14. OLIVIA

CHAPTER 14

OLIVIA

I 'm in Brooklyn's bathroom.

It's funny, because he still buys the same brand of soap. Pretty sure it was the housekeeper who used to buy it back when he was a kid, but he must still like this brand now that he has a choice to buy whatever he wants for himself. It makes me feel like maybe some parts of him are still the same.

But there's been changes. For example, when I came in, the toilet paper roll was almost out. I had to—out of necessity, not out of stalking—look into his cabinets until I found a stack of rolls on a shelf right below a giant box of condoms, like a regular size one wasn't enough. Brooke's never had a shortage of girlfriends and hookups ever since he bloomed in high school, but he used to be shier about it.

Leaning down, I splash water on my face for as long as it takes to cool it. I turn off the faucet and grab a handful of his towel to dry my face.

His towel. That maybe he dries himself with.

I drop it like it's on fire but I'm the one who's burning up.

" Friends forever , he said," I mutter to myself through gritted teeth. "Which is the entire opposite of what you're thinking about, you freaking perv."

Taking a deep breath, with water dripping down my chin and on the skin of my chest, I open the bathroom door and step back into his room. I calculate I have maybe five seconds to scan it before leaving?—

Zero seconds. Because Brooke's in his room, his back against the closed door. He lifts his eyes from his phone screen for a second and does a double take. For a long moment there's only silence.

"Uh, need a towel? I thought I had one?—"

"Yeah, you do. I just… didn't know if…"

"Oh." He snorts. "Yeah, it's fresh. You can use it without catching any cooties."

"Right." I swivel around and march into the bathroom to pat my face dry with a corner of the towel. On my way out, I stick my tongue out to my own reflection because she's an embarrassment. "Thanks," I murmur in sarcasm.

Brooke sticks his hand up when I'm back out. "Actually, let's not go outside yet."

My lips form several silent words but the one that eventually comes out is, "Why?" At the same time, I pray that I'm not blushing too hard. His room's only illuminated by the streetlights streaming in through his window, and from the screen of his cellphone. Hopefully this means he can't see how red my face probably is.

"There's, um, some people behaving indecently outside. I don't think you want to see that."

I wrinkle my nose. If it's anything like what I've seen in past occasions at this house, then I definitely don't.

"Okay. Can we at least turn on the lights?"

"Sure." He twists around and flips a switch.

Soft yellow light bathes the room. It's one third of his home bedroom size, but nicer somehow. Back at his father's place, everything was stark white, stainless steel, black tinted wood—orderly and clean to the point of obsession.

Here, everything is navy blue and white, and messier in a way that shows it's lived in. His desk has one pile of school textbooks and material, and one pile of hockey magazines. I pick up the first one, a SPORTY issue, and he's on the cover wearing the jersey from the pro team that drafted him two years ago.

I cock an eyebrow at him. "Bit narcissistic."

Brooklyn folds his arms and they momentarily distract me. Forearms flexing, with thick ropes of veins traveling under smooth skin and tattoo lines, and a dusting of blond hairs. They should be illegal because they're an attack on public moral.

"Okay, sue me. I was proud of myself for getting that cover."

I check the magazine's issue date. It's from a year ago when I was in the thick of my anger, unable to even stomach the thought of him. Of course I missed all the important moments he had throughout that time.

Now that I realize that, my eyes prick and I try to keep them from spilling by rifling through the stack of magazines. But there's only one thing that can relieve the stab of pain in my chest, and that is apologizing.

"I'm sorry, Brookie." My voice is soft. Biting my lip, I brace myself to meet his eyes and add, "For being such a bad friend."

And I mean this, in more ways than one. It's not just that I wasn't there for him, but the why of it too.

He blinks hard, forehead scrunching as more seconds tick. "What do you even—" His phone pings and he checks it by reflex. Grunting, he says, "One second."

"Okay." I stack all the magazines again, making sure they're perfectly aligned while he furiously types on his phone.

"Sorry about that." Brooke slips the phone back in his pocket and lifts a hand to run his fingers through his hair. "Anyway, back to the topic. What in the hell are you talking about?"

I poke at the magazine at the top. "I missed this. I've missed all your accomplishments in the past year and a half because I was too selfish."

"You weren't." Brooke looks down, shuffling one foot against the blue carpet. "You were angry, and you had a right to be. I'm the one who… Basically, I drove you away." His voice trails off into a whisper.

Oh, he has no idea, huh?

"No." I take a step closer but pause. What am I going to accomplish by touching him? Instead, I dig my hands into the sleeves of my hoodie. "I was unreasonable. I—I'm the one who abandoned you. You shouldn't even want to be my friend anymore."

I press my lips tighter, but that doesn't keep a tear from falling. I divert my eyes because I'm not trying to manipulate him or anything, and I really wish I wasn't crying in the first place.

Sighing, he takes a step forward. But instead of hugging me like I figured, he reaches down at my waist level. It takes some seconds for my mind to process that he's grabbing the two ends of my crop hoodie, his enormous fingers delicately fitting the tabs so he can zip it up. And up. All the way to my neck. Like maybe he had enough of looking at my black sports bra.

I will my face not to heat up but I don't think it's working.

Meanwhile, Brooke's expression is pensive. "I told you that's all in the past."

"Is it?"

His eyes soften. "You're here now, aren't you?"

Yeah, and I never want to leave. I never did in the first place. I just thought it was what I had to do for my own sake.

"I am," is all I say.

"Good. Now, let's take a seat while we wait." With two giant steps, Brooke bumps against the edge of his bed and lets himself plop on it. He pats the bedding, in case it's not clear where I should sit.

I'd have got the hint even if it wasn't so heavy handed. After all, his desk chair is loaded with what seems like clean laundry. At least going by the smell. And there's literally no other surface than the floor where I could sit.

I even consider it for a moment. I'm not worried about cleanliness because out of the two, the messiest one has always been me. But I worry about what it would say if I choose to sit on the floor rather than next to him.

I join him but still keep a decent distance. "How long do you think it's gonna take?"

"Hopefully, it'll be over quickly." He lifts his shirt to fish for his phone again, accidentally showing a sliver of taut skin. "Hmm, not yet."

"Is someone giving you updates on what the so-called indecent scene is?"

"Yeah, my man Dane is on it."

I tuck my hands under my thighs. "Who's Dane? Your new best friend?"

"He's my defensive partner." His eyes immediately catch on what my hands are doing. He knows it's a nervous tick. "But he can't replace you, of course."

"Please, he and your parade of girls have." I face forward, trying to avoid his knowing gaze, and freeze.

Two giant posters, one of my brother-in-law, and one of my flesh and blood brother, cover the wall by the bathroom. How did I not see them earlier?

"Well, they haven't." There's laughter in his voice now. "And if it makes you feel even better, none of my parade of girls have kissed the crap out of me like you did last weekend."

I suck in air. Slowly, I turn to him but only so I can deliver a punch to his shoulder. It definitely hurts me more. "You are hereby banned from talking about it."

"Can I think about it?" A corner of his lips lifts.

"No! That's not what friends do."

Brooke bobs his head. "But friends do get curious about what their friends are up to so, is that why you decided to come tonight? To see if you could find someone new to make out with?"

"I plead the fifth."

"But I bet you talk about things like this with Meyer and the others all the time."

I give him a look. "Yeah, but they're girls."

Brooke tilts his head back a bit, as if needing a different vantage to observe me. "Right, and I'm not."

"Obvio microbio," I say in Spanish like my mom does when she's feeling sassy.

He hums from his throat and turns around to face the posters. Max and Aran are in their NHL team uniforms but helmets off. It's funny because Max was captured in the middle of a nice smile, the kind that makes women cry that he's happily married. But Aran is with his usual serious expression, the one that makes me wonder what his wife even sees in him.

In their wedding vows, both of these men said some crap about how they each married their best friends. I remember weeping each time, hoping one day that would be me as well.

Alas, who knows who Brooke will end up marrying—if he even does. I'm not sure he's a fan of the sacrament or institution, considering his family history.

"Isn't it creepy to have them looking down at you when you're, um… you know." I casually point a thumb back at the mattress.

"Sleeping?" Brooklyn asks in an overly sweet voice.

I give him some serious side eye. "You know what I mean."

A full smile blooms on his face. It transforms him from staggeringly handsome to heart attack inducing. Chuckling, he says, "Actually, I'd never thought about it but I'm definitely going to be creeped out now. I'll take them down."

"Yeah, maybe you should," I mumble, remembering the surprise sitting in his bathroom shelf.

Brooke gets up and starts peeling off the tape from the corner of Max's poster. His T-shirt stays a little bunched up, showing a patch of skin between the hem and the waistband of his jeans. The wild part is that despite the narrow sliver, there's an impressive muscle display.

He used to be way skinnier the last time we hung out. What the heck happened?

There's another ping and he pauses the work to check his phone, leaving half of Max's poster sagging forward. "All right. Coast is clear now," Brook announces. "We can go back to civilization."

"Was my company some kind of savage jungle?" Sarcasm drips heavy from my words.

His eyes flash as he opens the door and flicks off the light. "Oh yeah, I now know you bite."

"What?"

He taps his bottom lip with his finger. "I had bite marks after we kissed."

I gasp, trying to draw in enough oxygen to restart my brain after his abrupt topic switch. After spluttering for a second, I point at his face. "Liar! You are the one who bit me."

"Oh, so you were paying attention." He grins as we walk down the deserted hallway.

"Didn't we just agree to never talk about this?"

"Nope, I never actually agreed." Brooke whistles some old school, jolly tune as we start walking down the stairs. Extra annoying that he's right behind me.

"Well, stop. It's embarrassing."

"Why?" he has the nerve to ask .

I pause and grab onto the railing so I can turn over my shoulder. "Because we are friends forever , am I right?"

Brooke seems bigger than usual from this vantage. I have to crane my head back to meet his eyes, otherwise I'd be staring at his waist. His face is uncharacteristically blank, but I don't have the luxury of discerning what it could mean when he starts talking again.

"In other news, as your friend who is concerned for you, how are you enjoying the party? I know you don't like this house."

I resume the trek downstairs and when we're both safely at the landing, I say, "Well, other than you clearly trying to embarrass me, nothing catastrophic has happened just yet. So I guess it's okay."

"Good, let's keep it that way."

Later, well after Brooke conveys me to my friends again and goes off to find a beer, I discover exactly what he meant by that.

Turns out, while we were waiting upstairs during what I feared was people having excessive public displays of affection, Brooklyn was orchestrating an operation for his hockey bros to remove a certain ex of mine from the premises.

That is the exact moment where I discover something. What I felt for him in high school was a crush. A first awareness that he was a boy, I was a girl, and that he smelled good and made me laugh. That maybe it'd have felt even nicer if he kissed me.

But this thing burning me up from the inside now… this is something else. Bigger. And it can turn into the kind of thing that destroys our friendship for real if I don't rein it in.