The Men Next Door

Ch 42 - Brooks

Three weeks and no shortage of tearful goodbyes later—the girls were a mess on their last day together, I cried as much as Luca did, and Jenkins finally had to use that pinstriped handkerchief he always kept tucked in his pocket—Cam and I were settled in Nashville.

Well, not quite settled, but...out of New York nonetheless.

We couldn't get into our new apartment until mid-October, which meant for sixteen long days, we were stuck with my sister in all of her stress-fueled glory. The kind that had her saying things like, "Campbell, honey, I love you, but if you ask me if I need anything one more time tonight, I'm going to go AWOL." And the kind that kept Elijah and Judah very occupied with useless grocery runs, mindless guitar sessions, and football plays that they both already knew like the back of their hands.

Sometimes I wished I could join them in their hideaways, but in lieu of letting me pay for the spare room we'd invaded at the worst possible time, Brenna decided that I was going to be a personal chef at her beck and call. And one night, after she'd put a very collicky baby Clara to bed, she cornered me in her kitchen, demanding that I make biscuits and gravy that were "Just like grandma made them growing up, except better. And quicker. Like, now. Please."

"That 'please' was your saving grace," I told her.

She raised a challenging eyebrow as she sat down by the window, in the living room chair she'd forced Elijah to drag out there for times like these. "From what?"

"I'm half tempted to steal your car and leave it on Broadway."

Brenna snorted. "I don't think my car is nice enough for anyone to look twice at."

"Which is why I'd leave it unlocked, with some nice cozy blankets inside. To entice some wasted guy to climb in and take a nap." I tipped an invisible cowboy hat in her direction, just like the one the man in my imagination would use as a pillow, and her nose scrunched in disgust. "Lovely, sweaty alcohol smells. Just for you."

"That's nauseating."

"Good. Then I don't have to cook."

She flipped me off without a second thought, then asked, "When are you getting a car?"

"I don't think I am," I answered, plucking the ingredients from her cabinets and fridge in spite of my last words. "I did most of the apartment hunting, and we only put my name on the lease...just in case." She nodded knowingly as I set the oven to the right temperature and dropped a pan onto the burner. "So I think Cam is going to worry about the car. We only need one for now."

"Are you okay with that?"

"With her getting a car?" I asked skeptically. The biscuit package popped open with a bang, and I winced, looking down the hall where Clara was tucked away and everyone else was probably nodding off to sleep. When I didn't hear any movement, I let out a breath of relief, then scattered the dough across the baking sheet and slid it into the oven, not bothering to wait for it to preheat.

"No," my sister clarified. "With her...owning the escape route."

I sighed discontentedly, even though the same thought had crossed my mind once or twice. The difference was, I never voiced it...And especially not in the same house as Cam, who I knew could move around as quiet as a mouse. Hell, she'd snuck up on me and Grandpa Jones in an apartment much smaller than Brenna's suburban dream. I had no doubt that she could be in listening range without anybody finding out.

But none of that affected my dry, if not slightly annoyed, answer. "Would it make any difference if I owned it? It's going to be parked outside the same building either way."

"Well, I'd be less likely to steal Elijah's car than to take off in my own," Brenna reasoned. "Not that I'm thinking about leaving, but..." she trailed off as the sausage I'd cut open began to sizzle in the pan. I quickly washed my hands, and the instant that the faucet turned off, she finished with a simple, "You know what I'm trying to say, Brooks. Don't look at me like that."