Daddy's Day Page 14

  I look at Eric with admiration for the man my friend has become. A lesser man would have been a jealous asshole or accused her of cheating because of their insecurities.

  But Eric—and rightfully so—trusted Jessie.

  “Sure, she lied. But it’s because she was covering for Brooke. I’ll bet you a fifth of Jack that they’re over at Brooke’s right now, drinking Miller and eating ice cream.”

  “Is that what Brooke does after all her break ups with Matt?”

  I mean for my words to come off as a light-hearted question, but even I’m surprised by the bitterness that spills out.

  “No, with Matt, there’s a sense of relief. They fight a lot, and then she just ends it and feels relieved to be done with it. Fuck, usually, we celebrate with wings and bourbon. Then a couple of months later, he apologizes with beer and pizza, and it’s all back to square one. But with you: different story.”

  “How so? We only broke up the one time before.”

  “Yeah, and she was a fucking mess after that. Jessie basically moved in for about a month with Brooke and her dad after you left. As Jessie puts it, their diet consisted of Ben and Jerry’s, Vinnie’s, and sour gummy bears.”

  My gaze turns away from Eric and his perfectly coiffed dark hair to my dark green bottle of beer.

  I never knew what Brooke did after our break up, though, really, it was less of a break up and more of me just leaving.

  But I know the significance of Ben & Jerry’s to Brooke. Some people drink scotch to dull their pain, others use drugs, and Brooke uses Ben & Jerry’s. Tame, but it doesn’t negate her pain.

  “You know, I was planning to ask Brooke to come back with me to New York. Win or lose. I was going to ask her to come back with me.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Before I have the chance to answer, Eric holds up his hand to stop.

  “Don’t. Don’t answer that. I realized how stupid it sounded after I asked.”

  “Honestly, before that phone call, I think there may have been a chance. I think that, with all this craziness and our reconnecting, she would have considered it. We aren’t the same scared kids we were all those years ago, you know?”

  “No, we’re adults now with bills and adult problems that we can forget about with booze.”

  With a smile plastered on his face once more, Eric lifts his dark bottle of Budweiser and takes a drink.

  “True, but I hoped that, maybe, we could actually give things an honest try.”

  “But, now, you think otherwise?”

  “Yeah, Mack, I do,” I answer as I wrap my fingers around my damp bottle of Heineken. “I think now, more than ever, that Brooke isn’t going to leave Texas behind. Even for me…for us.”

  Chapter 28

  Brooke

  I’m antsy the entire school day. Even when I’m in my AP History class—my favorite pupils, no less—I struggle to concentrate.

  And they absolutely notice. They have the sense not to question my distracted behavior, though.

  It’s not like everyone doesn’t know what I’m worried about, after all.

  The final decision about the merger is due any minute now. I’m torn between wishing I could get blackout drunk just to avoid this intolerable wait, or the option where I sit by my phone and check it for an update every ten seconds.

  Since drinking on the job is generally frowned upon, I have to be content with option number two. But even so, I don’t have the luxury of checking my phone every ten seconds while I’m working.

  I check the time. Still an hour to go until the end of the school day.

  I never thought I’d wish for my classes to hurry up and end this badly. I love my classes. But this is literally all about saving them—and the school.

  Ironic that the reason I want the school day to end is because of the school itself.

  Suddenly, my phone buzzes against the grain of my wooden desk, and my heart just about leaps out of my chest. I glance at my class.

  “Just check it, Miss Sinclair,” one of my students says, to which the rest of them nod their heads and murmur their agreement.

  I take a deep breath, smile at them, and then check my phone.

  Oh, my god.

  Oh, my god.

  “Miss…?”

  I positively beam at them.

  “We’ve…we’ve won. We’ve won!”

  The uproar of enthusiastic comments and applause is immediate. Suddenly, I’m very happy to still be in school for receiving this news.

  It was all for the kids, after all. And for the teachers.

  No sooner do I think about the teachers that Eric comes tumbling through the classroom door, red-faced and out of breath. He must have run straight from practice to get to me this quickly.

  “We fucking won, Brooke!” he lets out, swearing in his excitement.

  “Language!”

  But nobody cares about Eric’s lapse in professionalism.

  We’ve stopped the merger. Our school is safe.

  The rest of the school day is a whirl of congratulations and pats on the back, of hugs and cheers and I-knew-we-could-do-its.

  One obvious person that was heavily responsible for this result is missing—Dylan. But of course he wouldn’t be on school property. He isn’t a teacher, after all.

  Everyone, of course, ends up at the Touchdown for a victory party, and Jessie has managed to decorate it for our makeshift celebration party. She and Eric even cut their prices in half for the night so that everyone can celebrate just that little bit extra.

  I know that it’s only a matter of time before Dylan shows up. I haven’t even contacted him about the merger being destroyed; likewise, he hasn’t contacted me, either.

  It’s as if we both know that whatever we had is coming to an end. I can’t expect him to stay in Texas, just as he can’t expect me to move to New York.

  We both care about the lives we have so carefully constructed for ourselves, after all. We can’t blame each other for wanting to keep them.

  But still, it doesn’t stop the reality of our situation from stinging.

  Dylan is going to go back to New York, and I’ll be staying here.

  We won’t be together.

  I shake my head slightly. I need to get a grip. I’m drinking and celebrating with the people that I love so much—Eric, Jessie, Helen, and every other teacher who could make it.

  I’m home. And we won.

  I should be ecstatic.

  Then, of course, Dylan shows up precisely as I’m thinking about him, and I quickly divert my eyes from the doorway when he walks in. It makes me realize, in the process, that I’d been anxiously watching the door for his arrival in the first place.

  I can’t face him—not right now. I’ll let him enjoy a few drinks and soak up the gratitude of the entire school faculty, not to mention half the town, it seems.

  Perhaps I can get away with not speaking to him at all. Perhaps Dylan will slink off back to New York without looking for me, and I can go on pretending that that was the reason things ended—just as they had the first time, when he left for Harvard.

  But we’re not kids anymore. I know I can’t avoid Dylan all night, not when I keep catching him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, making to walk towards me until someone stops him in his tracks to congratulate him or buy him a drink.

  Our awkward, agonizing game of cat-and-mouse comes to an abrupt end when I walk out of the women’s bathroom an hour or so later.

  An arm suddenly appears, blocking me off in a corner of the bar between a wall and the body of the person in question.

  Dylan.

  “Brooke,” he whispers into my ear.

  I bring a hand up hurriedly to cover my ear, my face flushing red despite myself.

  “Uh, congrats, Dylan,” I murmur, not looking at him. “The result must mean great things for your career back in New York.”

  “Brooke, stop avoiding me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You are. Now
fucking look at me…please.”

  The juxtaposition of swearing and manners on its own is enough to have me looking up at him, after which Dylan immediately swoops in and kisses me—chastely at first, but then deeper and more passionate as I find myself reciprocating.

  Well, this may well be my final kiss with the man, after all. May as well make it a good one.

  When we break away from each other’s lips, I can tell by the look in Dylan’s eyes that he’s about to ask me something he doesn’t necessarily expect a positive answer to.

  “Come to New York with me, Brooke.”

  “Don’t do this, Dylan. Just don’t. Don’t ask me to.”

  Dylan’s brow furrows in frustration at me. “Brooke, I don’t want this to end. But I can’t stay here. You know I can’t. I’m begging you: come back with me to New York. Let’s start anew there…together. The two of us, as it always should have been.”

  How I wish I could say yes. But I’ve been preparing for this moment ever since I overheard Dylan’s conversation with his bosses. I can’t slip up now.

  I force myself to hold Dylan’s gaze, even though it feels as though my heart may break.

  “You know I can’t, Dylan. My life is here. I don’t want a new life.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t interrupt me, Dylan!” I bite out, raising my voice more than I intended, gaining me looks from curious onlookers.

  I cough slightly before continuing, lowering my voice a little in the process.

  “I didn’t…I didn’t go through this grueling, exhausting, infuriating fight only to turn tail and run off to New York. Especially not with a man who ran off on me years ago.”

  Oh, I can’t believe I just said that.

  I immediately regret the way those words escaped my lips when I see the look on Dylan’s face. Something seems to have broken in his eyes upon hearing me lay out my feelings like that.

  But I can’t take those words back.

  Chapter 29

  Dylan

  I can’t blame Brooke for the words she just uttered, especially when I can see on her face that she regrets having said them.

  Besides, they’re true. I did run out on her.

  Which is why this is my final chance to appeal to Brooke so that we can be together. I just need to convince her that New York would be great for her career—for us.

  Brooke looks as though she half wants to apologize for what she just said, but that something is stopping her—most likely the fact that she meant them, even though they hurt me.

  I force a small smile on my face.

  “It’s okay, Brooke. I get it. That was my fault. Completely and utterly my fault. I’m trying to make up for it now.”

  “If you were making up for it now, you’d stay in Texas.”

  “Brooke, it’s not as if I’m asking you to give up your career. There are so many places where you can teach in New York and truly make a difference. If what we’ve achieved today means anything to you, think of what you could do at some of the most under-privileged schools in the US.”

  I’m forcing myself to stay as level-headed as possible—which is exceedingly difficult—but Brooke looks outraged.

  “Don’t you dare try and emotionally manipulate me here with a ‘think of the kids’ line, Dylan. Just don’t even try. And I could say much the same thing to you, anyway. There are plenty of job opportunities for a lawyer as talented as you are in Texas…not in the least with your father.”

  I sigh in exasperation, running a hand over my face as I do so. This is going even worse than I thought it would.

  I look at Brooke with pleading eyes, willing her to understand my position.

  “I can’t leave my New York job, Brooke. They’ve—”

  “Offered you a partnership if you won this case. I know.”

  Ahh.

  “So you did overhear my conversation.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I did or not. You’ve never even considered the possibility of relocating back to Texas, Dylan. And if you’re not prepared to think about it, why should I? I love my life here…I can’t just give it all up for you.”

  I’m losing this argument, and fast. And I’ve never lost a case.

  “Brooke—”

  “I think she made her point pretty clear, Andrews.”

  I turn around to see who has decided to intervene.

  Matthew Dunn. Of course.

  “Stay out of this, Dunn. It doesn’t concern you.”

  “It seems as if it doesn’t concern you. Brooke’s made her position pretty fucking clear. Now leave her the hell alone to celebrate in peace if you truly care about her.”

  I can feel anger beginning to rise up my throat, threatening to spill out.

  “And who the hell are you to tell me whether to leave Brooke alone or not?”

  Dunn squares up to me, making it clear he won’t back down. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Brooke watching us with a mixture of concern and disappointment on her face.

  “I’m a guy who actually cares about Brooke. Who would give up anything for her.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What are you implying, Dunn? That I don’t care about her?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. You’ve won your case. So head back to that job you’re so proud of and leave her the hell alone.”

  And that does it. Despite part of me desperately not wanting to make a scene in front of Brooke—especially when everyone is celebrating—something in me snaps.

  And I punch Matthew Dunn in the face.

  “You’re just chasing after everything I ever had, you second place son-of-a-bitch!” I exclaim as I hit him again.

  I go to swing again, but Matt blocks the punch and then swings one of his own toward my way. I just barely avoid it.

  “Is that how it looks to you, Andrews? Have you never thought about the fact that I was capable of seeing the worth in things that you so easily cast away?”

  I let out a bitter laugh. “Stop trying to make yourself sound all high-and-mighty. I saw the way you looked at Brooke when I was going out with her. How you lusted after her even when she was kissing me. How—”

  His next punch connects with my face, shutting me up.

  I grin somewhat maniacally.

  And then I tackle Dunn to the floor.

  “Stop it, stop it!” Brooke cries out as the crowd gasps in surprise.

  It’s only just becoming apparent to me that she has been verbally protesting against us fighting from the beginning, but both Dunn and I have ignored it.

  All around us are hushed comments and murmurings of what should we do?

  But all I can think of is my fist pummeling Matthew Dunn’s face, even as a glass smashes beside me and crunches underneath me as I roll away from Dunn, cutting into my side.

  Suddenly, Dunn’s police buddies split us apart and bring us up off the floor.

  “Chief, come on, you know you’re better than this,” one of them shouts out as they drag him up to his feet.

  Dunn’s lip is badly split open, and there’s a bad cut above his eye; when I look down at my right hand, my knuckles are covered in blood. He glares at me when I look back up at him.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Andrews, or so help me god—”

  But he’s interrupted when Brooke marches up to him and slaps him in the face, promptly followed by me receiving the same treatment.

  I definitely deserve it.

  “How dare you?” Brooke bites out, glaring at me. Then she looks at Matt. “And how dare you! I don’t need the two of you fighting over me like dogs! Neither of you have the right!”

  Matt has the decency to look abashed. “Brooke, I—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Matt. Just…go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Matt gives her a lingering glance, but with the help of his friends, he makes his way through the crowd, somewhat limping as he leaves the Touchdown.

  Brooke turns back to me. Her abject fury softens a li
ttle when she sees me clutching at my side; it’s bleeding quite a lot from the nasty cut.

  “Dylan, you need to go to the hospital.”

  “I will, but I’m not finished speaking to you.”

  Brooke looks at me as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

  “Did I not make myself perfectly clear? I’m fairly certain I did.”

  I take her hand, ignoring the slew of onlookers currently watching us.

  “Come with me to New York. Please. I want to live my life with you.”

  Brooke shakes her head sadly. “No. You want to live your life with me on your terms. There’s a difference. And it’s not a difference I can live with. I’m staying here, and I won’t make your position worse by asking you to stay.”

  “Brooke—”

  She forces a smile on her face as she brings a hand up to my lips to shut me up.

  “There’s nothing wrong with us both prioritizing our jobs. Nothing at all. Maybe in another life, we could have made this work, but here and now…we can’t. You know we can’t. And I think you always knew it.”

  Then Brooke kisses me gently, and it feels very much like goodbye.

  I don’t know what to say—I have no more words left.

  And so, with one last pleading look at the woman in front of me, and then a passive once-over of the crowd as they quickly avert their gaze from the two of us, I steel myself up for the truth.

  Brooke and I are over.

  Suddenly, I can’t face Brooke. I catch sight of Eric and Jessie, both looking concerned and surprised, and I find I can’t face them, either. I can’t face anyone.

  And so, I leave the bar without so much as a glance over my shoulder, clutching at my bleeding side just as much as I’m holding in my wounded pride.

  I couldn’t have picked a classier way to leave Texas, could I?

  Chapter 30

  Brooke

  I definitely made the right decision.

  Right?

  It was the only sensible decision to make.

  Cutting Dylan out of my life was totally, completely the right decision. So why do I feel like crap?

  He’s only been gone for a couple days, and yet I know I’m already missing him. But I can’t. I can’t afford to.