Page 43 of Falling into Place

Chapter Thirty

Brooks

Guys don’t cry at movies.

—Brooks Martin in high school, probably

“Stop fidgeting.”

Brooks glanced over at Macy and frowned. They were gathered with Coach’s family and friends in a church foyer, waiting to enter the sanctuary for his funeral services. How was she so calm and collected?

He’d been dreading this for days. He’d only attended two memorial services in his life—one for his mom and one for his dad—and few things had brought him the same degree of melancholy. Wasn’t Macy thinking about that, too?

“I can’t stand funerals,” he admitted, ignoring her admonition and shifting on the balls of his feet.

He’d loved Coach and wanted to pay his respects, and it was important to show Linda support.

But he couldn’t help all the memories flooding back, thick with the pain and loss of his teenage and young adult years. “They’re so depressing.”

Macy glanced at the program she’d grabbed on the way in. “This one’s called a celebration of life ,” she said. “Maybe it will be different.”

He snorted, skeptical, but as it turned out, she was right. After the doors opened and the crowd filed in, Brooks took in the scene around him.

Nothing was what he’d expected.

Instead of a moody, melodic soundtrack of classical music, they took their seats to the sound of The Who’s “Who Are You.” Macy glanced at Brooks with a What the hell? look on her face, and he just grinned.

“His favorite song,” he whispered.

Instead of flower bouquets lining the stage, the banners from his four state basketball championships had been brought in.

Poster boards with memorable Coach-isms were posted around the room, some that made Brooks laugh and others that had him hoping no children were in the room.

Or if there were, that they couldn’t read yet.

The pastor didn’t talk long, but when he did, he told a story about the time Coach fell asleep during a men’s Bible study and farted so loud he woke himself up. Brooks almost cried he was laughing so hard.

Most of the service consisted of a rotation of speakers, all with positive, funny, and uplifting stories about Coach. A few people choked up once or twice, but for the most part, the afternoon lived up to its name.

A celebration.

Linda was the last to speak, and Brooks tensed up when she stepped to the microphone, anxious on her behalf.

The last time he’d spoken to her was when he delivered the news, and he could still hear her sobs.

Wasn’t it too soon for her to talk about him up there? Would she be able to hold it together?

But her eulogy, if you could even call it that, was the most entertaining of all.

She told story after story—of how they met, what he’d been like as a dad, the things he did that drove her crazy, and how he’d always kept her on her toes.

Every memory she described was saturated with Coach McKee’s trademark wit, kindness, and surprising wisdom.

The service—no, celebration—stood in stark contrast to anything else Brooks had experienced when it came to loss, and it was quite frankly eye opening.

He knew Linda wished Coach was still here and would grieve the loss, but even in his absence she could still laugh at the good memories, and think about him and smile. It was beautiful and refreshing.

It was hopeful.

Brooks was reeling by the time he and Macy left two hours later.

“That was incredible,” Macy said, voice filled with awe. “That’s exactly what I want when I die, okay? I’m putting you in charge.”

“Why me?” Brooks sputtered as they made their way across the parking lot. “What about Mark?”

“He’s wasn’t here. He didn’t see it. It’s gotta be you, bro. That vibe exactly, you hear me?”

“Okay, yes. Consider it done,” he promised.

They reached their cars, parked side by side. He thanked his sister for coming with him, and Macy gave him a hug before she got in her car and drove away. Brooks lowered himself into his own driver’s seat and pulled out his phone. He’d put it on silent before the service.

Three missed calls and two texts from Sasha. She must have forgotten where he’d be this afternoon.

Sasha: Benjamin is back and he’s after your girl

Sasha: If you don’t pull your head out of your ass and do something about that, I swear to God I’ll never forgive you

He pressed the call button, and she answered on the first ring.

“Tell me everything.”

Brooks stared at Carly’s door for at least three minutes before he got up the nerve to knock. It might not sound like much, but when you think about a person just staring at a piece of wood, three minutes is a long-ass time.

Ten days had passed since he’d called things off. Ten days since he’d heard her voice, smelled her hair, touched her skin.

Tl;dr—ten days of fucking agony.

He’d sent her a text three days ago after learning about Mode from Sasha. Sasha told me you lost your job, he’d said. i’m so sorry. let me know if there’s anything i can do.

Thanks, she’d replied. I’ve got it figured out.

He’d been relieved she seemed to have some sort of plan, at least. Hopefully, she’d found something even better.

A car alarm went off somewhere in the parking lot, jolting him into action, and he finally rapped his knuckles on the door. A few moments later, she opened it.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” she said quietly.

She wore black shorts and a cropped T-shirt that left a sliver of skin at her waist on display. She was so beautiful he tucked his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping we could talk. Would it be okay if I came in?”

“Sure.”

A vestige of hope vibrated through his chest, but he told himself not to get too excited.

Her willingness to hear him out was a good sign, but that didn’t mean she’d be on board with everything.

He paused on the way to the living room to greet Pepper, who shot him a glare that probably said something along the lines of Where have you been, dickhead?

He deserved that.

“Want anything to drink? Water, beer?”

“I’m good.” He stood from his crouch just as she settled onto the sofa. He sat beside her, careful not to touch her. His heart was trying to lurch from his chest being near her again, like it was finally back where it belonged.

He glanced over at her, meeting the warm brown eyes he’d missed so much. “I found a movie that made me cry.”

Her brows rose, either from surprise at the random comment or the fact that he’d actually cried. Probably both. “You did? Which one?”

“ Good Will Hunting .”

She let out a little hum of agreement. “How’d you stumble across that one?”

“I was on a mission. A Star Is Born was close, too.”

Her face crumpled up, like she wanted to comment on how devastating that movie was, but she seemed to decide against it. “What do you mean, on a mission?”

“I wanted to prove to myself I’m not made of stone.

” He’d asked James and Jeff (separately—he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to experience those two in the same room) if a movie had ever made them cry.

James had responded with The Green Mile , and Jeff’s list had been alarmingly lengthy.

It was kind of hard to hide behind the weak excuse that it was just because he was a guy after that.

“Of course you’re not. You knew that.”

“Maybe.” He hadn’t been completely sure, to be honest. “But I didn’t know if I could ever let go and show it.”

“I’m not sure crying when you’re watching a movie alone counts as showing it,” she pointed out.

“True, but it’s more than I’ve done before. I’m okay with taking small steps as long as I’m going in the right direction.”

“Small steps can be good.” A long beat of silence followed as he tried to gather the courage to get to the point. Long enough that she asked, “Is that all you came to tell me?”

“No. I mean, that was good and all—it was a relief, to be honest. To cry. I kept going even after the movie was over.” He’d cried about his parents, all the patients he’d lost, about the hurt in Carly’s voice when he’d told her it was over.

“I came because I’ve been thinking a lot about something else.

About the last time we talked and how I said I thought I needed to do this all on my own. I think that was fucking stupid.”

Her eyes widened a little, and the tiniest hint of a smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, really?”

He ran his palms down his thighs. “Yeah. I went to Coach’s funeral a couple of days ago, and it was ... enlightening.”

Her brows came together and her hand came forward as if to touch him, but she seemed to think better of it and dropped it back to her lap. “Oh. I’m so sorry. You didn’t go by yourself, did you?”

“Macy went with me.”

“I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

She would have gone if he’d asked her, and he would have liked to have her sitting beside him. But it just didn’t seem fair to seek her out for comfort after everything that had happened.

“It wasn’t really even a funeral. It was a celebration of life, and the place was packed.

Coach touched so many people’s lives, and it was like every single one of them showed up.

And not just to honor him, but to remember him and share those memories with everyone else.

It was like ... I don’t know ... like a group of people supporting his family and working through the loss together in this really beautiful way.

Everyone there had a connection—they knew and loved Coach and were changed by his presence in their lives. And they had the stories to prove it.”

Carly smiled. “That sounds like it was really something.”

“It was.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “And I started thinking that if I died tomorrow, my funeral would be the exact opposite.”

“What do you mean? Tons of people care about you.”

“A few people care about me,” he corrected.

“Not a lot, because I haven’t kept in touch with people over the years.

And for those I have, I still don’t let them too close.

It sort of hit me at the funeral that if I keep holding people at arm’s length, no one will really know me.

I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing, because I’m not sure there’s anything in here worth getting to know .

.. But maybe I should let them be the judge, you know?

I don’t want to be the one standing in the way if someone wants to try, or if someone decides I’m worth it.

Why sabotage my own chance at being able to love and to be loved? ”

She smiled then, but it was a small, hesitant one. “Yeah, just sit all the way down, will you?”

That smile set off a chain reaction in his body—amazement, then joy, and dangerously, more hope.

“I love you, Carly,” he said, voice cracking.

He slowly reached for her hand, prepared for her to pull away, but she didn’t.

“I’ve been miserable being away from you.

I meant what I said before, that I have some work to do.

A lot, probably. But I was wrong about something, too. Really wrong.”

She kept her gaze locked on his as she threaded their fingers together. “Which part?”

“I was wrong when I said I had to do it alone. I’ve been alone for so long, and I don’t want to live that way anymore.

If you’re willing to stay with me and give this a shot, that’s what I want.

It’s all I’ve wanted since the day I saw you at Coffee Slingers.

I wanted it every time I went out with a woman who wasn’t you, and I wanted it every time I took care of my garden because I wanted to make you proud as much as I wanted to succeed.

I wanted it every time you teased me about my favorite jeans and when you put your hands on me, pretending to smooth out my clothes when we both knew you just wanted to touch me. ”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.”

She bit her lip, pink blooming in her cheeks.

“The first time we slept together shook me to my core. I’ve never had so much fun and felt so much in the same moment.

You made me happy again, Carly. You’re sassy and you bring me joy and you make me want to be a better man.

I’ve always been terrified of falling in love because I saw the dark side of it, you know?

You know what happened to my dad after my mom died.

It really fucked with me. But at Coach’s funeral, I saw the complete opposite and watched his wife smile as she remembered the beautiful life they’d shared.

I realized that’s what I want. I’d rather make memories than never experience them in the first place. And I want to make them with you.”

His chest expanded with each word he spoke, and how right they felt.

Eyes closed, he took a few breaths to collect himself.

“But I also know your ex is back, and unless he’s an idiot, he wants to be with you, too.

And if you want to be with him, I’ll accept that.

God knows he’s probably less of a mess than I am.

But I’m a selfish bastard, and if there’s any chance at all you love me and want to be with me too, I had to come tell you how much I want you.

Can you forgive me, and give me another chance to be worthy of you? ”