Chapter Thirteen

Zoey

Fifteen minutes later Brent and I are packed in the SUV and headed to the retirement facility for Gran's birthday party.

It's about a thirty-minute drive from the hotel of which Brent keeps the conversation mostly on my photography business and I ask him about how Tessa is doing and her wedding plans.

Although she's younger than me, she and I are friends on social media, and I commented on her engagement announcement. She's killing it in Seattle while working for the Hawkeyes and it's fun to see how far she's come.

She posts a lot of pictures and every time she'd post a photo of Brent, I'd catch myself lingering a little longer than I should have at his familiar eyes, or his familiar smile that lights up when Tessa or his Gran is around.

But then I'd notice I was staring too long, envy and maybe even longing would rise up, wondering why Brent never wanted to give me that version of him, and then I'd close down social media before I let those emotions float up to the surface.

Finally, Brent takes a left and we head down a long driveway that looks like the entrance to a PGA golf course, not a retirement facility. I'm relieved to almost be there since the small talk was killing me. Awkward doesn't begin to describe our ability to converse with one another.

The huge stone arch with St. Claire's Living Estates on it tells me that this is, in fact, his grandmother's retirement community.

We're here.

Thank God because the unspoken tension of what happened between us last night feels like it's on the tip of both of our tongues and I'm not ready to discuss it.

As we continue, I see a large Japanese garden to my left and then further up, a stunning multi-acre rose garden to my right.

Beautiful condos start to appear around the outskirts, where I assume most of the residents must live in condominiums rather than apartments. It's obvious this place would be expensive to live in.

This isn't your run-of-the-mill retirement home.

"This place is beautiful," I tell him as I take in the stunning three-story building ahead of us.

The entire place is covered in Christmas lights. Even the palm trees are wrapped in them.

I wish it was dark out so we could see them all.

I've always loved my warm Christmases in San Diego but the drizzly rain and snow in Seattle is a new experience.

"It took me a year on the waitlist to get her in, but I think it's been worth it. She's really happy here."

"You pay for this?" I ask, realizing after I said it that it's none of my business.

Brent only shrugs in response.

"You can't put a price tag on peace of mind. They take really good care of her here. And now, with Tessa and I living so much further away, I like knowing that she has 24-hour care if she needs something."

Oh my God, he does pay for it.

"How long has she lived here?"

"Ever since Tessa graduated high school, and I sent her to college."

He pays for Gran's retirement living and paid for Tessa to go to college too?

I knew that he took on being the caretaker for Tessa when their parents died during our senior year of high school.

He had just turned eighteen, and she was a few years younger than us. I'd heard he petitioned the courts to keep her, and his grandmother supported his decision. The courts agreed to it since he got drafted into the NHL right out of high school as a rookie and could financially support Tessa.

Gran played a huge role in making sure that Tessa was supported while he played out-of-town games, but from what I've heard from Phoebe and David, Brent has tried to do everything he can on his own to care for Tessa since their parents passed.

I remember the day that Brent's parents died.

Everyone in school was talking about it.

Tessa didn't come to school for a couple of weeks, but Brent was back a few days later, not missing a single day of hockey practice.

He didn't want to let his team down by not showing up, and getting drafted as a rookie wouldn't have happened without his commitment to putting out his best on the ice, even when everything in his world was crumbling.

Brent pulls up to the front of the building at the entrance, and the valet opens my door for me.

Before I know it, Brent is by my side and leading me through the double doors of this magnificent building.

I follow him through the lobby, which looks like Santa's workshop exploded with red and gold Christmas decorations on every surface. Then we head down the grand hallway.

I can already hear the chatter from what I assume to be the dining hall.

The second we get close enough to see the open doors, I see hundreds of red and green balloons filling the top of the ceiling, with some scattered along the dance floor.

A huge buffet table is set up along the left wall and is piled high with food.

When we walk through the doorway, I'm surprised by how energetic everyone here is.

People are moving around and visiting with different tables. The Beach Boys Christmas album is streaming from the speakers in the corners of the room, and everyone seems to be laughing and having a great time.

"Brent! My boy!" I hear a woman yell from across the room.

The moment I spot her, I can't stop the smile from spreading across my lips.

Gran.

She's dressed from head to toe in a Mrs. Claus outfit, if Mrs. Claus was Victoria's Secret angel. From the massive feather boa around her neck to the slightly transparent floor-length red robe she's wearing and kitten heels with more feathers to the red and white lacy teddy she has under, just barely covered under her robe.

To top off the look, she's wearing a tiara with the words "Birthday Girl" over her Santa Claus outfit.

"Oh my God! Zoey? Zoey Kloss?" Gran says, trotting up to me the second she realizes who Brent brought with him. She pulls my hands into hers and squeezes. "Oh, please tell me that you are the one dating my grandson."

Her wide smile and hopeful eyes almost have me wishing I could tell her that he and I are dating, and it not be a lie… but then I would actually have to date Brent for that to be true. No matter how much I love Brent's grandmother, dating Brent is out of the question.

"I told you I was going to surprise you," Brent says, with that warm smile that I only get to see on Tessa's social media feed.

"You outdid yourself with this one," she tells him, squeezing my hand.

Her right hand releases mine but her left hand keeps a solid hold as she reaches up and pulls Brent in for a hug.

When she pulls back, her eyes sparkle back at him as if he holds the moon and the sun. It's hard for me to imagine how he could be so good to her and Tessa, and so many others and still be capable of hurting me like he did.

I wish I knew the real reason for why he didn't show up that night. I just don't believe it was to shoot goals.

Maybe if he could have been honest with me, I could have forgiven him enough to see the good parts of Brent that everyone else sees.

Her right hand reaches back for mine like she thinks I might slink away if she doesn't keep a tight hold on me, and I don't mind it one bit.

"Looking good Gran. Are you supposed to be Mrs. Claus?" Brent asks.

"Yep, and I'm looking for all the boys who were naughty this year. I need my ninety spankings," she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I volunteer!" an older man's voice in the back corner yells over the music.

Brent's lips twist, trying not to grimace. I can see him struggling, and I bite back a chuckle.

Seeing Brent in some discomfort over his Gran getting hit on is more entertaining than I expected it would be.

Gran looks over at Brent for a second and then back to me.

"I'm not surprised my grandson finally won you over after all these years. He looks just like his grandfather did at this age. He was such a fox," she tells me.

"Gran," Brent warns.

Won me over after all these years?

What does she mean by that?

"You know what I mean, don't you, dear? He's quite the looker, isn't he?" she asks me.

I look over to see Brent, who's shooting daggers at his grandmother even though there is so much love there, too.

Then those green eyes of his land on mine and my belly flips.

It's been so long since one look from Brent has done that to me. It used to happen every day in Spanish class and on the occasion when we'd pass each other in the halls between classes.

Now I'm used to the burning anger that bubbles up instead when I spot him in a room.

"He is," I tell her, my eyes still locked on Brent's.

It's not a lie. Brent is a looker, as Gran puts it, but it's been a long time since I've seen him like that. Passionately disliking someone has a way of allowing you to suppress certain things like attraction.

"Gran, it's your birthday. We don't need to talk about Zoey and me. Don't you have a harem of boyfriends you want to introduce me to?"

"I sure do," she gleams.

Gran gives him a wink and then looks back over at me. "But first, Zoey and I have a little catching up to do. Will you be a doll and get us some punch? And don't be quick about it, we need girl talk."

She pulls me away from Brent and leads me to a round table. My nerves kick up for a second. Is this her interrogation tactic? Is she separating us to see if we have the same answer to a list of questions she's about to ask?

Heat rises up my neck at the thought of it. I'm not prepared for an ambush.

We each take a seat next to one another at a vacant table covered in a red tablecloth with a white rose centerpiece and abandoned cups and plates from the previous guest who sat here.

She turns to me and places her left hand on my wrist as it lays on the table.

"I have to admit to you that I was very nervous about who my Brent was bringing to my birthday party. When he told me he was dating someone, I nearly had to pinch myself in case I was dreaming."

"It's been that long since he's had a serious girlfriend then, huh?" I ask, though I already know that this is why she was going to set Brent up this weekend.

She raises her eyebrows as if to say, "I'm sure you already know the answer to that,"… and I do. Or at least I think I do. Ignoring Brent's existence hasn't been easy with the tabloids loving him.

Between being the hometown hero in San Diego and one of Seattle's golden boys, Brent seems to pop up everywhere I go in both of those two cities. Either the local news station is talking about his latest hockey accomplishments, or some picture of him leaving a restaurant with a woman ends up on my social media feed. Add the fourteen-foot billboard of his face a few blocks from my apartment, and it feels as if the universe is constantly taunting me about one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

I had to field text messages and phone calls all night from my friends asking where Brent and I were since we hadn't shown up.

"I can't begin to tell you what a relief it is that you're the one dating Brent. I always had a hunch that you two would end up together. And I honestly can say that I don't think Brent would consider settling down with anyone but you."

Wait, what?

My eyebrows stitch together as I stare back at her with confusion.

He wouldn't consider settling down with anyone but me?

Why would she even think that? It's been years since I've seen her and even longer since the days when we used to sit in the same section cheering on my high school hockey team.

"I'm sure that if he and I hadn't bumped into one another, he would have eventually settled down with someone," I say.

She pats my wrist.

"I wouldn't be so sure, honey. He had it so bad for you in high school. I couldn't believe it when he told me that he wasn't going to take you to prom after all. I just about smacked him over the head. And then, when he told me that you and Liam got back together, I told him that it served him right for letting his chance go by."

She knows about prom?

"Hold on," I say, leaning in closer. I check over my shoulder to see if Brent is anywhere nearby, but when I catch him being circled by a bunch of older men chatting him up, I know I've got a few extra minutes before he comes back over.

If Gran knows something about why Brent didn't show up that night… I need to get it out of her before he can intercept our conversation. "Do you know why Brent canceled on me that night?" I ask.

Her eyes widen at my question as if she can't believe I don't already know the answer.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No, he just said that he had to work on his slapshot. I assumed it had something to do with his new NHL contract, but I don't understand why he couldn't have done it any other night. Why couldn't he take one night off? Couldn't it have been a different night other than our senior prom that he asked to take me to?"

Gran doesn't look happy at my explanation of how things went down. There's a disconnect between our two understandings, but she knows more than I do—I can see it in her eyes.

"He told you that the real reason was that he had to work on his slapshot?" Gran practically yells.

I lean in a little closer. "Yes, but it never made sense to me, and he never gave me a better explanation… even after all these years later."

Thankfully, the music is loud enough that only a couple of people from the table near us look over. When they see it's Gran getting worked up, they blow off our conversation.

I'm not surprised.

She's always been the most spirited in our cheering section of the hockey games, and my guess is that the people at the other table know her well.

Gran whips her head in Brent's direction and glares over at him as she shakes her head in disappointment.

He's too busy shaking hands with the small group of male residents who are beginning to swarm him at the beverage table.

Gran looks down at the table as if trying to work something out in her head.

But the minute Gran looks back up at me, she plasters on a small smile as if whatever realization she just had, evaporated into thin air.

"It's not for me to say, dear. Brent needs to come clean with you, and it sure as hell is about time."

Not only did Brent's sweet gran just curse, but it's apparent now that she has no intention of telling me what she just pieced together about why Brent didn't take me to prom.

"He's not going to tell me Gran. Phoebe, David, and a few of our other friends have tried to get it out of him. He only tells them the same excuse. Are you really not going to tell me?" I ask, pleading my case. "I just want to know if it's because he didn't really want to take me. Did he feel obligated because Liam dumped me? Did he feel sorry for me but then changed his mind?"

Her eyes turn soft towards me and then she gently slaps my leg under the table a few times as if to comfort me in some way.

"No honey, he didn't ask you because he felt obligated. When he came home after leaving your house that day, he told me that you said yes to prom, and it was the first time I had seen him truly smile since his parents passed five months before. I don't even think he smiled when he got drafted into the NHL. I promise you Zoey, he wanted to take you to prom."

I shake my head.

I had let myself believe that Brent just felt bad for me and asked me to prom to be nice and that's why he decided not to go through with taking me. Gran doesn't seem to be the kind of person to sugarcoat things. And she seems to be sure that Brent wanted to take me.

The truth is… I believe her.

Which makes this entire situation even more confusing than before. At least prior to this conversation I was so sure I had the answer but I just couldn't get Brent to admit to it. I needed that admission to get closure.

And now?

Now I feel like I'm back in my childhood kitchen, dressed in a tight-fitting sunset orange trumpet dress and heels staring back at my phone as the call from Brent ends.

Eleven seconds.

That's how long it took him to call me and tell me that he wasn't coming. I was in shock that before I could even get a word in, he told me that I should still go and have a good time.

Then he hung up.

"It didn't feel like he wanted to take me when he called me to tell me that he was headed to the rink instead and that I should take myself."

She lets out a deep sigh.

"If I had known what he said—"

"Please tell me," I interrupt. "… because he isn't going to."

She pulls my hand off the table and cradles it into hers.

"He's a big boy and he needs to come clean with you himself. Besides, if you two are supposed to be a serious couple in a committed relationship, there shouldn't be any secret between you two, right?" she asks, eyeing me carefully.

Something in the way that Gran is looking at me tells me that she isn't actually falling for our fake relationship but hasn't called me out about it yet, either.

Did she know it before we walked through the doors of the ballroom, or did I just say something to give us away?

"You're really not going to tell me what you know?" I ask one last time in hopes she'll take pity on me and put me out of my misery.

I bypass over asking if she knows that Brent and I aren't actually together. This is Brent's mess either way. I have my own life to worry about and an ex-fiancé to win back.

"It's time that my grandson is honest with you… and with himself too."

Please stop speaking in code. My head is already spinning.

"What does that even mean?" I ask.

Gran looks back over at Brent and then so do I.

He's headed back towards us with two cups of punch in either hand.

"I have a feeling that you're going to finally get your answers this weekend."

The minute he sees our less-than-bright sunny demeanors as we hold hands, his smile drops.

He knows something just went down, but unfortunately for me, it wasn't the intel I was hoping for.

It only mucked up the waters more than before.