8. Rory

Chapter eight

Rory

W earing only my boxers, I stood at my bedroom window and stared at the Bennett house next door. The morning sun reflected off the weathered shingles, giving the modest colonial an effervescent glow. Still, it was just a house. Just Brooks' house. So why did my palms start sweating when I thought about knocking on the kitchen door?

I pulled the window open. A warm front passed in the night, and we had our first taste of warm spring weather. The scent of Mom's early-blooming lilac bush wafted up from below, mingling with the salt-tinged breeze off the harbor. They were familiar home smells, but somehow, they were different now.

Brooks' return turned my carefully constructed world upside down. I'd spent over a decade building an adult life in Whistleport, convincing myself I was content. Now, with every shared glance and accidental touch, my well-designed foundations threatened to crumble.

"Rory?" Mom called from downstairs. "Weren't you heading over to help Brooks with his father?"

"Yeah, just a minute," I called back, my voice surprisingly steady.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the latest notifications. I had three texts from Silas about an upcoming poetry night at Tidal Grounds, and I'd received the automated copy of my reminder to the hockey team about our last meeting before the end of the school year. Finally, I opened my latest text from Brooks:

Thanks again for offering to come over. Dad's being stubborn about his exercises. I can use the backup.

After nearly pushing the button to give him a call, I shook my head and shoved the phone into my pocket. It wasn't high school. I didn't need to call when I'd see him in less than an hour.

When I reached the kitchen after clomping down the stairs, I spotted Mom humming as she arranged flowers in a vase. She looked up at me and smiled.

"Everything okay, sweetie? You look a little pale."

I forced myself to smile back. "Didn't sleep so well. Ziggy's been stressing about college applications, and I think I spent half the night exchanging messages about possible essay topics."

My comments were mostly accurate. Ziggy was anxious about his applications but didn't keep me up past 10 p.m. texting. I did that on my own when I found a video of a 5-year-old game online featuring Brooks Bennett as a starting winger.

Mom nodded. "Well, tell Brooks I said hello, and remind Reid I'm waiting for my cribbage rematch."

I raised an eyebrow. "You two are playing cribbage now?"

She waved my question off, but that didn't hide the faint blush on her cheeks. "Oh, you know, when you get to be my age, it's great to have something to pass the time."

I tucked the information away. It was something I could revisit with her later. At the moment, I had more significant concerns, like how I would spend the morning near Brooks without doing something foolish and embarrassing.

The weather outside was perfect. It was approximately ten degrees warmer than the same time the day before. Birds sang to greet the spring, and a few daffodils along the house's foundation opened to greet the sun.

I raised my hand to knock at Brooks' door but then hesitated. I heard the muffled sounds of a broadcast—probably a hockey game. My stomach did flip-flops. I couldn't believe I felt like a nervous teenager about to ask my crush out on a date.

Get it together . It's just Brooks, your friend. Your... whatever he is now.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked twice, quick and sharp.

Brooks answered, his face haggard. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair stuck out at odd angles. He looked simultaneously terrible and beautiful.

When he gestured, I followed him inside, smelling the mingled scents of liniment and coffee. "How is your dad this morning?"

Brooks shrugged. "I don't know—cranky, bored, ready to be done with recovery."

In the living room, Reid hunched forward in his recliner, frowning at a hockey game on the TV. The familiar sounds of skates and pucks thwacking sticks filled the room. When he saw me, Reid's eyes lit up.

"Rory! Please tell me you're here to rescue me from this mother hen." He jerked a thumb in Brooks' direction.

I grinned. "Sorry, Mr. Bennett. I'm just here as backup. He's still calling the shots."

Brooks smiled briefly. "Alright, Dad. Ready to get started?"

Reid grumbled, but he let us help him out of the chair. He felt strikingly frail, sharply contrasting with my vision of a man who seemed larger than life for most of my years on earth. He'd coached our peewee hockey team with a booming voice and bottomless stores of energy. Now, leaning on us, he groaned with each movement.

After allowing a quick breather, we got to work on the exercises. Brooks and I worked flawlessly in tandem like we'd been doing it for years. I helped Reid execute shoulder rotations while Brooks supported his body.

"Remember to breathe, Mr. Bennett."

Even simple reminders elicited sharp responses. "I've been breathing for sixty-eight years. I think I have the hang of it."

When we switched to leg exercise, I was acutely aware of how close I was to Brooks. Our hands brushed when I passed him a resistance band. My breath caught in my throat, but I did my best to focus on Reid, the exercises, or anything other than the warmth of Brooks' knuckles brushing my fingers.

Reid offered an observation. "The two of you still work well together. I remember your teamwork on the ice."

I swallowed hard and did my best to focus on arm exercises. "Well, you know what they say about muscle memory."

Reid continued to talk while I worked his elbows, pushing his forearms up and down. "Speaking of memory, Brooks, did I tell you about the time I spent with Margot while you were out yesterday? She brought over some old photos of you and Rory as kids. She said she found them in a box on a closet shelf."

My heart skipped a beat. Those old photos held so many memories—simpler times when my feelings for Brooks were uncomplicated by the years of separation.

Brooks raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Anything embarrassing?"

Reid laughed. "Let's just say you wore some great Halloween costumes that I'm sure the town would like to see again."

I groaned as I remembered the year we dressed up as salt and pepper shakers. "Mom really shouldn't be reaching up that high in the closet. I'm sure they got tucked away for a reason."

"Well, she's not throwing them out," Reid informed us. "She said she wants to have them available for a special occasion."

A look of horror and amusement passed between Brooks and me. Still, I couldn't entirely squelch my natural curiosity about another matter. "Mr. Bennett, Mom's been spending quite a bit of time over here lately, hasn't she?"

His face flushed. "She's been a great help, and she's good company. I'm sure you know that."

Brooks stopped working on his dad's legs. "What kind of company would that be, exactly."

Reid delivered a warning. "Now, don't you start."

It was a warning without teeth.

"Your mother would have liked her," Reid continued. "They're similar somehow—that fresh energy that brings everybody up."

We were all silent for a moment. Brooks' jaw tensed at the mention of his mother. I moved close to him until our shoulders nearly touched.

I did my best to break the tension with another question about Mom. "So, what do you two do during these visits?" I hoped I wouldn't hear a shocking answer. It was difficult to envision my free-spirited mother enjoying extended time with Brooks' grumpy father.

Reid smiled. "Well, yesterday she brought over an old boombox and cassettes." He chuckled. "Cassettes! Can you believe that? We spent hours listening to Springsteen and Fleetwood Mac."

Brooks laughed along. "Are you telling me you had a dance party with Rory's mom?"

"I wouldn't call it dancing, but we might have swayed together… a bit."

I shook my head. "If Dottie Perkins hears about this, it'll be all over town by sundown."

"Who cares." I heard defiance in Reid's tone. "Margot and I are… well, figuring things out. At our age, you can't waste a lot of time."

When we finished the last of the exercises, Reid looked tired.

Brooks offered a suggestion. "Why don't you rest for a bit, Dad? We'll help you back into the recliner and then rustle up some breakfast."

After settling back in the chair, Reid nodded off. I smiled and followed Brooks to the kitchen. "So… what's on the menu?"

He leaned back against the sink. "I was thinking maybe omelets with sides of bacon and hashbrowns."

"That sounds great." I washed my hands while he rummaged through the fridge.

When I finished, I nodded in the direction of the living room. "You're good with your dad."

Brooks shut the fridge, leaning his torso against the door, with a loaf of bread in one hand and a jar of jam in the other. "I'm doing my best, but sometimes it feels like I'm fumbling around for a light switch in a dark closet."

I placed a hand on his arm. "Hey, you're doing great. He's lucky to have you."

Brooks turned to look at me, gold flecks sparkling in his green eyes. The gap between us was charged with electricity. "Um, can you help me open this jar of jam? It's a stubborn one."

"Of course." I reached out for the strawberry spread. He handed it to me, and I started to twist.

"You've almost got it. Here, let me…" Brooks reached out and entangled one arm with mine. As the lid came loose, we both looked up. Our faces were only a few inches apart. My heart thundered in my chest. I was sure that he had to hear it.

"Rory," he whispered as he reached out to cup my cheek in his hand. I couldn't forget what would happen next when he did that in the past. I leaned in, and my eyelids fluttered shut.

I caught a whiff of Brooks' scent—an intoxicating mix of pine, sweat, and was that sandalwood shampoo? Every nerve ending waited in anticipation. It was what I'd both longed for and dreaded since Brooks returned to town, the moment that would change everything.

Suddenly, a sharp knock on the kitchen door shattered the spell. "Yoo-hoo! Brooks? Reid? I come bearing casserole!"

We jumped apart as if shocked by a loose wire. Brooks muttered under his breath, and a misplaced laugh bubbled up in my throat.

"I should get that." He gestured toward the door. Before turning away, our eyes met, and I thought I saw something more than frustration swirling in his gaze. Regret?

"That's okay. I should be heading out anyway. Mom will be wondering where I am."

It was too late. Before I could escape, Brooks opened the door to reveal Dottie Perkins in a loud, floral sundress. She rushed in carrying a covered dish and smiling from ear to ear, her heavy makeup threatening to crack.

"Well, well, well, look at this." She checked us both out. "What a nice surprise. Who would have guessed you would be here, Rory?"

I forced a queasy smile, understanding how disheveled I probably appeared. "I just came over to help with Mr. Bennett's physical therapy."

Dottie placed a hand on my arm and clamped tightly. "Of course, you did." She winked at me. "It's so nice seeing you two boys spending time together again."

Brooks accepted the dish. "Thanks for the casserole, Mrs. Perkins. Dad will enjoy it."

"Oh, no big thank yous are necessary." Dottie released my arm. "This is the least I can do for our hometown hero. Please, call me Dottie. Mrs. Perkins makes me feel like I'm a thousand years old."

After setting the casserole on the island, Brooks remembered his neighborly kindness. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Dottie held a hand to her chest. "Me? Oh my, no. I can't stay." She turned to face me. "You know, Rory, I was just telling Mable down at the Curl Up and Dye about the wonders of seeing such fine young men in each other's… I mean hanging out. She agreed you're such a handsome pair."

My face began to flush. "Mrs. Per—I mean, Dottie, it's not—"

She reached out and patted my face. "Don't worry, dear. We're all very modern and open-minded now here in Whistleport. The other day, I read an article about how love is love, no matter its form."

Brooks coughed into his hand. "That's very… progressive of you, Dottie."

She beamed. "I always do my best to keep up with the times. Speaking of love, don't you think your father and Margot Blake have been spending a lot of time in each other's company?"

Of course, she would have noticed that. "They're just friends." I did my best to sound neutral, not like I was protesting the obvious.

"Oh, of course, my dear. Like the two of you are just friends . You're all very friendly, a fine way to be." She issued another wink, this time accompanied by a slight bow.

Brooks spoke up again. "We do appreciate your concern and your efforts with the casserole, but Dad's resting now, and we need to finish up so he has a peaceful environment—"

"Say no more." She held up both hands. "I take hints well, but I have one last thing to say. Life's too short to hide your feelings. Sometimes, grabbing the bulls by the horns is important, if you get my drift."

"We'll keep that in mind." Brooks gently steered her toward the door.

As she stepped out onto the back stoop, Dottie called over her shoulder. "Rory, be a dear and tell Margot I'll be by later for book club. We're discussing a steamy romance novel this week. You boys could join us with some—"

"Thanks, but we'll pass," I replied, raising my voice to ensure she could hear me.

After Dottie finally disappeared, Brooks closed the door and leaned hard against it. For a moment, we simply stared at each other. Then, we both burst out laughing. It was the laughter that happened when a situation was so absurd there was no other appropriate response.

When we finally calmed down, I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes. "That seals it. I'm sure the whole town will be talking about our torrid affair by dinnertime."

Brooks groaned. "It will probably happen sooner than that. I think Dottie moves faster than our internet connection."

"She does that, indeed." I sighed deeply. "I should go. Mom will wonder, and I've got lesson plans to work on. Plus, I promised Ziggy I'd look over a college essay draft."

"Yeah, of course." Brooks reached out to offer a hug. "Thanks for your help with Dad."

We wrapped each other up tightly in warm affection. "Anytime. I'm here when you need me." Despite the awkwardness between us, I knew we'd be friends whatever else happened.

As we pulled apart from the hug, Brooks reached out. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he might pull me back from the door and finish what we'd started before Dottie's arrival. Instead, he squeezed my shoulder.

"See you around, Ror."

I nodded and then stepped out into the warm sunshine. The door closed behind me, and I let out the breath I'd been holding.

The walk home was barely fifty yards, but it felt like a miles-long hike. Each step was an effort, pulling me further away from Brooks. What had almost happened in Brooks' kitchen? And what would it have meant if it had?

As I approached the porch, Mrs. Talbot, from two doors down, waved from her house. "Good morning, Rory! How's Reid doing?"

"Better. He's improving every day."

She smiled. "Wonderful to hear. You know, I think it's great that you and Brooks are back together. You were always such good friends."

I accepted the praise, but I couldn't think of a response. It was hard to know what might tumble out if I spoke.

When I entered the house, Mom was watching TV. She kept up on the news, sometimes watching hour after hour.

"Oh, there you are, Rory! I was starting to wonder whether you'd moved in next door."

I chuckled. "Guess I just lost track of time."

Mom was always perceptive, and she acted like I was wearing Brooks' name embroidered on my chest. "Everything okay, sweetie? You look a little flushed."

"I'm fine. Just tired. Think I'll take a shower. Got a little sweaty helping with Mr. Benett."

Mom responded as I put my foot on the first step up toward my room. "Whatever's going on in your head, remember, letting yourself be happy is okay. You deserve it."