Page 96 of Love and Other Chances

They point to Connor, who groans dramatically.

After my Bible study with the AOPis that night, I drive to Brooks’ apartment. I didn’t tell the girls about my looming departure because I’ve had enough Band-Aid ripping pain for one day.

It’s time for a little balm.

I knock firmly on the door, but there’s no answer. Glancing down in the parking lot, I see Brooks’ car, so he must be here—unless someone picked him up to go somewhere. Even though it’s 9:00 p.m., that seems a little early for him to be in bed.

Knock knock

Seconds later, I hear footsteps inside, and the door opens. It’s casual, tousled Brooks answering, and I resist the urge to immediately kiss him.

“Sorry, I had ear buds in while I was grading tests. Helps me stay in the zone,” he says. Brooks doesnotresist the urge to immediately kiss me, pulling me to him.

I’m milliseconds away from losing myself in his lips and forgetting my whole purpose for coming. I abruptly jerk away, earning a disappointed whine from Brooks.

“Wait, I came here because I need your help with something,” I say with a laugh. He motions me inside and closes the door behind me. I hold up my diploma and add, “I brought this.”

Brooks quirks an eyebrow. “Okay? Did you think I didn’t believe that you legitimately graduated from Townsend?”

“I brought it in case I need it to apply for my teaching license,” I explain with a smirk.

He stills at my words. “You decided? For sure?”

I nod, and Brooks picks me up to twirl me around. “Sneaks, this is incredible. You’re going to be incredible. I mean, I know you already were incredible on staff here. And I still would have been excited foryou if you had decided that’s where you were still supposed to be. But, you know, this is also incredible.”

After laughing at his overuse of the word “incredible,” I bite my lip to make myself be serious again. “For the record, I’m not deciding this because of you. Well, seeing your passion for your students and being reminded of the impact educators have on kids was a factor. But I’m not choosing this because you want to go back to KCMO someday. After all the praying and thinking and working through that guided journal, the tug toward teaching feels so strong that I know it has to be where God is leading me. And I’m excited to pursue it.”

Throughout my speech, Brooks’ smile has slowly grown. He’s still grinning when his lips meet mine again, but the playfulness quickly vanishes. I break apart and push against his chest, his back hitting the wall. Holding up my diploma again, I say, “Stop distracting me with your lips and help me start this application.”

Brooks chuckles and takes my hand to pull me over to the kitchen table. “Okay, but you’re not going to need your physical diploma for that. We’ll need to order a digital copy of your transcripts.”

As he waits for the laptop to power on, he asks, “So, have you told your Arrow leaders about your decision?”

I nod. “I told them over coffee this morning. And the rest of the staff at our meeting.”

Brooks whistles. “Wow, less than twenty-four hours after returning from facing your dad, and you’re plowing right through another difficult conversation. I’m impressed.”

I know he’s not being facetious because he, of all people, understands how truly monumental it is for me to tackle these conversations. How much easier it would be to keep avoiding, keep escaping by any means possible.

Brooks looks up from the laptop to meet my eyes when I reach over to lace my fingers through his.

“Us against the pain, right?” I murmur.

He pulls my hand up to meet his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, never breaking eye contact. Brooks leans forward to rest his forehead against mine, then whispers a kiss on my cheek.

“Us. Everything. Always.”

Epilogue

Twelve weeks later . . .

Spring sunshine warms my face. A gentle breeze carries the chill from the lake’s surface over my skin. My teal dress ruffles with the breath of wind, and I press closer to Brooks’ side as we walk hand in hand.

“Are you cold?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. “I can find a jacket for you somewhere. I want you to be comfortable and not cold.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s always considerate, but there’s a panic to his question that seems disproportionate to the issue of me being slightly chilly. “I’m fine!” I assure him. He falls silent as we continue walking toward his mom’s bench.

He’s acting weird, but I suppose that’s to be expected, given our destination. Brooks has come a long way in being able to openly talk about his mom without running away from the pain of the memories. We’vebothcome a long way in not running away. Having someone else running into the pain with you really does make all the difference.

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