I follow Brooks down the deck and almost bump into him when he stops abruptly outside his bedroom door. My blood boils and heart quickens thinking about the last time I was in his room. Focus. Brooks leans against the column supporting the roof. I recognize his pensive gaze and I can tell we're sharing the same thoughts again.

"It doesn't bother me, you know." I reach my hand to his shoulder and rest it on his sleeve. "The looks I get when it comes up. How everyone gets all quiet."

"It should," Brooks says, hoarse.

"It should?" I repeat his words.

I mean, it should: Him cheating on me during his second chance. But I think back to NYC. I think about Brooks promising we write together moving forward. Same story.

I can't waste any more energy fighting with him. He looks at me, shaking his head and looking down at his hands.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Em. I get sorrier every time I think about it or every time you say –I mean." He drags his fingers over his face and through his outgrown hair.

"When I joke about it?" I say it for him. "I don't mean for it to remind you or seem like I'm still mad."

"But you should be. You should be mad!" Brooks's voice is turning raspy. I stare into his eyes, as somber as the sea. "You never even yelled at me!"

Never yelled at him? Is he forgetting our entire shouting match the morning after he found me at Alex's?

"Yell at me. Go on," Brooks says, squaring up our shoulders, bracing himself. His tone is taking a turn down a road I don't want to go. I can hear his frustration and his self-loathing. Kinda sounds like mine.

"I'm not yelling at you!" I almost laugh at him. "We aren't doing this, remember, Jay? We move forward," I say, leaning into him again. My palm touches his cheek and I move his face to mirror mine.

"Fuck!" Brooks growls. "Maybe we need to do this. Clear the air."

"There's nothing to clear!" I insist. Lies. There's so much to clear that no disinfectant stands a chance.

"I just hate myself whenever I think about it. Any of it. Miami. The fact that I let you come? That's fucking sick. Of telling you there. Of me bringing her HERE! FUCK, what's wrong with me?" His voice cracks as it catches in his throat. Brooks grip tights on the railing and I'm 99% sure I hear it crunching under his hands. "And you just accept it AGAIN?"

He sounds incredulous. He sounds like he's trying to talk me out of being with him. Self-sabotage? Brooks? Never.

"I didn't accept it." I stress the word. How can he even think that?

"You did. And you just forgave me. You just fucking did like six months was enough to forget. Like you didn't even care at–"

"I slept with Alex!" I shout, clasping my hands over my mouth. This isn't new information, but it's the first time I've said it out loud to him. Confirmation.

"I –Oh," Brooks stutters, taken aback by my blatant confession. "I remember."

"Your best friend. Fucked him twice that night. Just so I wouldn't be alone. It didn't matter because I couldn't feel anything anyway! Not after seeing you with her!" My voice cracks; it's starting to betray me. I blink back tears. "I was numb. And you know what you said to me the next day? You asked if I did it to hurt you."

I think back to that morning after, when I opened the door of Alex's apartment and found Brooks waiting for me. He had tried to apologize then, but I wouldn't hear it. Is he right? Was six months enough to make me forget again? To not even care anymore –not hold him accountable?

"Ems," Brooks whispers.

I look away, ignoring him as he slides an arm around my waist. I try to keep my feet planted firmly on the deck, a foot away from him. He is ruining this already, getting under my skin and not in a good way.

"After that night, when I visited you– when I told you, when I said–" Brooks pauses, waiting for me to acknowledge I know the night he's talking about.

"Valentine's Day," I say; my voice is barely audible.

"I thought that was my answer. And I couldn't keep doing it. I took the fucking easy way out," Brooks admits. "And then at the bonfire, shit, maybe I thought I'd call your bluff. I brought her and then I watched you leave with Alex and I knew it was all my fault. I hated you and wanted to kill him. But of course I still cared. It's why I showed up the next morning."

"You want me to believe that you cheated on me, started dating her, brought her home and paraded her around –all to call my bluff? Like it would somehow make me fall in love with you?" I can hardly keep the hilarity out of my tone.

Jokes on him. I already loved him.

Maybe I should have fought harder in Miami. Never left there without him.

"I know," Brooks says, shaking his head. "I should have folded."

"It's some kind of fucked up." I tell him.

"How did you forgive me? Tell me so I can forgive myself," he pleads. His eyes search mine like they're trying desperately to reach my soul.

Already this isn't the same Brooks I ran into on New Years, not the same Brooks from the brewery. Real life caught up to him. He's facing the music now. And it's blaring like a bitch.

Do I admit the truth? The truth that all the anger I felt picturing him with Lexi and seeing them together at Tenfire all dissipated the moment I slept with Alex? The truth that in my eyes we are even now? Some random girl for a best friend. Fair trade. I'd even say I won.

I look at him, facing me now, and I step into him so our waists are together. His eyes are soiled with grief and glistening with soon to be tears. Broken Brooks stands in front of me, desperately clinging to his own shattered pieces. I realize he's doing it to himself. Because I have already forgiven him –forgiven me too. I want nothing more than to save him.

"How did you forgive me?" Brooks asks again.

"I love you," I whisper. "That's how."

There. I said it. OUT LOUD. Where's my trophy? Gold star, at least?

Brooks looks at me, eyes close to tears. He leans to rest his head against my chest, burrowing into it -into me.

"Got that out of your system now?" I joke. I smooth his hair with my fingers.

"Sorry," he mumbles against my skin. I'm not sure if he means for right now or for everything. Prob both.

...

We spent the rest of the day in Brooks's room, packing his bag for the weekend. I finally talked him down off the metaphorical cliff he was about to push us over. It's been a day and a half and it's only 6 PM. I am ready to get the show on the road. Literally. Ready for a lighthearted booze fest.

Just need to survive a four-hour drive first.

"Ready?" Brooks asks, looking at me over his shoulder.

"Sure am," I say.

I follow him from his room back onto the deck and into the kitchen. Something smells incredible. My mouth is watering and I didn't even realize I hadn't eaten yet today. Just two coffees. Casual.

Brooks drops his bag next to the door in the foyer. Brody and Lauren's suitcases are already leaning against the wall.

"Smells great, mom." Brody enters the kitchen.

I do a double take at his hoodie and sweats. If he were a few inches taller, I swear I'd mistake him for Brooks.

"Perfect timing," Marge says.

She carries a large steaming bowl over to the table, already set, and drops it in the center. I peek at the bowl and find a chicken and pasta dish with sundried tomatoes and spinach.

"Come on. Eat up before you leave. There's enough for seconds." Marge starts scooping small mounds of pasta onto the plates.

Brooks and Brody do have seconds. I almost finish my first, picking around the chicken.

Time flies and just when I check my phone for the time (already 7:34 PM), Brooks stands from his chair.

"We should get going. Car number one just left." He tucks his phone in his jeans and I know Travis just texted him.

"OK. I'm all set," I say.

"Same!" Lauren agrees.

We stand from the table and clear our dishes to the sink. Brody and Brooks's too, because men. A quick change into road-clothes and we are all ready.

We say our goodbyes to Marge, who is waving to us from the doorway. The warm yellow glow of the inside spills down the front steps and casts shadows on the lawn. I watch my own shadow dance across the gravel until my silhouette is painted black on the truck.