Page 91 of Love and Other Chances

“Teegan?” Brooks voice snaps me back to the present. “What’s wrong?”

“How’d you get in here?” I ask, ignoring his question and jumping to my feet.

“The door was unlocked,” Brooks says, eyes assessing me. “What’s wrong, Sneaks?”

“Nope, don’t, please don’t call me that right now,” I say, frantic. The pacing starts again. “I don’t think . . . I can’t think.”

“Teegan, tell me what happened,” Brooks says, voice calm.

“My dad, he . . .” I trail off. Brooks’ eyes widen with panic, and I realize the fear my half-formed thought induced in him. “No, he’s fine. He called to ask me . . . he’s been dating someone. He wants me to meet her. He wants to propose to her someday, maybe.”

Brooks looks visibly relieved but also confused. IknowI’m being confusing. Ridiculous. Butknowingisn’t stopping it.

“If he marries someone else, he can’t be with my mom,” I state.

I hear my own absurdity. The childishness.

“I know it’s dumb to think they were going to get back together. I’m not ten years old. But still, I . . . I wished for it. When neither of them ever dated or moved on all these years. When they stayed friends. They used to be so in love. I remember it. And I wished for it again. But there’s no second chance.”

Brooks’ face is blurry now, thick tears welling up in my eyes but not spilling over. He strides toward me and reaches to take my hand in his. I snatch it back.

“I don’t think . . . I think this may not be a good idea,” I say, voice wobbly. “We rushed into this, fell into each other again because it was so familiar. But I didn’t really think through what this would mean, what it could mean, being together. I don’t think we—”

“No, Teegan,” Brooks cuts me off, voice commanding. He takes both of my hands, not allowing me to pull away. “No. Stop it. We’re not doing that.”

He takes my face in his hands. His firm touch grounds me, but I still struggle to breathe.

“You forget that Iknowyou, Teegan. That we’re practically the same person. I know what you’re doing because it’s exactly what my first instinct would be,” he says, voice gathering strength. “You’re trying to avoid the potential pain of us not working out, of me someday leaving. You’re trying to avoid it by pushing me away now. But you’re not doing that.We’re not doing that.”

I gasp for air as the tears finally spill out. Brooks’ thumbs gently brush both of my cheeks. He continues, “We’re going to face whatever future pain may come. You were there with me in the thick of my grief remembering my mom, and your presence made me realize I didn’thave to face it alone. That Icouldface it since I wasn’t alone. So, we’re going to face all the pain together. Because we werealwaysmeant to be together, Sneaks. I’m not going to let either one of us run away from each other out of fear of heartache. It’s us against the pain, together. Forever.”

His words breathe oxygen back into my lungs. His confidence slows my runaway heartbeat. His assuring eyes pull me back to what’s true.

Us against the pain. It’s us. It’s everything.

I lean into Brooks and let myself cry. My mind stops trying to escape, stops the attempts to flee. I stand in his arms and let myself feel it. All of it—every bad emotion I’ve been suppressing the past few months floods over me.

The dejection from my dad’s news, as immature as it may be. The deflating reality that their relationship is concretely, forever over. The terror of the unknowns. The possibility that I could be hurt like that by Brooks someday. The fear of being honest and experiencing Kent and Rachel’s disappointment in me. The unease that it could be a mistake to leave Arrow staff to pursue teaching, that their disapproval would prove merited.

And ithurts.

But also . . . Brooks’ firm embrace around me prevents my knees from buckling under the weight of the pain. The gentle scratch of his fingers on my back reminds me that I have things in my life that feel good. His kisses on the top of my head and whispered “I love you's” scream at me that I’m not alone in this.

Us against the pain.

“Here, drink this,” Brooks says, handing me a glass of water. In his other hand, he’s holding a mug of decaf coffee that he brewed and doctored with creamer. I try to reach for that.

“No, water first,” he says firmly, pulling the mug away. “Hydrate.”

After I finally stopped crying (duration unknown), we moved to the living room. Brooks sat me on the couch and cocooned me in fuzzyblankets while he made coffee, which he hands over after I gulp down half the glass of water. He sits down next to me, pulling me close to his side.

“I need to call my dad back,” I mumble. I feel Brooks nod against my head, which is tucked under his chin. I switch to a falsely deep voice, mimicking Brooks. “No, Teegan, you don’t have to do that right now.”

Brooks chuckles, but he doesn’t speak up. I sigh. “I know, I know.”

I reach for my phone right as a call from Logan lights up the screen.

“Ugh,” I groan. Brooks reaches over to tap the answer button, not letting me out of this. I bring the phone to my ear.

---