Page 40

Chapter 39

Lia

The only thing that brings any sort of relief is when we open the door to Brooks’ place and Rocky greets us. He wiggles his nub of a tail when he sees me.

“I think he remembers you,” Brooks says.

I can’t respond. There are so many things I want to say but I simply don’t have it in me.

I squat and put my hands, which are practically numb with cold, behind Rocky’s ears. I pet him, the warmth feeling heavenly on my still shaking fingers.

Brooks locks the door behind us, sets the alarm, and grabs my bags. “I’ll show you the guest room,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, I pull myself from Rocky and follow Brooks. I hate that I need his help. I feel like I don’t fit here, or with him. The only reason I didn’t call Shelbie is because I’m so drained, I wouldn’t be able to give her any of the details she’d ask for. I’m absolutely tapped out.

My legs carry me up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. Brooks sets my bags on the floor and opens a door.

“There’s a full bathroom right here. You should have everything you need but let me know if you don’t.” Brooks grabs a couple towels from the cabinet and places them on the counter. His eyes don’t find mine as he steps around me, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

I turn the water on and strip down. My body shakes as I lose the layers, and I can’t tell if I’m in shock or truly that cold. The shower has body wash and luxury shampoo and conditioner. It doesn’t matter—all I want is the hot water.

Steam starts to fill the room as I step into the shower, letting the almost too hot water hit my body. I lower myself to the shower floor, pull my knees to my chest, and let my head fall forward. The steam surrounds me as I try to pull in a slow breath, the type that fills my chest and expands my lungs.

It takes a few tries but I’m finally able to do it. I focus on my breathing, recognizing my heart rate as I flex and stretch my fingers. My joints ache from the stress of tonight—some of it good and unexpected, but most of it not. After a few minutes of hot water and catching my breath, my brain fog lifts a little.

My apartment. The place I’ve poured my soul into and made my own. The first place that felt like home since my parents. Wrecked. The things I’ve worked long hours for, sacrificed sleep and time with friends and family—all ruined. I start thinking of what I’ve lost just in my bedroom alone, and the number hits me hard.

Brooks. Standing there with someone else like that. Maybe he preferred we kept this a secret because he had other plans? Before the thought is complete, I’m already doubting it. I don’t know the whole story, or any of it really, but I don’t believe that’s the kind of man he is.

It still hurts. Being in the dark, choking on the doubt of the two of us. What does this mean? What happened tonight?

What happens next?

I stand to wash my hair and scrub my skin. The water soothes me until it starts to run cool. When I get out and wrap the towel around me, I realize I don’t have any dry clothes to put on in here. In the guest bedroom, I see a few of Brooks’ things folded at the end of the bed, presumably for me to wear. Pulling on a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie, I wrap my hair in a towel .

In the bathroom, I find the cream for my skin. I still have rough patches I can’t get to go away, and they’re sensitive from being in the hot water for too long. I also put moisturizer on my face, considering I wore ceiling water before drying it out with tears and a shower that probably lasted twenty minutes too long.

I take my hair down and shake it out, towel-drying the ends before putting it in a French braid. My arms ache from holding them this way, my joints and muscles screaming in exhaustion.

I’m as put together as I can handle when I step into the hallway, looking for signs of Brooks. I don’t see him but Rocky is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He starts to wiggle and tap his feet as I slowly take the stairs. I don’t smile, but I do feel a lightness in my chest.

I walk to the living room, and Rocky follows as I sit on the floor with my back resting against the couch. My legs straddle out in a V and Rocky gets comfortable, sitting between my legs. My arms wrap around him and move to pet him. He lolls his head to the side while I rest my head on his back. The rhythm of his breathing continues to calm me down. It’s like he knew I needed something.

We sit like that for a few minutes until Brooks comes in.

“There you are,” he says. “He must seriously like you because I just put food in his bowl, and he abandoned it. Definitely a first.” Brooks sits on the couch across from us, elbows resting on his knees as his hands rub together. “I’m guessing you didn’t eat. I ordered some food, and it should be here any minute.”

My stomach rumbles at the mention of food. I haven’t eaten since lunch with Wes. I didn’t even get to finish my Doritos—there was no way I was going to have orange fingers in the presence of an NBA great like Blake.

“We can talk about as much or as little as you want, but I need to say a few things,” Brooks states. “One, you can stay here for as long as you need. There’s the guest bedroom and tons of space. Two, the thing with Rebecca was not what it looked like. And three, whenever you want, I’d like to hear about you and Blake tonight.”

The mention of Blake makes it feel like everything happened days ago, but it was literally today. It’s only been a few hours since I was riding the high of my dreams coming true and not sucking at it—or at least, that’s what it felt like in the moment. Now, I’m not so sure.

Brooks’ phone dings and he stands to go to the door. He comes back with bags of food and walks to the kitchen. I follow him, with Rocky following me, and sit at the bar. There are a few containers of soup, salsa and queso, chicken tenders, and a few sandwiches. Definitely all from different places.

“I tried to think of what comfort food you might want.” Brooks puts out silverware and a glass of water, then sits next to me, putting a few things on a plate. I pour soup into a bowl and grab a spoon.

We eat in silence, except for the crunch of Rocky eating his own food. Each bite of food makes me feel more like a person and not something floating through space. I’m not sure how much I have left in me, but I’m thankful Brooks thought of this and didn’t leave me alone, like I probably made it seem like I wanted.

Maybe I thought I did. But I really don’t.

After I’ve eaten a bit of everything, I lean back in my bar stool, looking at the clock. I watch the minutes go by before I finally grab the remaining courage I have to say, “Okay. I want to hear about Rebecca.”

My words hang in the kitchen and a pit opens in my stomach. I’m terrified for what could come next.