25. BROOKLYN

CHAPTER 25

brOOKLYN

T he Rodriguez family Thanksgiving feels like a distant dream, with its flavorful food, pregnancy announcements—there's a mini Aran coming into the world; thankfully he or she will share half of Maddie—and a generally chaotic, but cozy feeling I starkly missed last year.

Now, Olivia and I stand in front of the front door to my dad's house, and nervous energy's coursing through my body again. I've rolled my shoulders enough that they still shouldn't feel so tight, and I've shaken my hands enough that now they tingle.

But then Liv snatches the one closest to her and clasps it so tight, I couldn't possibly move it again. "It's going to be fine. You're not alone."

Soon, I'm going to tell her how much I love her for it. I'm still in the planning phase as to how, but it's happening.

For now, I just need to survive Thanksgiving dinner at the Tatum household. "Thank you," I tell her. "For being here."

"And I'm really sorry I wasn't, last year."

I shake my head. "Let's forget last year even existed. "

"Great idea." Liv nods. "Shall we?" She waits until I shrug to ring the doorbell.

This time it takes a moment for the door to open. When it does, all I can see is the hallway packed in fall decor. Until I look down. Way down. And find my half-brother's grinning face.

"Mom! Dad! Brooklyn's here!" After the shockingly loud screams, Lee turns his attention to Olivia. Back to me. Back to Olivia. Down to our joined hands. He sucks in air and screams over his shoulder again, "And he brought a new old girlfriend!"

Liv drops my hand like it's suddenly burning her.

Trying not to be annoyed by that, I ask Lee, "New old?"

He shrugs. "Well, you were always together so…"

From the corner of my eye, I try to inspect Liv's expression for any clues as to how this makes her feel. Except she could really win a poker tournament if she set her mind to it.

I clear my throat. "So, can we come in or not?"

"Oh, right." Lee steps aside. While Liv and I work on removing our winter layers, Lee disappears down the hallway into the opening that leads to the living room.

There's a strong smell of cranberry sauce in the house. Lauren, Dad's wife, loves the stuff. I wouldn't be surprised if I get served a vat of it.

"You hungry?" I ask Liv as I take her coat and hang it by the door.

"Not really, so you don't need to worry too much about me."

"Mkay." I'm sure at least the mashed potatoes will be fine. Unless Lauren smothered them with gravy already.

"You?" Liv asks as she balances herself against the door to toe off her boots, since Lauren likes to keep a shoeless household.

"I'll eat your share." I try to offer a smile that comes out more watery than I wish .

Liv pushes her hair away from her forehead. Her face is still flushed from the cold outside, and the combination of that and the sadness in her expression is doing something to me. I rub my chest before I know what I'm doing.

"It's going to be okay, blondie."

"I hope so." I bite my lip for a moment. "Last year was hard."

Liv plucks the hand I have against my chest to squeeze it between hers again. "Didn't we say last year didn't exist anymore?"

I straighten up and force a wide smile on my face. "Last year who? We don't know her." Liv opens her mouth but instead of her voice coming out, a different one rings in the quiet.

"Brooklyn."

But both Liv and I freeze at the sound of my dad's voice. I squeeze my eyes tight, wishing for a second that Liv and I could be transported literally anywhere else right now. Even a hot desert with no water in sight would be better.

Slowly, I take a deep breath and turn to face my father.

He looks older. I don't know why, but that's the first thing I notice. The lines around his mouth are deeper, and there's a new permanent one between his eyebrows. Must be from frowning upon me so much. I didn't get his dirty blond hair or his blue eyes the way Lee did. I also didn't get Dad's smaller build, and I'm now realizing just how much bigger I have become. I know I had a bit of a growth spur in the past year but it's only now that I'm realizing how significant it was.

Dad's eyes roam up and down my frame, before settling on my hand clasping Liv's. She tries to free herself and I don't let her. Instead, I lace my fingers between hers.

Dad folds his arms. "Son."

"Dad."

"Olivia," he says, icy eyes shifting to her .

"Mr. Tatum."

This is a drastically different welcoming compared to Liv's family. I can't help but snorting.

But before Dad remarks on the gesture, Lauren glides out of the kitchen in a knit dress that I'm sure is something out of a catalogue. She holds onto Dad's arm while offering a polite smile. "So happy to see you guys together again."

"Hi, Lauren," I say back, amiably enough. "Food smells good. Thank you for having us."

Liv squeezes my hand. She knows I'm never this flat with anyone, but it's no wonder family's the most faded line in my tattoo. My connection to the Tatum's is just as thin.

"You're so welcome. Would you like something to drink while we wait for the turkey?"

"Give him the same as Lee," Dad tells her. "He's still not an adult yet."

"Milk it is." Lauren gives us another perfect housewife smile. "And you, Olivia? Milk too?"

"I'm lactose intolerant," my best friend responds with the most deadpanned tone of voice that almost makes me laugh. With how many times Liv has been over, Lauren and my dad should remember about her allergies and intolerances very clearly.

Brimming with sarcasm, I add, "Wow, Dad. I'm surprised you remember my age."

His scowl grows deeper. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." To my step-mother, I mumble, "Aside from water, do you have anything Liv could drink?"

"Well, I didn't know she was coming so…" Lauren blinks as she thinks. "How about chamomile tea?"

"Perfect, thank you." Liv's back to cold blooded politeness.

"You got it." The older woman turns back into the kitchen, but Dad's still blocking the hallway .

I motion at his tight stance. "Does that mean we're not welcome to sit, or…?"

"No, of course. I—" He cuts himself off and waves us into the kitchen.

Liv and I take adjacent barstools and Lauren sets a glass of milk in front of me. If there were any cookies around, it wouldn't annoy me so much. She busies herself with boiling some water in a kettle while Dad starts or resumes sharpening his carving knife. I don't know if that's what he was doing when we arrived, or if this is for show.

What I do know is that my sanity's best preserved in this house by volunteering as little words as possible. It's not like I'm a complete stranger, even though they treat me like one. Lauren's one of those country club women whose worlds have to be perfect, and that's the entire opposite of what happens when Dad and I talk. So we just don't talk for her sake. And that's also probably why Dad forgets to invite me to things.

Then he gets mad when I don't show up because that's the real issue. Whatever I do, he's not going to be happy with it. It's why growing up, the only one I could be my full goofy ass self with was Liv. Here, I had to act like a cardboard cutout of myself.

Luckily for me, Liv hasn't let go of my hand for a second.

Unluckily, Lauren notices this as she sets a steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of Liv. "So, you guys finally became an item?"

Dad stops moving to turn his stare on me, disapproval dialing up by the second. "I thought you were focusing on hockey."

What would he know about what I do with my life?

Instead, I say, "I am."

"Congratulations, you guys," Lauren chimes, her back turned to us as she stirs something in a pot on the stove.

"Uh. "

Liv and I turn to each other. Her expression's asking me if we should tell them we're not really a couple. Mine's telling her that they don't actually care, and the less we engage the faster we can beat it out of here and head back to campus. Liv shrugs, and we remain silent.

"How's hockey?" Dad asks offhand, grunting as the knife catches on the sharpener.

"Hockey's great."

"Is that why you have a scar on your face?"

I'm surprised he even noticed.

"Yep, it's a badge of honor."

I know I've said too much, because it sends Dad down the tried and true path of looking down on me. "You wouldn't get hurt so much if you'd become a forward like me."

"Actually." Liv surprises us all by speaking. All three of us turn to her. "This is Brooke's first injury in his entire college hockey career, which you'd know if you watched his games."

You could hear a pin drop.

I'm doing everything I can not to pull Olivia into a kiss that would scandalize Lauren. Especially when Liv turns twinkly brown eyes at me, like she knows she did some mischief that can backfire on us but is still proud about it. I at least allow myself to run my thumb up and down the skin at the back of her hand.

"Well." Lauren puts her hands on her hips. "The turkey still needs at least an hour in the oven. Why don't you two go watch a show in the meantime?"

"Or you could play with your brother," Dad says.

I ignore that because Dad complains about me the most in occasions where he considers I could be a bad influence on Lee. "C'mon, Liv. Let's go see if my room's been converted into a storage closet yet."

She bites her lip not to laugh at what a little shit I am. I'm much more pleased that she lets me keep her hand in mine as we slide off the stools, though.

"Fine, but keep the door open," Dad says in a dark tone of voice.

I don't retort jack squat to that. He's been giving us the same shit since Liv and I hit puberty, even though back then Liv could've kicked my ass to kingdom come if I got too close. She'd still do the same now if I tried anything.

Upstairs, it turns out that my room is intact. I don't know why it surprises me, because it's not like they're actually lacking storage space in a house with six rooms and half as many occupants. I don't know if it's that they're too lazy to do anything with the space, or that the possibility of me coming over on occasion isn't as remote in their mind as it is in mine.

I stand by the door as Liv walks in. Our arms stretch but she keeps going, until our hands eventually break apart. She sets her tea mug down on the bedside table and grabs the remote before crawling on my bed like we're back in high school, face down with her feet toward my pillows. Although not on them, because she's too short for the massive bed.

Tension finally drains from my body. This is okay. Familiar. Much nicer than downstairs. I take my usual spot on the carpet at the foot of the bed, facing the massive TV.

"What are we watching?"

"I don't know," she says from above me. "Let's see if we find a classic from our time."

I snort. "Don't make us sound so old."

"You're right, we're not even old enough to graduate from milk."

Dad would be pissed if he knew the kind of crap that goes down at the Bolt House, then.

Or not. He wouldn't bother to ask.

Liv flips a few channels until she finds some Naruto rerun and stays there. I lean my head back against the edge of the mattress and grunt. "That wasn't so terrible. I don't know why I was freaking out."

"The possibility of a big fight is still there." Her sigh fans against my hair. "Sorry if I turn out to be the spark that lights that fire. I just got so annoyed earlier."

"He has that effect on people."

I freeze when her fingers start playing with my hair.

This is also familiar. Sometimes, when we were kids, I'd lay my head on her lap while we were reading comics or studying, and she'd absentmindedly play with my hair. But it's been so long. And it doesn't feel the same anymore. She rakes her fingers on my scalp just the same, but it's no longer relaxing. If anything it makes my blood boil even more.

"Did you fight last year?" she asks.

I groan, not necessarily because of the question. "I thought we weren't talking about last year."

"Last time, I promise."

I lean my head back all the way and open my eyes. Her face is right above mine, and the last thing I want to do is talk about my father when her lips are right there. When I could be stroking her tongue upside down and exploring her mouth even deeper, Spider-Man style.

"No, last year was worse," I respond in a quiet voice at last, my eyes glued to her lips and the tiny gap between them. "He didn't even ask me a single question about myself. It was like I wasn't there at all. A whole day of that."

But Liv surprises me by resting her forehead against mine. "I'm sorry, Brooke."

I blink hard. "What the hell for?"

"I…" She lets out a forceful breath. "If I hadn't been so selfish, you wouldn't have been alone last year."

My chest twists. The pain is so strong, I almost think someone's stabbing me with a sharpened hockey stick again.

"Liv, no." I raise my hands to cradle her face, and she lets me lift it so I can look into her eyes again. "It's not your fault that my father doesn't give a rat's ass about me."

"But it's not fair." She whispers. One of her hands falls on my shoulder and I feel the touch like a brand through my clothes. "I just don't understand why he's like this. And worse even, your mom."

I drop my arms slowly, bringing my face forward in time for the Sasuke and Itachi fight to start. Drumming my fingers against my thighs, I say, "I know why."

"Why?" she asks sharply.

"Because I'm not lovable." I shrug. "I know what love looks like. Your parents worry about you and your siblings to death. That's love. Even the way Aran gives you shit all the time is love." I point at the TV. "Just like those two clowns over there, fighting each other because they have no other way to express how much they care. But none of my parents feel any of that for me, and I'm the common denominator. So that's why."

For a moment, everything's quiet except for the action on the screen.

But then my bed shakes, and suddenly Liv's legs are beside me. And even more suddenly, she kicks me. Hard .

"Ow! What the hell?" I rub my ribs where she dug her toes.

"Who fed you that spoonful of horseshit?" Liv looks down at me, hands into claws as if she wanted to choke me. "What about your girlfriends? Or your fans?"

"What? What about them?" I frown, confused as hell.

"Don't they love you?"

"No." I run a hand through my hair, wishing it was her fingers doing it instead. "They don't even know me—the real me."

"Yeah, because you keep all your relationships shallow on purpose. That's why even though you have—what were their names—James and Daniel? "

"Jamie and Dane." I'm going to keep to myself how pleased I am that she didn't remember their names.

"Them." Her face pinches with grumpiness. "That's why even though you have them, I bet they have no idea about what your relationship with your parents is. Or that you're a huge nerd under that hockey uniform. Or that you have a huge man-crush on Max and Aran. Or that you're legit so sweet it gives me cavities. I mean—" She throws her hands in the air. "If any of the girls you've dated even knew this, they'd have never let you go."

I blink up at her. "A man-crush?"

"That's not the most important take from my speech."

I press my lips to hold back the sudden bubble of a laugh. "Then what is it?"

"You're damn lovable, Brooklyn Tatum." Liv folds her arms tight. "Anyone would be a fool not to see that."

My throat works with a hard swallow. Especially because I really want to know what she thinks, personally. Like if she could come to love me the way I love her.

And even though it feels too soon for that conversation, I'm also not a coward so I ask, "Are you a fool, then?"

Liv's eyes widen. Her lips part, just as her cheeks start to redden. Clearing her throat, she answers, "Of—Of course not. I'm a smart girl. I know a golden retriever when I see one." She leans down and rubs her hand on my hair like I'm a real puppy.

What?

Does that mean she loves me or not?

Or does she love me like a dog?

I can't believe I'm jealous of a hypothetical dog.

Or was that a clever sidestep? It's true that she's smart and I'm not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.

But I haven't even figured out what to say back when Lauren announces that the damn turkey's ready ahead of time, so we end up sitting at dinner without being able to talk about this at all.

And later, as I drive us back to campus, Liv keeps her nose in the book Maddie gave her. Like she doesn't want to talk.

Or like she said too much. Like maybe she does feel something for me. And this time, it might be more complex than just friendship if she can't say it loud and clear.

Or maybe I'm too desperate to be loved for real.