Page 40 of The Defender
Maybe I was leaping to conclusions without knowing the full story, but I suspected I was at least half-right.
“What about you?” she asked. “What’s your relationship with your mom like?”
I went along with the deflection. She’d helped me by not mentioning the intruder after we left the police station, and it was my turn to return the favor.
Still, I had to consciously unclench my teeth and breathe through my rising irritation at her mum before I answered. “It’s pretty good. We haven’t lived together since I was six, but Scarlett and I would alternate summers and holidays with our parents, so I still saw her often.”
Most people looked back at their childhood with rose-tinted glasses, and I was no exception. When I thought back on those days, I didn’t remember my parents’ fights and passive aggression; I remembered walks along the Brighton Pier, lazy afternoons by the seaside, and hands sticky with candy floss. Our mum would often buy Scarlett and me ice cream cones if we answered her trivia questions correctly.
She wasn’t perfect, but she did the best she could with what she had. I never forgot that.
“We don’t talk every day, but I know she’s there if I need her, and vice versa. Honestly, it’s better if we don’t talk every day,” I added. “She’s always on me about settling down and giving her grandchildren. There are only so many questions she can ask about my love life before it gets awkward.”
“If you need backup, I’m happy to talk to her and explain why you procreating is a bad idea for the world in general.”
“You’re right. Society couldn’t handle all that charm. Don’t want to break any more hearts than I already do.”
Brooklyn’s lips flattened into a straight line. She managed to keep her serious expression for maybe ten seconds before shecracked and broke out into a laugh. “You’re delusional.” She said it with more indulgence than usual.
I grinned even as an inkling of guilt wormed through my chest.
I’d told her the truth about my mum—my real mum, the only one I’d call by that title—but my relationship with mybirthmother was more complicated. For one, it existed solely in my imagination, and I hated that it was a part of my life at all.
My birth mum had never reached out. Never contacted me, never showed an interest in my life even when I signed with the Premier League and was later named captain of Blackcastle.
My parents had been transparent about my adoption since I was old enough to know what that meant. Apparently, my birth dad hadn’t been part of the process at all. He may not have even known I existed, but I’d grown up fantasizing about meeting my birth mother, if only to see what she was like. However, her silence all these years was cold, clear confirmation that she wanted nothing to do with me no matter how rich or successful I got.
I didn’t know why she gave me up, but it was the uncertainty that killed me—the possibility that, from the moment I was born, someone had already judged me “not good enough.”
I didn’t tell Brooklyn any of that. It was hard enough to admit it to myself without exposing my neuroses to innocent bystanders.
We finished our air hockey match without bringing up our families again. She won the first round, but I beat her by one point in the second. After that, we moved on to the pinball machines until hunger overtook us and we stopped for a quick food break at the attached bar. It didn’t have any tables, just high tops, so we ate while standing.
“I can’t believe we’ve been here for three hours.” Brooklyn checked her watch. “I could’ve sworn we just got here.”
“You know what they say—time flies when you’re having fun.”
We were surrounded by loud teenagers and bad pop music, but I didn’t care. This was exactly what I’d needed after the photo shitshow.
“Thank you for this.” I gestured around us. “I know it’s not how you imagined spending the evening, but I appreciate you hanging out with me. I’m sorry I fucked up your job offer celebration though.”
“You didn’t fuck it up,” Brooklyn said. “I had fun too.”
Her usual playful exasperation was gone, and she sounded sincere, almost shy, as she looked at me.
The pop song in the background transitioned to another one that sounded exactly the same. Or maybe it sounded different. It was hard to tell beyond the sudden pounding of my pulse.
Diners streamed past us, either headed to the bar or back to the arcade, but I barely noticed. They all blurred into one giant, faceless mass behind her.
No matter where we were or how many people were around, Brooklyn could make the rest of the world fall away with one glance. I couldn’t explain how or why. She just…did.
Her gaze darted to my mouth and back up again. I swallowed, my throat dry. I’d never noticed before, but there was a tiny freckle right above her upper lip.
The urge to lean forward and kiss it gripped me.
I dipped my chin. Brooklyn’s lips parted, but she didn’t pull away when I moved closer to her. In fact, she leaned in a fraction of an inch, her expression softening like shewantedme to kiss her, and?—
And she’ll win the bet.
