36. Brett

Brett

I can't help it—I'm an impulsive person at heart.

Maybe the trick to dealing with that is allowing it to guide my life in positive ways, rather than in negative ones.

When Chloe called me and told me about what was going on, my impulse was to get up and go to Fallon. Be there for her. Even though she said she wanted nothing to do with me, my heart was breaking for her, and for June.

The thought that anything might be happening to that baby— my baby—was too much. I was on my feet, pacing, thinking about what I should do.

Maybe acting on impulse wasn't always a bad thing—it's what led me to get on my knee in the PT clinic that first time, which led to Fallon asking me for help when she needed it, even though she didn't want to need help from anyone.

It's what led to her showing up at my door.

I only lasted five minutes from getting the phone call from Chloe to getting into the driver's seat of my car, heading for the hospital.

Maybe it's good for me to be a little impulsive. Maybe it's something I'm going to have to keep working on. But this is my life, and I'm done sabotaging it.

I'd thought that I'd have to march inside, ask the people at the front desk for June and Fallon, maybe even bribe a few people, but Fallon was sitting right outside, her head in her hands.

Everything that rushed around inside me—protectiveness, worry, overwhelming connection—it all culminated into a single idea.

If I hadn't believed it before, I finally got it at that moment, standing in the drizzle, staring at Fallon. I'm in love with her, and maybe I've been in love with her for a lot longer than I realized.

"Shh," I say, now, running my hand over her hair. I don't know how long we've been sitting like this, curled up into one another, my arm thrown protectively around her. Though the clouds in the distance are fat and dark and ominous, the rain continues in a faint, hazy drizzle, misting around our faces and making her hair frizz. "It's okay."

Fallon nods and nods and sinks further into me, and I adjust to hold her, propping her up, letting her rest her weight on me.

"Fallon," I say, clearing my throat. "How's June?"

"She's…" Fallon says, pulling back and wiping at her eyes. "Okay. For now, I think. But she needs another surgery, and I have no idea how I'm going to pay for it…"

"Fal," I say, shaking my head. "I'm paying for it."

"But—"

"No," I say firmly, holding my hand up. "I'm paying for it. She's my baby, too."

Fallon stares at me for a long moment, then nods, standing.

"Okay," she relents, clearing her throat. "But you should know that this is killing me."

We head inside, and I chat with the woman at the front desk. She's charmed by me, and even more charmed when she sees me pay for the entire bill up front. I ignore her every attempt to flirt with me and return to Fallon.

We're able to visit with June for an hour before she goes into surgery, and Fallon cries when they take her away.

"She's strong," I say, tucking a piece of hair behind Fallon's ear. "It runs in the family."

Later, when half of Fallon's friends are asleep, and the other half have run home to gather supplies and take showers, I get up to get another cup of coffee from the lounge at the end of the hallway, debating on whether or not I can get away with skipping practice in the morning.

We're right in the middle of the playoff series, and Grey will seriously kick my ass for missing. But he'd also understand.

"Brett."

I slow down when I see Fallon standing in the hallway, her arms crossed, staring at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her hair wild, but she looks as beautiful as ever to me. It's like the more stripped down she becomes, the more I want her in my arms.

"Fallon," I say, and we duck into a slight alcove. I set the coffee on a windowsill. "What—"

She clears her throat. "I've been thinking about it, and—"

But I can't let her finish. I can't let her turn me away again before I've had a chance to show her that I'm not that guy.

"Actually," I say, low and fast, surprising her. When her eyes meet mine, I clear my throat, then forge ahead. "Can I go first? I just—I want to say something. Before you say yours."

She stares at me for a moment, then nods and crosses her arms, leaning back against the wall.

"First," I say, clearing my throat and pulling a folded paper from my pocket. They're official documents my lawyer sent me regarding your custody of June. "Here. This is a temporary injunction to make you June's caretaker. It should lead pretty seamlessly into adoption."

"Oh, Brett," she gasps, shaking her head. "I—"

"Please, Fal, I need to say this."

She nods, swallowing and holding the papers to her chest.

"I want to start by saying that I don't expect anything from you. I'm here right now because I care about you, and I care about June, but I don't expect this to lead to anything. Having said that, I want you to know that I'm in love with you."

The words come out easier than I thought, and her mouth forms a little ‘O' shape, which makes me want to kiss her, but I ignore the thought.

"I'm in love with you, and more than that, I loved having you in my place. You and June. Having you around made me feel… loved. Calm. Restored. It was like coming home when I saw you. And now that you're gone, I feel your absence everywhere. I know it's not enough to love you and want you, and I can see now that you went through that with your mom. She loved you, maybe, but that's not enough. You have to show up for a person again and again."

Fallon's eyes have dropped to the floor, and I can't get a good read on her expression. I tell myself to just move forward, to say what I have to say.

"Basically," I gulp, "I want you. I've wanted you for a long time. Long before I pulled my little stunt of proposing to you. Guess I don't know how to take things easy. But I want you in my life. Like I said, I don't expect you to answer me right now, or ever. I'll wait for you, though, Fallon. I'll wait until you're ready to talk to me. To give me another chance at being there for you. And at being there for June."

With that, I take a step back, forcing myself to turn away. As badly as I want to stay, and as much as I want to be there for her, I know the best thing is to give her space. To let her make her own decision.

But I don't make it more than a foot away before her hand lands on my arm, turning me and pulling me into her so I can press my lips to hers.