Page 39 of First Echo

Brooke's eyes finally, finally met mine—direct and unflinching. "Someone honest," she said, her voice quiet but clear. "Someone who knows what they want and isn't afraid to admit it."

The room seemed to go silent, though I knew the others were still talking, still reacting. But all I could hear was the echo of her words, all I could see was the look in her eyes as she delivered them—challenging, hurt, but most devastatingly, disappointed.

"Ouch," Julian laughed, breaking the spell. "Sounds like someone has trust issues."

I managed a cold smile, though I felt like something vital had been severed inside me. Brooke looked away, her expression closing off again, and the moment was gone.

The game continued for another twenty minutes before gradually losing momentum.

People began drifting off in small groups, heading back to their rooms for the night.

Luca said something to Brooke about meeting up tomorrow for one last run before we all headed home, and I watched as she nodded, a small smile touching her lips.

I ignored the twist in my stomach, turning to Sam with a deliberately bright smile. "Ready to head back? I'm exhausted."

He nodded, but before we could leave, Julian pulled him aside, saying something about borrowing his phone charger.

I found myself standing awkwardly alone as our group began to disperse, until suddenly, impossibly, Brooke was beside me—neither of us quite looking at the other, both apparently heading in the same direction.

We fell into step together, walking down the corridor that led to our room. The silence between us was a living thing, heavy with all the words we weren't saying. Our footsteps echoed on the polished floor, the sound strangely intimate in the empty hallway.

"So," I said finally, unable to bear it any longer. "This is your new thing? Getting cozy with snowboard boy?"

I cringed inwardly at how petty it sounded, how transparent. But I couldn't seem to stop myself from pushing, from prodding at the wound between us.

Brooke didn't look at me, her gaze fixed straight ahead. "Didn't know I needed your permission."

"You don't," I shot back, too quickly. "I just didn't peg you as the let's-sit-in-a-circle-and-laugh type."

She finally glanced at me, her expression cool and unreadable in the dim hallway lighting. "Didn't peg you as the jealous type."

The accusation hit like a slap. "I'm not," I insisted, the denial automatic even as something inside me whispered, Liar .

Brooke's smile was subtle and sharp, barely a curve of her lips. "If you say so."

I stopped walking for a second, thrown off balance by the quiet certainty in her voice. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She barely slowed, not even looking back at me. "Nothing. Just sounds like you're trying to convince yourself."

Anger flared, hot and bright—not at her, though I pretended it was, but at myself. At how easily she seemed to see through me when I barely understood what was happening in my own heart.

"God, you're annoying," I muttered, catching up to her in quick strides.

"Right back at you," she replied, the evenness of her tone only fueling my frustration.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn't calm—it was charged, like static electricity waiting to spark. Every step felt like it was dragging us closer to something neither of us was prepared to name, to face.

We reached our door, and I fumbled with the key, suddenly clumsy with nerves. The lock stuck a little, as if the universe itself was reluctant to let us back in together. When it finally clicked open, we stepped into the warm, dim room and shut the door behind us.

I tossed my coat onto my bed with more force than necessary, the action releasing some of the tension coiled tight in my chest.

"What is your problem?" I demanded, turning to face her fully. "One minute you're nice, the next you're ignoring me, and now you're glued to some random guy like you've known him for years."

Brooke peeled off her jacket slowly, deliberately, her movements controlled in contrast to my building agitation. "We talked for maybe ten minutes," she said, hanging her jacket in the closet with careful precision. "But you've clearly been keeping track."

"Don't flatter yourself," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest, protective armor against the truth in her words.

"Wasn't trying to."

A beat of silence stretched between us. When Brooke spoke again, her voice was softer—but not kinder. It was the softness of a blade perfectly honed.

"You're the one who said you didn't want anything from me." Her eyes finally met mine, dark and too knowing. "Don't get pissed just because I took your word for it."

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. What could I say? That I hadn't meant it? That I didn't know what I wanted? That every time I thought I had figured out where Brooke Winters fit in my life, the ground shifted beneath me again?

Brooke looked away first, turning toward her bed. "You don't get to want nothing and everything at the same time, Madeline."

I swallowed hard, the truth of her words scraping raw against something vulnerable inside me.

For a moment, I almost broke—almost let the messy, honest words tumble out.

Almost admitted that I was scared, confused, caught between who I thought I was and who I felt myself becoming whenever she was near.

Instead, I retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a quiet click. I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, the careful mask of Madeline Hayes slipping dangerously out of place.

"Get it together," I whispered to my reflection. "What is wrong with you?"

But I knew what was wrong, even if I couldn't admit it out loud. Brooke Winters had somehow worked her way under my skin, into places I'd kept carefully guarded. She saw me—not the version I presented to the world, but something truer, something I wasn't sure I was ready to face myself.

I went through my nighttime routine, washing away makeup, applying face cream, brushing teeth. Normal actions that should have grounded me but instead felt like going through the motions, a performance of normalcy when everything inside me felt anything but normal.

When I finally emerged, Brooke was already in her bed, book open in her lap. The silence between us felt both brittle and heavy, charged with too many unspoken things.

I slipped into my own bed, keeping my back to her, staring at the wall as if it might offer answers to questions I was afraid to ask.

"I didn't mean to make you mad earlier," Brooke said suddenly, her voice quiet in the stillness of our room. "When I walked away after the race."

The unexpected olive branch caught me off guard. I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, not quite ready to face her directly.

"You didn't make me mad," I lied, then sighed. "Okay, maybe a little. I was just... I thought we were okay. After the bar the other night, I thought..."

"Thought what?" she prompted when I didn't continue.

I thought maybe we were friends. I thought maybe we could be something more than the boxes we'd been put in. I thought maybe you were seeing the real me, not just the version I show everyone else.

"I don't know," I said instead, the truth too raw, too complicated to voice.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Brooke said, her voice soft but clear in the dim room. "You don't know what you want. Or maybe you do know, but you're afraid to admit it."

I turned my head to look at her then. She was sitting up in bed, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, the blue of her blouse replaced by a simple gray sleep shirt.

In the soft light filtering through the curtains, she looked younger somehow, more vulnerable. But her eyes were steady, unflinching.

"What about you?" I challenged, deflecting. "What do you want, Brooke?"

Something flickered across her face—hesitation, maybe, or resignation. "Clarity," she said finally. "I want people to mean what they say. I want..." She paused, seeming to choose her next words carefully. "I want to not feel like I'm constantly trying to decode someone's mixed signals."

The accusation was clear, even unspoken. I was the one sending mixed signals. I was the one who couldn't decide what I wanted.

"It's not that simple," I said, pushing myself up to sitting, suddenly needing to be on equal footing. "You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me," she interrupted, an edge of frustration breaking through her usual composure.

"Explain why you can sit and talk with me for hours at a bar one night, then completely ignore me the next day.

Explain why you look at me like... like that , then tell me you don't want anything from me.

Explain why you get jealous when I talk to someone else, then go back to your boyfriend like nothing happened. "

Her words hit with devastating accuracy, each one finding its mark. I flinched, unable to meet her gaze.

"I don't know how to explain it," I admitted, the confession barely audible. "I don't know how to make sense of any of this."

"Any of what, Madeline?" she pressed. "Just say it. For once, just say what you're actually thinking instead of what you think you're supposed to say."

The challenge hung between us, impossible to ignore. I took a deep breath, searching for words that felt true, that felt honest.

"I like spending time with you," I said finally, the admission feeling like stepping off a cliff.

"When we're together, I feel... different.

Like I can just be me, not the version of me everyone expects.

" I traced a pattern on my blanket, still not looking at her.

"And it scares me. Because I don't even know who that person is most of the time. "

Brooke was quiet for a long moment, and I forced myself to look up, to meet her gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were softer than they had been all day.

"Do you want to know what I see?" she asked, her voice gentle in a way that made my heart ache.

"I see someone trying so hard to be perfect that she's afraid to let anyone see the cracks.

I see someone surrounded by people but still lonely.

I see someone capable of being real, being genuine, but terrified of what happens if she lets that show. "

Her words stripped me bare, leaving nowhere to hide. I wanted to deflect, to deny, to throw up the walls I'd spent years perfecting. But I was tired of hiding, tired of pretending.

"Maybe you're right," I whispered, the admission both terrifying and somehow freeing. "But I don't know how to be any other way."

"You could start by being honest," she suggested, a hint of the old Brooke—sarcastic, challenging—creeping back into her voice. "With yourself, if no one else."

I hugged my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling very young and very lost. "And what if I don't like what I find?"

Brooke's smile was small but genuine. "That's the risk, isn't it? But maybe what you find is better than what you're hiding from."

Our eyes held across the space between our beds—a chasm that suddenly felt both too wide and not wide enough. There was something in her gaze that made my breath catch, something that felt dangerously close to understanding, to acceptance.

"I should sleep," I said abruptly, breaking the moment before it could pull me in deeper. "Early start tomorrow. Last day on the slopes."

Disappointment flickered across her face, there and gone so quickly I almost missed it. "Yeah," she agreed, settling back against her pillows. "Goodnight, Madeline."

"Goodnight, Brooke."

I lay back down, turning to face the wall again, feeling the weight of all the things still unsaid pressing down on me. As the silence stretched between us, I could hear Brooke's breathing gradually evening out, slowing as she drifted toward sleep.

But I remained awake, staring into the darkness, replaying her words in my mind: You don't get to want nothing and everything at the same time.

The truth of it settled over me, uncomfortable but undeniable. I couldn't keep pretending I didn't feel something for Brooke, couldn't keep sending mixed signals, couldn't keep hiding behind the perfect facade I'd spent years constructing.

Be honest with yourself, if no one else.

What did I want? The question echoed in my mind, demanding an answer I wasn't sure I was ready to give.