Page 9 of Falling into Place

Chapter Six

Brooks

Brooks, what the hell was that? Get your head out of your ass, son.

—Coach McKee during the Freemont High state championship basketball game

“You won’t believe what I’ve gotten myself into, Coach.”

Coach McKee, or just Coach to Brooks, crossed one ankle over his opposite knee.

He wore the same thing he always did—track pants, sneakers, and a T-shirt emblazoned with some rendition of Brooks’s old high school basketball team.

Coach retired three years ago, but Brooks knew for a fact he still attended every single game.

They’d just settled in at Coach’s kitchen table, which was where they sat every time Brooks came over.

His old coach (both in basketball and life, though Coach probably never meant to sign up for the latter) took his time stirring a spoonful of sugar into his coffee, then offered Brooks a bland expression that meant Go on .

“Sasha and Macy talked me into joining an online dating service and letting them tell the whole damn town about it.”

“Online dating service?” Coach echoed, scratching his balding head. “What happened to meeting women the old-fashioned way?”

“Soda fountains aren’t what they used to be.”

“Watch yourself,” Coach said. “I’m not that old.”

“Where’d you meet Linda?”

“The picture show,” Coach muttered.

Brooks laughed. “I might be able to meet someone at the movies, too, if I ever went.”

“That right there’s the problem with you kids these days,” Coach said before taking a long sip of coffee. Brooks opted not to point out that as a thirty-three-year-old man, he was hardly a kid anymore. “Everyone’s too busy looking at their phones to go places and talk to people’s faces.”

“Don’t act like I didn’t see that new reel you posted yesterday.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Anyway,” Brooks said, his brief smile fading. “It’s not the digital part I mind. In some ways it makes things easier for people like me.”

“What do you mean, people like you?”

“I just mean I’m not really out on the town where I might strike up a random conversation with a woman. I haven’t done that sort of thing since ...” He trailed off. “Well, you know.”

Coach’s sharp gaze gentled. “You could, though. You’re not the same person you were back then.”

True, Brooks wasn’t the same reckless kid he once was.

But after years of buckling down to stay out of trouble and focus on school and his career, he didn’t know how to get back out there.

“I’m just not sure I’m any good at this anymore.

Dating hasn’t really been on my radar for a while, and I figured I still had plenty of time to wade back out there at some point.

But Macy and Sasha make it sound like every second I’m at home, I’m wasting precious time and missing my chance to find someone. ”

“Nah. Everyone has their own timing for this stuff.” Coach leaned back and rubbed the top of his head. “But if you’re not ready, why did you agree to do it?”

Brooks slumped in his chair, the same one he always sat in.

Coach liked to sit with his back against the wall—a habit he said held over from his years in the military—which put Brooks smack-dab in the middle of the kitchen.

He had a nice view through the back window, though, where Linda had several bird feeders hanging from the eave.

“It’s not that I’m not ready, per se. I just hadn’t even been thinking about it, I guess.

Now that it’s on my mind, I’m not completely opposed to it, even if the method for going about it wouldn’t have been my first choice.

But this whole thing is supposed to help boost LiveOKC , too. My mom’s magazine, remember?”

“Sure. Sasha runs it now, right?”

“Yeah. I guess it’s not doing so hot, and they cooked up this idea to showcase someone going through the dating scene in Oklahoma City.” Brooks rubbed his eyes. “That’s what I meant by telling everyone about it—there’ll be pictures of me and articles about where I take people on dates and stuff.”

“Well, hell,” Coach said. “That does sound awful.”

“Why anyone would care about someone else’s dating life is beyond me, but apparently people love this stuff. Sasha and Macy seemed so convinced this could save the magazine from going under, so how could I say no?”

“‘No.’ Just like that.”

“Helpful as always.”

Coach just shrugged and rested his forearm on the table, the picture of ease. He might as well have said, You got yourself into this mess, and I’m not swooping in to save you this time .

Brooks didn’t expect him to, but he wanted to complain about it to someone. Sasha and Macy were out for obvious reasons, and his buddy James still wouldn’t have stopped laughing.

“Oh, and get this,” Brooks added. “They’re making me get a personal stylist to dress me. It’s Carly Porter, remember her?”

Coach had been Brooks’s basketball coach, but he’d also taught World History, so he’d know some students even if they weren’t on his roster.

Coach glanced up, squinting. “Porter ... Porter ... She the one who’s a congresswoman now?”

“That’s Jane Porter. She was a year above me. Carly was Sasha’s friend.”

“Oh. Well, no, then. Don’t remember her.”

“Well, even if you did, I’d tell you to forget it.

She’s completely different than she was in high school.

I thought she was sweet and shy, but now she has no problem telling me what I’m doing wrong.

I mean, I’m not opposed to dressing a little better, I guess, but I want to be comfortable, too, you know?

” He gestured at Coach. “You get to wear that around all the time, so you get it.”

“Don’t you wear scrubs all day?”

“Yeah, but I’m not supposed to wear them outside the hospital. I literally don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything else, no matter the location.”

“Well, why would I? I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I’d already locked Linda down by the time I got the job at the school. Wouldn’t have mattered, though,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “It wasn’t my fashion sense that caught her eye.”

“What was it?”

“According to her, it was my charm, manners, and this dimple right here.”

“Well, that’s fucking adorable.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Sorry, sir,” Brooks said with a good-natured eye roll. Coach had dropped F-bombs all day during basketball practices. “Got any advice for me? As a man who’s been married forty-five years?”

“Nope,” Coach said. “Still don’t know what I’m doing. But I can tell you one thing: I’m sure as hell going to enjoy watching you try to figure this out.”

Three days later, Brooks sat at the nursing station, where he’d made a pit stop to call the radiologist who’d paged him with a stat CT result.

A headache throbbed at his temple, probably because he’d been at the hospital since three in the morning.

His overnight days were supposed to be over now that he was an attending, but sometimes he had trouble managing his patients from a distance.

So when his fellow had called with a question about a new admit, he’d dragged his ass in.

Yes, he probably could have talked things over with the trainee on the phone, but he wouldn’t have been able to go back to sleep anyway.

He liked to lay eyes on new patients himself to make sure nothing felt off.

He’d just ended the call when his phone buzzed with a text message. He leaned his hip against the counter and unlocked it again.

Carly: I should have bought the gingham shirt. Why did I let you say no?

Brooks: should I know what that is

Carly: The blue checkered one?

Brooks: the plaid one?

Carly: Not plaid. Gingham.

Brooks: it’s 7am and this is what you’re thinking about?

Carly: Sasha’s gonna kill me for dressing you in something so boring for your photos. If you don’t find a wife she’ll bring it back to this very moment and blame me.

Brooks: relax

Brooks: tell her it’s my fault

Carly: Obviously it IS your fault. What do you have against patterns?

Brooks: i like simplicity

Carly: Your complex medical degree says otherwise.

Brooks: maybe that’s why. everything is so complicated here. i say words like atelectasis and dexmedetomidine and refractory hypoxemia and i know what they all mean. when i get home my brain shuts off

Carly: Show off

Brooks: you started it with your fancy word for plaid

Carly: What time is the photographer getting there?

Brooks: 5

Carly: Ugh. I have so much work to do today but all I can think about is the shirt that got away

He slid his phone back into his pocket, and one of the nurses he often worked with paused on her way past him.

“Dr. Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

He glanced up at her, confused. “Yeah?”

She didn’t look convinced. “You were smiling.”

He was? Huh. But also, “You thought that meant something was wrong?”

“No. Maybe?” She winced. “Sorry, I’m just not sure I’ve ever seen you smile. Sort of weirded me out, I guess.” She continued on her way, leaving him stunned.

Well.

Note to self: Smile more at work.

Brooks got held up trying to leave after the department meeting that afternoon, which meant he didn’t have time to hit the gym before he went home.

Then he spilled his coffee getting out of the car. His early wake-up meant at this point he was running on fumes, so this was particularly distressing.

And when he walked into his house, he discovered Oreo had scratched the upholstery of the entire right side of one of his armchairs.

All things considered, he was in a terrible mood when Carly knocked on his door at four thirty.

She didn’t seem to notice, bustling in without so much as looking at him with her arms full of boxes and shopping bags dangling from her fingers. She started talking without slowing down, so he quickly closed the front door and followed her.

“I should have come earlier; I’m worried we won’t have enough time. Should I set up in your room?” She took off without waiting for a response. “I’ll lay out my suggestions in order of preference, and we can see which one you like best ... Oh, hi, Oreo.”