made my decision. I’m not dragging Brice into this mess of a life I have. He’s better off finding someone without so much baggage,” she declared, reaching for the menu.
“Fine, but don’t you think that’s a decision your husband has a right to make?”
“No! Now if you’re done—”
“Actually—”
“With your role as my medical doctor, I’d like to call it a night. I need to eat and get my rest. Doctor’s orders,” she reminded him, rising from her spot on the sofa.
Peter exhaled loudly. “Fine. I may be your doctor, Brooke, but you’re also my family. I just want you to be happy and it’s obvious you’re not happy about losing the only man you’ve ever loved.”
“I know you do, and I’ll always be grateful to you and your family for taking me in that last year I was in high school. Yours was the only foster home I ever felt safe in.”
“Just think about what I said.”
“Okay. You know, you really need to find a life of your own and stop worrying about mine.”
“So my mother keeps telling me.” He picked up his bag and walked to the door. “See you in a couple of months, unless you need me before then.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Peter.”
Brooke closed the door and suddenly she wasn’t hungry, but she knew she had to put some food in her stomach before she took her medicine. She went to the phone and ordered something light. After placing the request, she went to the bedroom, undressed and took a quick shower. Brooke was standing in the middle of the bathroom, her body wrapped in a large towel, squeezing the excess water from her hair with another, when she heard her cell phone ring. She walked back into the bedroom, picked up her phone on the dresser and looked at the screen. The name read unknown. “Hello.”
“I found you,” a muffled voice replied.
“Who is this?” Brooke asked before the line went dead. “Kids.” Brooke wrapped her hair in the towel, dried herself off and changed into a long nightshirt and shorts. She walked back into the living room and there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?”
“Room service,” a soft voice replied.
Brooke opened the door and stood back as the waitress rolled in a small table. She lifted the lid from the plate and said, “Chicken salad sandwich on a croissant. Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She handed Brooke the bill to sign and took her exit. Brooke picked up the plate, sat on the sofa and stared down at the envelope that would change everything. She forced herself to eat half her sandwich until she started to feel anxious, so she placed the plate back on the table and wheeled it outside the door.
Brooke walked out onto the balcony and took a couple of deep breaths. She wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to contain her tremors. Her heart was racing and no matter how hard she fought, the dam broke and her tears fell. Brooke cried for the end of her marriage, for the fact that—as far as she was concerned and regardless of what the facts might have been—she’d never have children, but most of all, she cried because she knew she’d never stop loving Brice and somehow had to find a way to live with that realization.
Brice circled and jabbed at the punching bag he had placed in the man cave he established in the lower level of the three-story house in the Houston Museum District he’d bought Brooke as a wedding present. It was a lovely starter home in the perfect location. He just recently turned the open concept lower level into the perfect getaway spot for a much-needed escape. Every time he walked upstairs, it was like the ghost of Christmas past, assaulting him with memories of the brief time he’d had there with Brooke.
He punched and kicked the freestanding bag until his arms, shoulders and legs screamed for surrender. Brice wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel as he walked to the small kitchenette and pulled out a large bottle from the refrigerator. He twisted off the cap and was gulping down water when he heard a knock on his door. What now?
“Who is it?” he called out harshly, not in the mood for visitors.
“It’s me, Brice.”
“Alexander?”
“Yeah, open up.”
Brice moved past the large sectional sofa sitting in front of two medium-size ottomans that doubled as coffee tables and a fifty-inch screen television mounted to the wall as he made his way to the door. “What’s up, A?” he asked, stepping aside, allowing his brother to enter.
“What’s up with you?” Alexander asked.
When Alexander walked through the door, still wearing the same suit he’d had on at the office, Brice knew this wasn’t a social call; something was definitely wrong. And if that wasn’t enough, the twitching muscles in his brother’s jaw certainly did.
“I’m good,” Brice lied. “Want a beer?”
“No, thanks. Look, Brice, I can only imagine how hard this must be...working with Brooke, I mean.”
“I know what you mean, man, and it’s fine.” He moved to his sofa and took a seat.
“You sure? Because we have a lot riding on making sure we’re cool with the IRS and Brooke is the one person that can ensure that happens. Her IRS experience and history with our company aside, she's family.”
“I’m sure. Damn, you sound more and more like Mother every day.”
“Well, in this instance, she’s right,” he stated.
“I guess. KJ will be on in a few—want to stay and watch the game?”
“Not this time. I’ll catch it at home, but first I have to pick up dinner and ice cream for China.”
Brice smirked. “Lucky you.”
“That I am,” Alexander acknowledged, taking a seat next to his brother. “So, today was good?”
Brice saw the doubtful look on his brother’s face. “Yes, it was. Brooke even signed the divorce agreement. I offered to take her to dinner but she had other plans...with another man.”
“Ouch...”
“But in fairness I did make it seem like I was seeing Amy, so I guess we’re even...kind of, anyway.”
Alexander’s eyebrows came to attention. “Amy, your research assistant?” Brice nodded. “And why would you do that?”
“Because I’m an idiot.” Brice stood, walked to his refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He popped off the cap and took one long pull. Brice stood with his back to his brother. “I didn’t know just how much I missed her until I saw her again, but I can’t seem to get past my anger.”
Alexander rose and turned toward Brice. “Look at
