Downpour: A Grumpy Sunshine Romance (The Griffith Brothers Book 2)
Downpour: Chapter 25

I had just gotten out of the shower and thrown a clean pair of shorts and a shirt on when I heard the knock at the door. It wasn’t Brooke. I knew that much.

She was out with Cass and Becks, and she didn’t knock anyway.

I had just left CJ and Nate after the horse transport came, so I figured it wasn’t them either. Christian always spent Saturdays with his daughters.

That just left my parents.

I had told my mom that Brooke and I would come up to the house for dinner tonight, so I wasn’t sure why she’d be at my door just a few hours before.

“Door’s unlocked,” I hollered as I finished toweling off my hair and tossed it into the hamper. Maybe Brooke had forgotten to grab her keys and she was back early.

The front door opened and closed, and soft footsteps echoed in the kitchen.

It definitely wasn’t the heavy boot thuds that signaled my brothers.

I turned my wheelchair and pushed out of my room and into the kitchen.

Bree, my oldest niece, stood in the kitchen with her hands clasped behind her back.

I froze.

She had completely ignored me the other day. Not that I blamed her. I was a little more than surprised to see her in my kitchen.

Bree was so grown up now. Gone was the toddler who used to only sleep if she was being held. She was a young lady and looked just like her mom. Christian’s genes had surpassed her almost completely. It was like looking at a younger version of Gretchen, Christian’s late wife.

“You said to come in, so I did,” Bree said. There was no happy-go-lucky, giggly girl left. Her jaw was set and she looked angry.

I remembered how that anger felt. Like the world was at fault for everything. But I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. I would always be angry about my accident, and I refused to feel bad about that.

But my anger towards the world had slowly dissipated ever since Brooke arrived at my house with skinned knees and a Cheshire smile.

But I had a feeling that Bree’s anger wasn’t directed toward the world. It was because of me.

And I deserved it.

“I’m glad you did,” I said.

Her eyes darted from side to side. “Dad said I could come talk to you.”

“Okay,” I said as I rolled to the fridge. “Whatcha wanna talk about?” I opened the freezer and pulled out a box of popsicles.

Bree’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you have those?”

“I asked Brooke to pick ‘em up. I was hoping you’d come down to see me, and I wanted to be prepared if you did.”

I pulled out two red, white, and blue layered popsicles from the box and handed them to her. “Can you take them out of the plastic for me? Kinda hard to do that these days.”

Bree didn’t say anything as she pinched the plastic packaging and opened it.

“What’cha wanna talk about, squirt?” I asked as we went out onto the deck.

Bree closed the sliding door behind her. “I dunno. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” she mumbled. Her eyes softened as she sat in the deck chair across from me and stared at her quickly melting popsicle.

I took a bite out of mine before it turned into a slushy. “Don’t tell me you don’t like ‘em anymore. You can’t be too old for popsicles.”

Bree caught a drip of red syrup on her thumb and wiped it on her shorts. “After mom died, you’d always let me have a popsicle when I was sad.”

“Yeah, your dad still doesn’t know how much sugar I gave you two minions. So let’s keep that between us.”

Her eyes were watery as she looked up at me. “When I saw you on the ground in the arena, all I wanted was a popsicle. And you weren’t there to give it to me.”

“Bree—”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Suddenly, she wasn’t the fifteen-year-old who was learning to drive and the young lady who was rumored to have a boyfriend. She was the broken-hearted three-year-old who I’d sneak a popsicle to when she was crying for a mom who wasn’t coming back.

When things returned to some version of normal after Gretchen’s death, Nate came home from his deployment and I left my girls. I convinced him to keep popsicles at his house, just so the girls would know I was still thinking of them.

“Why didn’t you let us see you?” she whimpered. “I … I watched it happen. Dad wouldn’t let us go to your hospital room until you woke up, and then when you did⁠—”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!” she yelled, throwing her popsicle down on the deck slats. It broke into pieces, melting almost instantly in the mid-summer sun. “You promised to be there for us when we needed you. That we could always talk to you, even when you were on the road. And you lied.”

Regret and anguish boiled inside me. It was like being thrown back into that hospital bed, unable to move. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“I don’t even know why I came down here,” she muttered, storming back to the door.

“Bree, stop.” I never raised my voice with Christian’s daughters, but I needed her to hear me.

She froze with her hands balled in fists. “I never got to tell you about Cass. I mean really tell you about her. And when you moved back to the ranch, I wanted you to talk to her and Dad because there’s a boy in the grade ahead of me that wants to take me on a date, but Dad won’t let me because he can drive and I can’t. And I wanted to sit and watch movies with you like we used to. And I wanted to color your tattoos. And I know it sounds stupid because I’m gonna be an adult in a few years, but⁠—”

“It’s not stupid,” I snapped. “I missed every single one of those things too.”

“Then why didn’t you let us come see you?”

“Because I was stupid. Because I was a coward. Because you and Gracie have always been the most important people to me. And I mean it.” I threw my popsicle down to melt beside hers. “You’ve always been more important to me than your dad. Than your Uncle Nate and Uncle CJ. The ranch. All of it. The only reason I ever came back was for you two. Because in some stupid way, I thought it was better for me to not be there for you at all, rather than being there as I was. As I am.”

Her lip trembled. “It hurt.”

“I know. And there’s not much I can do to apologize and make up for it. But I’m going to try.”

Bree crossed her arms. “Dad made us go to therapy when we lost Mom.”

“I know. You’ve got a good dad.”

“So, if you think you’ve lost yourself, then you need to go to therapy,” she said. But this time, she didn’t sound like a miniature version of her mom. She sounded like Cassandra.

“I go to therapy three times a week.”

“Not physical therapy, smart-ass.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “Excuse you, fifteen-going-on-twenty-five. Who said you’re allowed to swear?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s barely a cuss word.”

I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

Bree’s voice was soft. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for Brooke.”

I cocked my head. “What are you talking about?”

Bree shrugged. “You like her, don’t you?”

I raked my hand through my hair, hoping it would ease some of the tension. But it didn’t. ‘Like’ didn’t even begin to cover what I felt for Brooke.

“Yeah. I do, squirt. A lot.”

“She’s really nice.”

I nodded.

“And pretty,” Bree added. “And she obviously likes you. Do it for her.”

The sliding door rolled back and, speak of the devil, Brooke appeared. She was wearing a pair of short denim cut-offs and a flowing tank top that dipped between her breasts. Her hair was down in thick ringlets today. Her skin was flushed pink, probably from walking all the way from Becks’s house.

“Hey, girlie,” Brooke said with a smile as she wrapped her arm around Bree’s shoulders and squeezed. “I didn’t know I’d get to see you today.” One look at the tears that were slowly drying on Bree’s cheeks and Brooke’s expression shifted to concern. “What’s the matter?”

Bree wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “Nothing. We were just catching up.”

Brooke’s eyes fell on me, then on the puddle of popsicles. She lifted her eyebrows. “Okay. I see a dessert crisis. Nothing that can’t be fixed. I’m sure we have more. I got, like, three or four boxes.”

“It’s fine.” Bree wiped away the rest of her tears. “I’m not really in the mood for a popsicle anyway.”

My stomach clenched.

“You sure?” Brooke asked.

“Yeah. I feel better.” Bree looked at me. “Are y’all coming up to Grandma’s house for supper with everyone?”

I let out a breath. “Yeah, squirt. We’ll be there.”

Bree said goodbye to Brooke and slipped through the house and out the front door.

“Hey, how was going out with Becks and Cass?” I asked as I wheeled over and bent down to pick up the popsicle sticks from the puddle of syrup.

Brooke let out a light laugh. “I think I got interrogated, and then I burned off my tacos and margarita with the walk back to the house. How long do we have to wait until supper?”

I chuckled and went inside with her. “Not long. What’d they interrogate you about?”

Brooke slid onto my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. “You.” Her lips still tasted like salt and tequila.

I tilted my head, diving in deeper to savor her.

She let out a soft whimper, pressing into my chest. “I tried not to tell them anything but I think Cassandra had them put double the alcohol in my drink.”

“Don’t be fooled by the ‘mom act.’ Becks is just as diabolical.”

She giggled. “It was good, I think. I don’t know. I don’t really fit in with them.”

“They knew each other before they came to the ranch. They worked together in New York. It’ll just take some time.”

Her crisp blue eyes turned to puddles of cerulean. “You think I have time?”

I tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek. “As much time as you want.”

Dinner was a lively affair. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed this much or felt this at ease around my family. Mom opted for burgers and fries, which was nice. It didn’t require utensils or cutting, and I appreciated that.

Brooke sat to my left while Gracie sat on my right.

After our conversation this afternoon, I was hoping Bree and I would have started mending fences, but it seemed like she was keeping a safe distance for now. I knew I couldn’t expect much. Still, despite our distance across the table, she talked to me and laughed at everyone’s jokes.

I kept my arm around Brooke’s shoulders throughout the meal. It was the best I could do to hold her close while we ate.

I had been distracted, spending time with Nate and CJ and the new horses while the girls went to lunch, but I had missed the fuck out of her.

I didn’t want to let her go.

“Brooke?” Gracie asked, leaning around me to see Brooke while my mom put a giant platter of cookies in the middle of the table for dessert.

Brooke grabbed two, dropping one on my plate and one on hers. “Yes?”

“So, are you like… Uncle Ray’s girlfriend? Or do you work for him? Because I just thought you worked for him.”

Hushed laughter rose up from the table.

Brooke’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Um⁠—”

“Geez, you can’t ask that,” Bree whispered in the loudest whisper known to man. “Everyone knows it’s both.”

Gracie scoffed. “Well, I didn’t know it was both and that’s why I asked.”

I rubbed my temples. Brooke held onto her cookie like it was the last life jacket on the Titanic.

“I—um—“ Brooke stammered.

“Grace, that’s none of your—our—business,” Christian chided.

Honestly, I wanted to agree with Bree and put the debate to rest.

Brooke was both.

But that also didn’t sit right with me. Part of me doubted if she would stay if she didn’t have a fat paycheck dropping into her bank account every Friday.

I didn’t want to believe she was with me for the money, but it had certainly started that way and I couldn’t fault her for it. That was what had brought her to me to begin with.

But if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t want to keep paying her to stay with me.

Brooke had said she wanted me. That she wanted to see where this spark between us would go. I didn’t want to make her unemployed, but I needed to know she meant it.

I had to figure something out.

“She works for the company that we hired to send help,” I said to Gracie as evenly as I could. It was as middle-of-the-road as I could make it. I didn’t deny what was going on with Brooke, but I wasn’t ready to officially throw our relationship into the court of public opinion.

Brooke took a sip of water and nodded slightly. “Yeah…”

The single syllable was crushed beneath the weight of her overwhelming disappointment.

Shit.

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