove me while Jasper stayed behind to wake Mom if we needed to.
We arrived in a blur of dark back roads and worry that clogged my throat and nose and chest. Brooks kept my hand safely tucked in his.
The infection had spread, and Dad was hallucinating. I tried to talk to him but eventually, they sedated him to let his body rest while they pumped him full of more medicine.
Now, they’re saying he needs to be intubated. Tears blur my vision and scatter my thoughts.
