3. Brooks

Chapter three

Brooks

M y phone chimed, and at first, I thought it was another alarm, calling me to early practice before a game night in Detroit, Vancouver, or Chicago. As it continued, I realized I had an incoming call. When I squinted at the bright screen in the last darkness before dawn, I saw Rory's name and the time—5:12 a.m. A tiny grin played on my lips as I answered.

"Hey," I cleared my throat, trying to chase away the remnants of sleep.

"Brooks." Rory's voice was clear. He'd always been a morning guy, stopping by the rink early to practice before school. Some things didn't change after all. "I got your text, and I hope everything's okay."

I pushed myself up to a sitting position, letting the sheet fall off my shirtless body. "Yeah, I'm sorry it was such a cryptic comment. I just wanted to share a heads-up before getting together later."

"You make it sound like you're contagious."

I chuckled and then took a deep breath. "No, nothing like that, but I wanted to tell you why I'm back in Whistleport. It's my dad. He had an accident, and I'm nursing him back to health."

"Oh, wow." Rory paused. "Is he doing alright? What kind of accident?"

"On the road to recovery." I applied a simple statement applied to an incredibly complicated situation. "It was a bad one. He fell off the roof. Dad's a stubborn man and still insists on doing as much as possible himself. There were multiple fractures and massive blood loss. He almost…" My voice trailed off. It was still difficult to tell the whole story.

Rory's voice was soft and sympathetic. "Oh, Brooks. I'm so sorry. It sounds like such a tough time."

I shifted the phone from one ear to the other. "Yeah, so that's why I'm here. I couldn't... "My voice cracked, and I paused until I could speak again. "I couldn't not come home. Not again."

When Rory responded with silence, I knew he understood what I was saying. He'd been there in Whistleport when Mom died.

"So that's why you left the NHL?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not sure what I will do next, but yeah… have to be here for now."

Rory's voice remained calm and steady. "You made a huge decision."

"I know." I shifted the phone back to my other hand. "But it feels right. I don't think I could have made any other choice."

"I get it." Sincerity was always one of Rory's strong points. He still cared what happened to me. I heard it in his voice. "Listen, if I can help in any way—with your dad, or just, well, anything—let me know. I'm only a call away."

His generosity caught me a little off guard. "Thanks." My throat tightened. "That's very kind."

"It's your dad. He was part of my life, too."

"Yeah." All I could think about was seeing Rory again and letting him wrap his arms tight around me.

"Do you still want to meet at Tidal Grounds later?"

"Oh, man, yeah. I wouldn't miss it." I stopped before I sounded too desperate.

"See you at nine then."

"Perfect. And Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for calling as I asked. I'm happy you did."

"Sure thing." I heard a smile in Rory's voice. "See you soon."

When the call ended, I lay back on my pillow, pulled it around my ears, and stared at the ceiling. The first rays of morning sunshine peeked through my bedroom windows. I knew I'd be with Rory again in a few hours, sitting across the table from him at Tidal Grounds. We'd be face to face, just the two of us, for the first time in more than a decade.

Conflicting emotions raced through my head. I longed for the simplicity of my life in Whistleport, the way it had been many years earlier before NHL scouts found me. The pressure to perform was significantly less. I was always on the rink with a group of my peers.

Now, I'd returned to my town, back to the place where it all began. Was it a step backward? Or did the fates intend me to return all along?

I closed my eyes and did my best to quiet the voices in my head. One voice spoke out above the rest. It told me that despite all the years and physical distance apart, being in Rory's presence still felt like being home.

The next few hours crawled by while I did my best to stay busy, taking care of Dad and squeezing in a quick workout—calisthenics and a jog around the neighborhood. Dad noticed all the nervous energy and muttered, "It's just a kid from your past."

While brushing my teeth after my shower, I stared at myself in the mirror. It was the same face only slightly modified by a couple of scars from hockey collisions and that crooked nose courtesy of "Crusher" Kostandinos. I didn't think I looked so bad, but what would Rory see when he stared across the table?

I walked the familiar route to Tidal Grounds, my shoes scuffing against the uneven sidewalk worn smooth by years of foot traffic. The salty sea air filled my lungs, and the distant clang of buoy bells drifted in from the harbor.

More memories came back. I thought about lazy summer days with Rory, swimming in the ocean, stealing kisses while pressed up against the seaward side of the lighthouse, and speaking in hushed tones about our future dreams.

Ultimately, our plans took us in very different directions. I paused outside the cafe with my hand on the door. It was time. I couldn't hide behind any text messages or phone calls. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the heavy wooden door open.

When I arrived at Tidal Grounds, a blast of warm, cozy air from inside wrapped around me, carrying the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the buttery scent of baking croissants. I shrugged off my jacket and hung it by the door.

Thinking about the meet-up with Rory sent a wave of nostalgia washing over me. As it receded, it left behind a collection of questions. What right did I have to waltz back into his life after all these years? Into the lives of my past friends and neighbors in general? I was a different man from the one who left town. I'd grown harder and more cynical. Would the town still embrace me once they got to know the new version of Brooks Bennett?

I scanned the room, looking past the regulars hunched over their steaming mugs until I spotted Rory in the corner. He'd arrived early and cradled a mug in his hands as he looked out the window. I paused momentarily and concentrated on how the morning light brought out the gold highlights in his hair.

While I listened to the hiss of the espresso machine behind me, I approached and cleared my throat. "Morning."

Rory turned sharply, and his blue eyes met mine. "Brooks! You made it."

I dropped into the chair across from him, my knee accidentally brushing his under the table. We both jumped a little at the contact. "Don't sound so surprised. I said I'd be here."

He chuckled, but there was something in his tone, underlining it, that made me wonder whether he was as nervous as me. "It's true. You did, but punctuality wasn't your strong suit back in high school."

"People change." I heard the defensiveness in my own voice and winced, wondering whether he picked up on it, too.

"More or less." He glanced down at his mug, and I noticed his fingers tightening around it. "Hey, have you ordered yet?"

Before I could answer, Silas appeared at our side, his grin as wide as ever. "Look, it's the prodigal son back again." He shot me a friendly wink. "What can I get you? Name your poison."

"Just a black coffee—no cream, no sugar. Thanks, Silas."

As Silas walked away, Rory raised an eyebrow. "Still drinking the coffee straight up."

I shrugged. "Why fix what's not broken?"

The silence that followed felt heavy. I drummed my fingers on the table until Silas returned with my coffee.

Rory leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Your dad. How is he?"

I took a deep breath, and the words spilled out. I'd encountered few people who were patient enough with me to listen to the details.

I told Rory about the fall, the severity of the injuries, and the slow recovery ahead of us. He listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine, making me acutely aware of how close we were sitting.

When I finished my story, he reached across the table to briefly touch my hand. The warmth of his fingers sent a jolt through me, and I struggled to keep my voice steady as I finished my story.

Rory's voice was soft and sympathetic. "Being a caretaker is stressful. Are you taking care of yourself? Do you have the support that you need?"

I'd been thinking so much about Dad that I didn't really know what I needed. "I think I'm okay. It's been just short of a couple of weeks, and about all I've been able to focus on is Dad. The reading last night was my first evening out."

"You're a good son."

I shook my head. "I don't know about that, but I didn't see any other options. I had to be here."

Rory nodded. "Right." His voice was measured and calm. "This time, you had a choice."

He was on my side, but the guilt still rose again like a yellow-eyed monster. I explained how I felt about missing Mom's final moments and choosing the hockey playoffs over family. Rory listened without a hint of judgment. His presence soothed me.

As we reached the bottoms of our coffee mugs, Rory suggested that we go for a walk. "You look like you could use some fresh air, and the weather is excellent for early spring.

A wave of memories suddenly washed over me. I remembered the last time I'd heard Rory's voice over the phone, years ago, when he called to end our long-distance relationship. The pain of that moment hit me anew, as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

"I can't keep holding onto something that's slipping away," he'd said, his voice cracking. "You need to focus on your career, and I... I need to let you go."

Those words had shattered me. I'd felt helpless, torn between my NHL dreams and the love of my life. In the end, I'd let him go without much of a fight, convincing myself it was for the best, but the hollow ache in my chest had never truly gone away.

He stood up, accidentally knocking his knee against the table. "Sorry, I'm a bit... clumsy today," he mumbled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

As we approached the door, we nodded our goodbyes to Silas. I thought I caught a wink before he turned away.

When we stepped outside, I saw Whistleport coming to life. Cars rumbled down Main Street, their tires splashing through puddles left by rain overnight. Shop owners cranked open colorful awnings with a metallic squeak and flipped Closed signs to Open.

The cool spring air carried a mix of diesel from the fishing boats and the sweet scent of blooming cherry trees lining the sidewalk. As we walked, I inhaled the yeasty aroma of fresh bread from Miller's Bakery.

I turned to face Rory. "You know, this feels a little like stepping into a time capsule. I think Whistleport froze itself in time over twenty years ago."

Rory grinned slightly. "That's our town. It does change, but somehow, it always feels the same. I think I know what you mean." He paused. "Do you remember our Saturday morning ritual?"

I laughed. "How could I forget? We stopped by Miller's to grab two blueberry muffins and a coffee that we split because one was all we could afford on what we made at the Bijou."

"Those coffees were worth every penny," Rory insisted. "Remember that time old Mr. Miller caught us kissing behind the bakery? I thought he was going to ban us for life."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks when the memory came back. "God, yeah. We were so scared. But instead, he just rolled his eyes and mumbled something about 'young love' before he shooed us away."

Rory chuckled, then grew quiet for a moment. "You know, that was the first time I realized how much you meant to me. When you stood up to Mr. Miller, ready to take all the blame... I knew then that what we had was special."

The weight of his words hung between us, full of unspoken emotions. I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. "Yeah, it was... something else," I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

When we approached the town hall, its white columns gleamed in the morning sun. The banner hanging across the entrance made my breath catch in my throat: "Save Whistleport Ice Arena. Town Meeting Tonight."

I paused. "They haven't fixed it yet?"

Rory sighed. "It's a struggle. Did your dad tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I coach the high school team and teach English. I'm right in the middle of the mess over the arena. We had some serious budget cuts, but many people agree with me. There's so much deferred maintenance, but we can't afford to lose it. The town treasures it in the winter. It's where we all come together."

I stared at the banner, my mind racing back to a winter night years ago. "Do you remember the night we snuck into the arena after hours? You were trying to perfect that slap shot, and I..."

"... and you insisted on being there to cheer me on," Rory finished, his voice soft. "How could I forget? That was the night you first kissed me, behind the stands."

I nodded, my throat suddenly tight. "Yeah. I was so nervous I couldn't stop tapping my stick on the floor."

Rory's eyes met mine, mixed emotions swirling in their depths. "That rink... it's where everything started for us, isn't it?"

"It is," I agreed. "And now it needs saving."

We turned onto the boardwalk fronting the harbor. The ocean, an endless glittering expanse, stretched out before us. Lobster boats bobbed at the docks while their crews finished readying themselves for a day on the water.

"Wasn't that old man Guthrie's hardware store?" I nodded toward a fashionable boutique with sundresses in the windows.

Rory smiled. "Yep, it was, and I remember him chasing us out the door when we tried to steal firecrackers for the Fourth of July."

"We were such idiots." I sighed.

"Were we?" I heard a hint of wistfulness in Rory's voice. "Back then, I thought we had it all figured out. Nothing could get in our way. Brooks and Rory for—"

A call from the docks stopped him. "Rory! Hey, Rory!"

A weather-beaten man in his sixties waved from the deck of a lobster boat. Rory waved back, then turned to me. "That's Cap'n Mike. He sometimes takes my English students out and teaches them about the lobster industry. Then I have them write a story with a character who works on a boat."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a pretty cool field trip."

Rory shrugged, but I saw the pride in his eyes. "Just trying to connect them to the town's history, you know? Help them see Whistleport as more than merely a place they're itching to leave."

His words hit close to home, and I stared out at the horizon. In the distance, the lighthouse stood sentinel on its rocky point, a constant amid the changing tides.

"It's strange," I said, pausing to lean against the railing. "Everything looks the same, but it feels... different."

Rory joined me, standing close enough that our shoulders brushed. "Maybe it's not Whistleport that's changed," he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to look at him, really look at him. The years had added maturity to his features, deepening the pull I'd always felt toward him. But his eyes were exactly the same, clear and honest. They had always drawn me in. For a moment, I let myself imagine a different life, one where I had never left, where Rory and I had built something lasting together in our hometown.

Suddenly, reality came crashing back. I was in town for my dad, nothing more. I couldn't afford to get distracted, no matter how tempting something might be.

"I should head back," I said, straightening up and forcing my focus back to the present. "I promised Dad I'd help with his physical therapy this afternoon."

Rory nodded, but there was something—disappointment, maybe?—in his eyes. "Of course, I've got some errands to run. It was good to catch up, Brooks."

As we walked back toward Main Street, we kept the conversation light—local gossip, new businesses in town, mutual acquaintances. Still, underneath it all, I sensed an undercurrent of unfinished business, of things left unsaid between us. With every step, we circled something we both knew was there but were too afraid to confront.

When we reached the corner where we'd part ways, Rory paused, hesitating momentarily before speaking. "Listen, Brooks," he said, his voice careful. "I was serious about offering help if you need it with your dad."

I nodded, my throat tight with emotions I wasn't ready to name. "Thanks, Ror. That means a lot." I hesitated, then added, "Maybe we could grab coffee again sometime? Or I could help out with the rink situation?"

A look of surprise flashed across his face followed by a cautious smile. "Yeah, I'd like that. The town meeting's tonight if you want to jump right in."

"Tonight," I echoed, surprised by my own eagerness. "I'll be there."

As I watched him walk away, the sea breeze ruffled my hair. I turned toward home, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts—concern for my father, uncertainty about my future, and an undeniable ache of longing for what might have been.

But as I walked, something shifted inside me. The familiar streets of Whistleport, the smell of the sea, the memory of Rory's smile—it all coalesced into a realization. I'd focused so much on what I left behind that I nearly forgot who and what waited for me to return.

I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text to my agent:

We need to postpone our call. The decision's still the same, but something more important this evening came up.

For the first time since I'd returned, I had a sense of purpose. I didn't know what the future held, but I knew where I needed to be in the present moment. At that town meeting, I'd take the first step toward whatever came next.

As I reached my father's house, I paused with my hand on the door. "I'm home, Dad," I murmured, the words carrying a weight I hadn't expected. "Finally home."