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CHAPTER TWENTY

Reggie

I sit alone on the soft couch. The living room is dimly lit, bathed in the soft, eerie glow of the blue screen of the television, but my eyes aren't on it.

Braden's absence hangs heavy in the air and Kenzie's disappearance feels like a void.

Ambrose is secluded in his room, the door firmly closed as if to shut out the world.

When I knocked earlier, he offered nothing more than a gruff mumble about needing space. I understand; we're all disoriented, struggling to find our footing in this sudden upheaval.

But me? I feel hollowed out.

It feels as though everything is slipping away before I even had the chance to truly grasp it.

I swipe to our group chat, now eerily silent, the last message from Braden a simple thumbs-up emoji. That small, meaningless icon hits me with a force I can't explain.

I miss her. Kenzie. Her infectious laugh that could light up a room. The way her cheeks turn rosy when I tease her, a delightful blend of embarrassment and amusement. Her sharp, quick wit that keeps me constantly on my toes.

And Braden…damn, I miss him too.

I drum my fingers against my thigh, a futile attempt to steady my racing thoughts. But nothing about this moment feels stable. It's all unraveling, thread by thread, slipping through my grasp. I pull myself out of my thoughts enough to step outside for some fresh air.

Above, the stars are scattered like diamonds across the inky sky, twinkling with a clarity that almost takes my breath away.

I pause on the porch, tilting my head back, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my jacket. Each breath I take blooms into a cloud of mist in the chill, but the cold doesn’t faze me.

My thoughts turn to Kenzie, her eyes sparkling with excitement whenever she talked about her dreams of traveling, and how perfectly she seems to fit in the curve of my arm when we slept.

Then there's Braden, with his quiet strength and the way he shields us all with unwavering dedication, even when he’s hurting inside. And Ambrose, with his solid presence, gruff exterior, yet a warmth that radiates from beneath—a true protector, a father figure.

I swallow hard, the fear and excitement tangling in my stomach. It’s terrifying, yet for the first time in my life, I want something this much, and the longing feels both daunting and exhilarating.

My thumb hovers over the Instagram icon, a familiar ritual that seems to happen almost instinctively now.

I type in the name Brooks Bailey and press search. His page loads quickly, and bright, vivid photos flood my screen, each one a snapshot of a life filled with joy and love. There's Brooks, his grin wide and infectious, flanked by Ally and their trio of rambunctious children: Marcus, Elise, and Derek.

Each a perfect little chaos-maker in their own right.

I swipe through the images, pausing on one where Ally stands on the ice in her jersey, a beacon of balance and strength, holding Elise's tiny hand as the little girl wobbles uncertainly on skates, eyes wide with both fear and excitement.

Another photo shows Nick and Tyler, bundled up in puffy jackets, diligently constructing a snow fort in the backyard, while Brooks stands triumphant, holding up a steaming mug of hot chocolate as if he’s celebrating some small, but significant victory.

My finger lingers over a picture from their wedding in Cabo.

Ally dazzles in a mermaid dress that hugs her figure, while Brooks stands beside her, dashing in a sharp suit. Nick and Tyler are there too, steadfast by his side, a testament to the bonds they've formed.

I’ve always understood what this moment represents. It’s something everyone on the team has whispered about, a secret that isn’t really a secret.

But seeing it displayed so plainly in these images, it feels undeniable. It’s not strange, not scandalous. Instead, it radiates a sense of rightness.

Everything about it looks perfect, happy, and whole.

A pang hits me deep in my chest, resonating with longing. Could that be us one day? Me, Ambrose, Braden, if he decides to return, and Kenzie?

Would we fit together as seamlessly as they do?

I nibble on the inside of my cheek, regret lingering.

I want to reach out to Brooks, to ask him the questions swirling in my mind.

I need to.

But doubt creeps in.

What if I’m wrong?

What if he takes offense at my questioning and accuses me of prying?

I hesitate for a moment longer, my fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen, before I type.

With a deep breath, I hit send.

Hey, man. You around? Need to talk about something.

The screen lights up almost instantly, casting a blue glow in the dim room.

Yeah, what’s up?

My fingers hover over the keyboard, uncertainty weighing them down before I finally type.

Can we meet? Burger Barn?

There's a pause, and I can feel my heartbeat quickening, a drumroll in my chest.

The text appears on the screen quickly.

Sure. 7?

Perfect. Thanks.

I exhale deeply, the tension slowly leaving my body.

Still, the clock on the wall shows 6:30, urging me to move.

I snatch my car keys from the kitchen counter and push open the front door. I pull my coat inward as I hit the cold air, sharp and invigorating, while the comforting smell of woodsmoke drifts from a neighbor’s chimney.

Could we really make it work, the way Brooks and his crew do?

The vision forms in my mind. Us living in a cozy house, raising a child or two. Family dinners laden with laughter and stories. Weekend trips to new places.

A shared life full of moments and memories.

I pull into the Burger Barn parking lot. As soon as I open the car door, my stomach grumbles.

Brooks stands casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. The soft neon light highlights the weary lines etched around his eyes, but his face brightens with a genuine smile when he spots me.

"Reggie. What’s going on?" he calls out, his voice warm and inviting.

I attempt a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. "Needed to talk to someone who…understands," I reply, my voice tinged with apprehension.

His eyebrows arch slightly in curiosity, but he doesn't press for more. "C’mon, let’s grab a booth," he suggests, gesturing toward the entrance.

Inside, the air is fragrant with the mouthwatering blend of burgers, fries, and milkshakes. The sizzle of frying food crackles from the open kitchen, punctuating the low murmur of conversations that fill the diner.

As I slide into the red vinyl booth, it clings to my jacket with a hushed squeak.

Brooks takes charge, ordering for both of us. Double cheeseburgers, crispy fries, and two rich chocolate malts.

The waitress moves swiftly, her pen scratching against the notepad as she captures our order.

Once she departs, I lean forward, lowering my voice. "Look…I know about you, Ally, Nick, and Tyler," I confess, my heart pounding in my chest.

Brooks freezes momentarily, his eyes narrowing before he lets out a soft laugh. "Figured you’d catch on eventually," he admits, a hint of amusement in his tone.

I exhale, feeling a weight lift. "I need advice. About…us. Me, Ambrose, Braden…and Kenzie," I confess, the names tumbling out in a rush.

Brooks lets out a low whistle, shaking his head with a knowing grin. "Well, shit," he says, a twinkle in his eye. "Welcome to the club."

I lean forward, elbows resting on the sticky red table, the tacky surface clinging slightly to my skin. My voice is low, almost a whisper, laced with urgency. “Mate, I need help. I’m bloody lost here.”

Brooks sits across from me, his expression softening with concern as he nods. “Tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”

I take a deep, measured breath, I recount the story, how it all began so casually, just a bit of fun, but then it transformed into something deeper, something more profound.

How Kenzie slipped seamlessly into our lives, as though she had always been meant to be there. How Braden, ever the steady and emotional anchor, had been our glue, until the pressure became too much, and he snapped, disappearing without a word.

“And Kenzie, she’s been sick,” I continue, my voice growing tighter with each word. “Like, properly sick. Ally told us to give her space, but…it’s been ages now. I feel like she’s pulling away.”

Just then, our food arrives, the plates clinking softly against the table. The burger in front of me is hot, the grease glistening and seeping into the toasted bun as I take a bite.

Brooks chews thoughtfully, his brow furrowed as he processes my words. “Yeah…sounds rough. But it’s not uncommon. It’s a lot for everyone. You gotta talk, man. All of you. Communication’s the only thing that holds this kind of thing together.”

I nod, swallowing hard, the bite of food sticking in my throat. “Braden’s the talker. He kept us balanced. Now he’s gone, and I feel like we’re losing her.”

Brooks sighs deeply, his eyes meeting mine with a steady gaze. “Then it’s on you and Ambrose. You need to step up. Show her you’re serious. Show her you can be that guy too.”

I pick at my fries, each grain of salt clinging to my fingertips as Brooks’ words settle into the air between us. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, his voice calm yet firm, resonating with a sense of quiet authority.

"Look," he begins, leaning forward slightly, "when we started seeing Ally, we fumbled too. We all had different ideas of what this was supposed to be. But we figured it out because we communicated. We made sure she felt safe, that she understood we were all committed."

I nod, chewing and swallowing another mouthful, though the burger's juicy richness barely registers on my taste buds. "But what if she doesn't want to hear it?" I ask, a hint of frustration coloring my voice. "She’s so…guarded, like she’s constantly bracing herself for us to just up and leave."

Brooks leans back in his chair, his eyes meeting mine with a knowing look. "She’s scared. That’s normal," he replies, his tone gentle but insistent. "But you can’t let her drift off because of it. You need to show up for her. Even if she tries to push you away, prove to her that you’re here to stay."

I take a long sip of my malt, the sweetness momentarily distracting me from my thoughts. "Braden," I continue, a wistful note creeping into my voice, "he was the heart of it all. He could make her laugh even when Ambrose was sulking and I was being…well, me."

Brooks chuckles softly, a warm sound that cuts through the tension. "I get it," he says with a reassuring nod. "But people grow into their roles over time. You’ll figure it out. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real."

His words sink into me, grounding me like an anchor.

Real. We can strive for that.

I absentmindedly push a crispy fry through a thick smear of ketchup, my appetite finally making a slow return after hours of worry. “We tried the romance stuff,” I say, recalling evenings spent reading Braden’s heartfelt poems and Ambrose’s invigorating morning runs with her, “but it’s like she’s pulling back. She’s been sick a lot lately. I mean, Ally mentioned it’s just a stomach bug, but it’s been dragging on for weeks.”

Brooks leans back in his chair, his brow creasing with concern. “That’s tough. I know Ally checked in on her. If she’s not alarmed, it’s probably nothing major. But…sometimes there’s more beneath the surface than what we can see.”

I nod, but a persistent unease churns in my stomach. “Kenzie’s not one to complain. She tackles everything head-on. But I don’t want to overwhelm her. I just…”

“You care,” Brooks cuts in, his eyes meeting mine with understanding. “That’s a good thing. Just don’t let your concern make you pull away. Women like Ally, and probably Kenzie too, they need to know you’ll stick around even when they insist they’re fine.”

The image of Kenzie’s weary face flashes in my mind, her eyes shadowed with fatigue, yet still trying to maintain her strength.

I take a sip of my drink. It’s diluted now, but the coolness soothes my throat. “I just…I’m falling for her, mate. Like, properly.”

Brooks grins, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I figured. Welcome to the chaos. Now hold on tight.”

Our plates are nearly empty, crumbs scattered across them, when Brooks leans back in his chair, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Ally came home right after seeing Kenzie the other day,” he says, his voice casual yet probing. “She didn’t seem worried. But you know how she is, doctor first, best friend second. She won’t break that confidentiality.”

I nod, folding the napkin in my lap and wiping my mouth with it. “I respect that,” I reply, though a knot of frustration tightens in my chest. “But it’s hard not knowing what’s going on.”

Brooks chuckles, the sound deep and reassuring. “Get used to it. In these kinds of relationships, you’ll never know everything. You’re not entitled to it. You just have to trust her to let you in when she’s ready.”

His words settle heavily on my shoulders, the weight of them unexpected. Trust. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?

We steer the conversation toward hockey, dissecting strategies for the upcoming season, but my mind drifts. I nod along, feigning interest, but my thoughts loop back to Kenzie, circling like restless birds.

As we stand to leave, Brooks claps me on the back with a hearty thud, his hand solid and grounding. “We should do this again. Anytime you need to talk, just call me.”

“Thanks, Brooks. Really,” I say, meeting his steady gaze.

Stepping outside, I feel sobered by the conversation.

I watch Brooks’ drive off, his car’s taillights glowing like embers disappearing into the night, my eyes clinging to the lights as I think on the comfort he’s provided me in just one conversation.

I climb into my car, the leather seat creaking under my weight. My eyes catch my reflection, I look at myself for a moment.

Time to step up.

Time to prove to Kenzie that I’m here for her.

That we’re all here for her.

If she’ll let us be.

My phone buzzes softly in my hand, the screen illuminating with the group chat.

It's been silent except for the last exchange about Braden's departure.

A knot forms in my stomach as I think about him venturing alone to Russia, a place that seems so far and foreign.

I shake my head, attempting to dislodge the worry that clings to my thoughts like a persistent cobweb.

Deciding to distract myself, I quickly type out a message to Ambrose.

Fancy a pint? Surf’s Up?

I tap my fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel, the textured leather cool beneath my touch, as I await his response. The soft purr of the car engine vibrates through the seat.

A minute later, my phone vibrates again, and I see his reply flash on the screen.

Yeah. Give me 15.

I exhale deeply.

I turn up the radio, letting the familiar riffs of classic rock flow through the speakers and fill the space around me.

Shifting into gear, I pull out of the lot, tires splashing through small puddles, and head toward the familiar neon glow of Surf’s Up.