Destiny Ever-Changing (16 page)

After we make our way up the deck steps, Brooks holds his hand up. "Wait here."

This is getting annoying.

Brooks quietly opens the ornate door that leads into the kitchen, pausing momentarily to listen before he disappears into the house. I walk over to the nearest deck chair and sink into the fluffy cushion, letting out an exasperated sigh. What a day this turned out to be.

"What have you two been up to?" I hear from the darkness at the corner of the house. Will emerges with an accusing grin and a beer in hand.

"Will! Where did you come from?"

"I believe I asked first," he says as he plops down in the chair next to me.

"Well, we, uh—"

"Hey," Brooks interrupts. "I was looking for you. Where is Jacqueline?"

"You're safe. She left hours ago to have dinner with a 'friend'. Nice boxers." Will kicks his feet up onto an iron table and continues his inquisitive gaze in our direction.

Brooks pulls a t-shirt over his head, steps into some athletic shorts, and slips his feet into some rubber flip-flops, obviously unwilling to talk about our whereabouts. "Since it's getting so dark, I'm going to take Laura home. Be deciding on what you want to eat, and we'll throw something on the grill when I get back."

"Mmm-hmm . . ." Will hums as he takes a few overzealous gulps of his beer.

Brooks quickly ushers me to the garage and automatically darts to the passenger side of his truck to open my door. I barely pull my legs inside before he heaves the door shut.

Jerk.

In one fluid motion, he jumps into the driver's side and closes the door behind him. Of course, he still sports a gloomy, annoyed demeanor. As soon as the truck hums to life, an upbeat rock song blares from the speakers, which he immediately quashes with an abrupt turn of a knob as he hastily backs out of the garage. Silence again.
Great
.

As we pull onto the darkening expanse of highway, I twist myself toward the window—and away from him—and I catch a glimpse of the fading sunset, now only a faint afterglow. The moon is making sporadic appearances from behind the choppy clouds, as if it is speaking to me in some sort of sluggish Morse code. I am positive that it is mocking me.

Meanwhile, due to my fervent desire to get out of this vehicle, I actually find myself debating on what would be more painful: staying in here with him one more second or flinging the door open and hurling myself onto the pavement. Luckily, before I have a chance to attempt the latter, he slows and pulls into Nana's driveway.

I turn back in his direction to thank him—until I see him, that is. His body is completely rigid as he grips the steering wheel, and he is staring straight ahead, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Instead, I say absolutely nothing as I slide my feet out onto the ground and softly shut the door behind me. No sooner than I can turn toward the house, I hear the front door creaking open, and Nana's sleepy face peeps through the narrow slit.

"You weren't asleep already were you?" I ask her, hoping to avoid explaining the rumbling truck that still hasn't budged from the drive.

"No, not yet," she murmurs after an audible yawn and steps back just enough to allow my passage through the doorway.

"Sorry, I left my keys in my room. Can I borrow the spare?"

"Hanging on the hook in the kitchen. You having company?" She grinned.

"Nope," I state matter-of-factly. "Just going to shower and go straight to bed. To be honest, I'm just ready for this day to end." I turn around the corner leading into the kitchen, feeling along the dark wall for the key. After a prolonged blind search, my hand meets the cold metal. I turn on my heel to go back into the living room, and I nearly slam into my confused Nana on the other side of the wall.

She nods her head toward the front door. "Are you sure he's aware that you're not having company?"

My eyes dart to the slightly ajar door, and I see a bulky silhouette. I was hoping he would leave as soon as I got inside. "What now?" I say to Nana, knowing that she had no idea.

"He looks pitiful. Says he needs to talk to you. Is this the young man who found your mother's necklace?"

I reluctantly start for the door. "That's him. I'll explain tomorrow, okay? Goodnight."

"You better," she chuckles. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

I swiftly close the heavy door behind me as I step onto the concrete porch, which startles Brooks from his glare into the darkness on the other side of the highway. Once he turns, I immediately notice that his expression has softened.

Too little too late.

"Laura, can we talk?"

"Look, all I want more than anything right now is a shower. Can this wait?"

"I'll wait until after you shower. Please? I promise it won't take long." His blue eyes are droopy and haggard.

Deciding to make him sweat it a little, I agree to let him wait until after I shower. I lead the way through the dark garage and up the rickety stairs to my room, thankful that I hadn't left it in a mess. He appears to be shocked as I flip on the lights. Maybe, he expected the room to look like the grimy garage, but he seems to be pleasantly surprised to find it otherwise.

I wordlessly motion toward the tiny living area and toss the television remote to him once he seats himself on the couch. I disappear into my closet to find some clean clothes—a pair of black running shorts and a soft pink t-shirt. My usual nighttime attire will have to wait until he is gone.

I hear the low mumbling from the television once I step into the bathroom, and I am sure to take my time. I step into the steamy shower and carefully lather, rinse, and repeat twice, ensuring that my hair was completely free of seaweed and sand. Next, I wash my face with my favorite scrub; it smells like freshly sliced oranges. Then, I grab a washcloth and delicately scour every inch of my body with the matching citrus body wash. Finally, I rinse, turn the water off, pat myself dry, and pull on my clothes. I eventually decide that I cannot waste any more time after I rub a generous amount of lotion on my legs and arms and comb out every tangle from my damp hair.

When I open the bathroom door, I nearly expect to find that Brooks left . . . probably more hoping than expecting. But he is still sitting there in the same position as before. I toss my towel and dirty clothes into the hamper by my closet and situate myself on the very edge of the couch.

After a moment of hesitation, he looks at me. "I'm a jerk, aren't I?"

"Yep."

"Wow," he laughs nervously, "not even an attempt to sugar-coat it."

"Nope." I'm quite proud of my strong reserve.

Finally, looking like he's about to spontaneously combust, Brooks turns to me. "I like you. I
really
like you. So I'm having a hard time maintaining the distance that I should have with you."

"I—," I attempt to butt in.

"Please, just let me finish, and then you can ream me out if you feel it's necessary."

I nod.

"I'm struggling. Struggling with a forced engagement to a woman I can't stand. Struggling with a father who thinks it is his personal right to manipulate me for his own monetary gain. And more than anything, I'm struggling with keeping a friendly relationship with a woman who, if things were different, I would like to be
more
than friends with. But this is the hand that I have been dealt, and I can't change any of it. I don't want you to think for one second that I am trying to make excuses for my behavior or lead you on, because I'm not. I've been a jerk; I admit it. Nevertheless, I want to try to make this friendship work. I feel like I can talk to you about things that I can't talk about with anyone else, and you make me feel like a human again."

After a brief pause, I realize he is waiting for my reply. "I honestly don't know if I can do this anymore," I say. "I have only known you for a few days, and we've already experienced more ups and downs than people who have known each other for years. I don't know what to expect from you from one moment to the next. One minute, you're Dr. Jekyll and the next you're Mr. Hyde, and let me tell you, I detest Mr. Hyde. Not to mention, I refuse to sneak around behind your fiancé's back. I'm not that kind of girl. So how do you think this could ever work?"

He shakes his head. "I would never ask you to sneak around behind Jacqueline's back."

I hold up my hand and interrupt. "What was up with the covert ops through your backyard tonight, then?"

"I didn't mean to make you feel like I was hiding you. I just wasn't ready to be grilled by her if she saw you unexpectedly. Even though she has no qualms about throwing her infidelity in my face, I still wouldn't want to give her any ammunition against me. And, about Mr. Hyde, I promise you, if I'm anything less than a perfect gentleman ever again, I give you full permission to slap the hell out of me and never speak to me again."

"Now, that is awfully tempting," I say, trying desperately to maintain an emotionless expression.

"No more monkey business," he vows. "Friends?"

I sigh deeply. "Okay . . . friends."

He jumps up and starts walking toward to door. "I may swing by here tomorrow, if it's okay with you. I'm planning a little get-together, and I want you to be there. So I'll come by once I get the exact day and time."

"Sounds grand," I utter with a hint of sarcasm. "See you then."

"Excellent. Goodnight, Laura."

And he's gone.

Before I can make my way across the room to lock the door behind him, I hear his truck fire up and take off down the drive. I slip on my pajamas and pull back the covers on the bed. Before I slide into the soft sheets, I spot my mother's journal on the nightstand. Maybe I'll just read
one
more entry. After all, I'm anxious to see where she is going to take me next.

Chapter Twelve — Redemption

Brooks:

I never would have pegged Laura as the type of person that would get sheer enjoyment from holding me as her naked hostage. Quickly wading over to the bank, I grab my rumpled boxers and step into them—with my back to Laura, just in case—forcing myself to suppress the images of her staring at my backside. I must also mention that having an undergarment caked with wet sand on the inside is quite an undesirable feeling. At first, I don't know how to react to such an interesting turn of events, but I currently have only one reaction in mind . . . revenge.

Watching her walk ahead of me, I notice that her drenched khaki shorts and thin lavender t-shirt are clinging to her skin in a glorious way, accentuating her tapered waist and curvy hips. Her dripping hair is hanging in disheveled chestnut waves down to her midriff, and she doesn't seem at all concerned that her tresses are out of place. I love that about a woman. But more importantly, her unwavering confidence and witty charm are driving me wild.

After my strategy for vengeance is swiftly calculated, I execute my stealthy, surprise attack.  Sneaking up behind her, I scoop her into my arms and bound back into the water, taking her under with me. Shockingly, she doesn't go down without a fight, and we wrestle and splash until we both collapse onto the soft sand.

Rolling over on my right side to face her, I have to stifle a gasp because the tousled look that she sported earlier is much more prominent now: not even a trace of makeup, wild hair, and tiny water droplets clinging desperately to every visible inch of her light bronze skin. I have never seen a woman more stunning.

As fate would have it, I spot a minuscule white seashell in her hair next to her eye, so I inch closer. "Hold still," I say as I free her hair of the tiny hitchhiker.

Her glistening emerald eyes watch me intently—a look that I could only describe as adoration. No one has ever looked at me that way; no one has ever made me feel this way. Overcome with a desire to touch her, I take her hand and place it on my chest. That one simple touch is all it takes to send me into overdrive. My heart is about to explode from my chest, I don't feel like I can catch my breath, and I have a nervous excitement coursing through my veins. I have always heard people describe "love" in this same manner, but is that even possible? As soon as that thought crosses my mind, my soaring exhilaration crashes and burns.

What am I doing?

"We have to go," I blurt out, trying to regain my senses. I offer my hand to help her to her feet, and she looks up at me with a wounded expression. I hate myself for doing this to her, knowing what she has been through. I also don't know why I keep torturing myself; I'm well aware that nothing can happen between us, but for some reason, I can't seem to break free from the spell that Laura has unknowingly cast upon me. This has to stop . . . for both of our sakes.

As we walk back, I can't seem to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotion that is surging through my mind. There is a war waging within me, and the opposing forces are in a heated deadlock. My heart is telling me to break all the rules, throw caution to the wind, and surrender myself to the magnetic forces pulling us together.

My head, on the other hand, is telling me to tear myself away and cease all contact, so I will stop making things harder for myself
and
Laura. Every time I try to tell her that I can't see her anymore, my heart takes over and the battle ensues again. Knowing that I only have a few more minutes before we reach my house, I scramble for something . . . anything . . . to say to her, but, every time I catch a glimpse of her in my peripheral vision, my mouth loses its ability to form words.

Practically drowning in my thoughts, I barely hear Laura speaking to me as we reach the stairs leading to my house, but I can sense a hint of disgust in her voice. Honestly, I don't blame her at all. As she turns to walk home, I tell myself to let her go—that would be the best for both of us. However, I don't want to end it like this. She, at the very least, deserves for me to be a man and explain to her why we can't see each other anymore.

Luckily, after a little convincing, she agrees to let me drive her home. I tell myself that being a gentleman may earn me a few brownie points before I make myself look like a complete schmuck. First things first, though, I need clothes. I can't exactly drop a woman off at her home while wearing only boxer shorts without raising more than a few eyebrows.