20. Rory

Chapter twenty

Rory

T he aroma of Mom's lavender hand cream mingled with the earthy scent of Reid's aftershave as they sat side by side on our porch swing, their shoulders touching. I watched from the living window.

A strange cocktail of emotions swirled in my gut. Happiness fizzed at the surface—Mom deserved joy after years of solitude—but beneath that surface understanding lurked an unsettling current of... what? It wasn't quite jealousy—that would be easy enough to categorize. It was more like the disorientation of seeing a familiar landscape suddenly rearranged.

I felt Brooks' presence before his arms encircled my waist. "Spying on the lovebirds?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear.

I leaned back against his solid chest. "They're not lovebirds. They're... I don't know what they are."

"They look like lovebirds to me. I haven't seen them kiss yet, but I bet it's coming soon." Brooks' chuckle vibrated against my body. "Are you okay with that?"

I turned in his arms, staring into the green eyes that still made my heart skip a beat. "I think so. It's just... strange. Good strange, but still strange."

Brooks led me to the sofa, pulling me down beside him. "Talk to me, Ror. What's going on in that head of yours?"

I sighed and rested my head against his shoulder. "It's just... I've spent so long being the only person in Mom's life. After Dad left, it was always just the two of us. And now..."

"Now you're worried about where you fit?"

"Maybe? God, that sounds so selfish." I groaned and buried my face in Brooks' neck.

He pushed me back slightly so we could see each other's faces. "Hey, it's not selfish. It's human. I get it, believe me."

I looked up at him, suddenly remembering. "Oh, shit. Of course, you do. How are you handling it?"

He shrugged. "Honestly? It's a bit of a mindfuck. Part of me is thrilled for Dad. After Mom died, I never thought I'd see him smile like this again. But another part..."

"Feels like you're betraying your mom's memory?" I finished the thought for him.

Brooks nodded. "Yeah. And then, as soon as I think that, I feel guilty for feeling that way because I know Mom would want Dad to be happy."

I squeezed his hand. "Your mom would be proud of you. You came back to take care of your dad. That was an amazing thing to do. You're a great man."

He brought our joined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

We got up and moved closer to the window again, watching our parents. They shared a private laugh, their heads bent close together.

I whispered as I watched, wanting to ensure they didn't hear us. "I can't remember the last time I saw Mom laugh like that. Not since before Dad left, at least."

Brooks nodded. "Same with Dad. It's... it's good, isn't it? They raised us. That's deserving of finding happiness again."

"Yeah," I agreed, surprised to find I meant it. "It really is."

"And hey," Brooks nudged me playfully, "look on the bright side. If they get married, we'll be step-brothers. Kinky."

I snorted, shoving him away. "You're terrible. And if you ever call me bro in bed, I'm dumping your ass."

Brooks waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "What about Daddy? You've got a head start with those distinguished grey hairs."

"That's it," I declared. "I'm leaving you for Silas. At least he knows how to make a decent cup of coffee."

Brooks gasped in mock outrage. "You take that back! My coffee is a gift to humanity!"

As we returned to the sofa and dissolved into laughter, the last of my unease melted away. Whatever changes our parents' relationship might cause, I knew Brooks and I could face them.

"For real though," Brooks said once we'd calmed down. "Are we okay with this? With them?"

I looked out the window again. Mom was showing Reid something on her phone, their shoulders touching as they huddled over the screen. The intimacy of the gesture struck me not with jealousy but with a warm sense of rightness.

"Yeah. We're okay with it. They deserve this. And who knows? Maybe we can teach them a thing or two about romance. Changing the subject, are you ready to get your butt kicked on the ice tomorrow?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh ho, those are fighting words. My team's gonna skate figure eights around yours."

"In your dreams, hotshot." I poked his chest. "I've got plays you've never even imagined."

"Bring it on," he growled, pulling me closer. The playful sparkle in his eyes shifted to something darker, more heated. "Winner gets to—"

A knock at the door interrupted whatever deliciously wicked thing he'd been about to suggest. We sprang apart like guilty teenagers as Mom bustled in, Reid trailing behind.

"There you boys are!" Mom's cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled. "We were thinking of heading to Tidal Grounds for some of Silas' new peach cobbler. Care to join us?"

I glanced at Brooks. "Sure, Mom. That sounds great."

As we walked downtown, the summer twilight painted the sky in watercolor hues. The four of us easily fell into step. Mom and Reid were both well along in their recovery. It was no longer painful to watch them walk. They moved along with comfortable strides instead of short shuffles.

I whispered to Brooks, "Maybe this isn't so strange after all."

He squeezed my hand. "Nah. It's still strange, but it's our strange. And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

***

The next afternoon, the rink buzzed with excitement. Parents and curious onlookers packed the arena's stands.

While we laced up our skates in the new locker room, Brooks cleared his throat. He always did that when he was nervous about something. It immediately caught my attention.

"Hey, can I run something by you?"

I paused and looked at him. "Sure, what's up?"

"I'll just throw it out there. I've been thinking... What would you say to us moving in together?"

I thought it would happen down the road, but I didn't expect the suggestion so soon. "You mean, like... officially?"

He nodded, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. I mean, we're practically living together already. Half my clothes are at your house, and we sleep together now most of the time."

"I thought you were just really bad at doing laundry."

Brooks laughed, shoving me playfully. "Hey, I'll have you know I'm an excellent laundry-doer when properly motivated."

"Oh yeah? And what counts as proper motivation?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You… in nothing but one of my jerseys."

A shiver ran up my spine, and I had to resist the urge to forget about the game entirely and drag Brooks back home to bed. Instead, I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think rationally.

"It's a big step."

Brooks nodded. "I know. And if you're not ready, that's okay. I just... I love waking up next to you and falling asleep to the sound of your breathing. I want that every day… not just most days."

My heart melted at his words. "I want that too, but..."

"But?" Brooks pushed gently.

"Don't you think it might be a bit much for us to move in together officially while Mom and your dad are just starting to figure things out?"

"Ah. You're worried about overwhelming them?"

"Maybe? I don't know. It just feels like a lot of change all at once."

Brooks was quiet for a moment, his right thumb pressing against the soft flesh between my left thumb and index finger. "You're right," he said finally. "It is a lot of change. And we don't need to rush anything."

I squeezed his hand. "It's not a no by any means. It's a not yet. I do want to live with you, officially. Both of our names on the mortgage and the whole nine yards."

His eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Let's give it a little time. Let our parents get more comfortable with... whatever they're doing. And then we can start looking for our own place. Deal?"

Brooks grinned, pulling me in for another kiss. "Deal. And hey, this gives us time to start house hunting. I vote for a place with a big bathtub."

"Noted, but now's the time to focus on the game. Your team's waiting."

After skating out onto the ice, I stood at the bench, surveying my team. Ziggy caught my eye and flashed a thumbs-up. "We got this, Coach Blake!"

"Damn straight we do," I grinned back, then raised my voice. "Alright, listen up! We've worked hard for this. You know your positions, and you know your plays. Most importantly, you know each other. Trust that. Have fun out there, and let's show 'em what Whistleport hockey is all about!"

A cheer rose. The kids had come so far in barely a month.

Across the ice, Brooks gave his own pep talk. From a distance, I watched how his players hung on every word, nodding in agreement.

The referees signaled it was time for the game to commence. As my team filed onto the ice, Brooks caught my eye. He winked, mouthing, "You're going down, Ror."

I smirked back. "In your dreams."

The game was a blur of action. My voice grew hoarse from shouting encouragement and directions. I watched in awe as plays we'd practiced for weeks unfolded flawlessly on the ice. Still, Brooks' team fought hard. They matched us move for move, goal for goal.

In the final period, with the score tied, disaster struck. Jimmy Aldridge, one of our defensemen, took a hard check and went down. The crack of his helmet against the ice echoed through the suddenly silent arena.

Before I could process what had happened, Brooks was there, kneeling beside Jimmy. I rushed over, my heart in my throat.

"Easy there, champ," Brooks spoke in a low, soothing voice. "Don't try to move just yet. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

Jimmy's eyes opened wide with fear, but he managed a shaky nod. "My... my shoulder. And I feel a little sick to my stomach."

I crouched next to Brooks, gently touching Jimmy's uninjured arm. "You're gonna be okay, Jimmy. We've got you."

As the medics arrived to take Jimmy off the ice, I caught Brooks' eye. The game briefly forgotten, we shared a moment of silent communication—relief that it wasn't worse, worry for Jimmy, and a deep, mutual understanding of the responsibility we'd taken on in working with the kids.

The final minutes of the game passed in a frenzy of action. With seconds left on the clock, Ziggy managed an impossible shot that sailed past the goalie's glove. The buzzer sounded, and the crowd erupted.

We'd won, but as I watched Brooks consoling his disappointed players, praising their effort and sportsmanship, I knew the real victory was the fact that the game even took place. The Whistleport Ice Arena was once again the beating heart of our town.

Later, as the cleanup crew tackled the post-game mess, Brooks and I found a quiet corner of the rink. Our adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and a glow of satisfaction.

"Hell of a game." Brooks bumped his shoulder against mine.

I grinned. "You're not a bad coach. That play in the second period? Pure genius."

"And you're no slouch. Ziggy's last-second goal? Man, I thought my heart was gonna stop."

We were silent for a few moments until Brooks spoke up again. "I've played in Stanley Cup playoffs that didn't feel half as important as this game."

I nodded, understanding completely. "It's different when it's not just about winning. When it's about ensuring the kids have a great time… and learn something..."

Brooks turned to face me, his eyes intense. "Rory, I've been thinking—"

Silas ' jovial voice cut off whatever he was about to say. "There you two are! The victory party's at Tidal Grounds. You coming?"

I saw a flicker of... something... cross Brooks' face, but then he plastered on a smile. "Wouldn't miss it. We'll be right there."

As Silas headed off, Brooks took my hand. "If it's okay with you, I hoped we could take a detour first. There's something I want to show you."

He had my full attention as I let him lead me out of the rink and down toward the harbor. The sky was ablaze with sunset colors, painting the water in shades of gold and pink.

Brooks stopped at the end of the old fishing pier. "Close your eyes."

I raised an eyebrow but complied. I heard rustling and then felt something pressed into my hands. "Okay, open them."

I looked down to find a battered, dog-eared copy of Pablo Neruda's love sonnets—the same edition we'd pored over together in high school. A tattered bookmark peeked out from the pages.

With trembling fingers, I opened to the marked page. In the margins, Brooks' familiar scrawl was there: "Rory—I carried this with me to every city, every game. It was my endless connection to home, to you. Now that I'm back where I belong, I don't need it anymore, but I do need you. Always."

I looked up, my vision blurry with unshed tears. Brooks stood before me with a broad smile on his face.

"I carried this book with me for all those years. Whenever I felt lost or alone, I'd open it and read the words we shared. I guess I always believed somehow, somewhere, we'd have our second chance."

He stepped closer, taking my hands in his. "The other day when I thought about being here with you, coaching side by side, building this life together... I realized something. I don't need the book to feel close to you. Because you're right here, and it's more amazing than I ever imagined."

My heart thundered in my chest, overwhelmed by the depth of feeling in his words. "Brooks, I—"

He squeezed my hands gently. "I'm not giving you the book back because I'm tired of the poems. I'm giving it to you because it's a part of our story. And I want to keep writing that story with you, Rory."

I couldn't speak past the lump in my throat. Instead, I pulled him close, pouring everything I felt into a kiss that tasted of salty sweat and a promising future. When we finally parted, both a little breathless, I stared into his eyes.

"I love you, Brooks Bennett," I whispered. "Thank you for coming home."

He smiled, and his gentle grin made my heart skip a beat. "Thank you for being my home."

As we stood on the pier, the book of sonnets cradled between us as the sun sank below the horizon, a wave of happiness swept over me.

"So," Brooks said after a moment, do you think we can still get some of Silas' victory cobbler?"

I laughed, linking my arm through his as we turned back toward town. "Race you there, hotshot."

We jogged down the pier, playfully jostling each other and laughing like kids. It suddenly occurred to me that I'd reached my happily ever after. No grand gestures or fairy tale endings were needed—just us… and love.