I Run to You (28 page)

“Me either.” His dark eyes held hers. “But
somewhere along the way, I realized neither of us were dreaming
about getting married, having babies together. Something was
off.”

“Not off.” She laughed and shrugged. “It
was—what we wanted it to be, and became what it is. We are close
enough friends not to have to pick everything apart, place blame,
and feel guilt, any of those things. Nothing really changed in how
we feel about each other. I may have a dozen friends, but none is
like our friendship.”

He raised their hands, kissed the back of
hers. “I debated saying it, being the one to put it out there.
However, one thing we do well—now at least— is communicate. “

She nodded, stood, and let him get to his
feet.

Brook said, “I’m glad you did. Assumptions
are terrible things. It’s not that there was a lack of something,
in either of us. I think even the closeness we feel, has attraction
to it; it’s just not what either of us thought we would have, when
it started. Does that—make sense?”

“Absolutely.”

She let his hand go.

Rafe tucked his in his pockets. “We grew,
learned something, about ourselves, each other. I cannot imagine
life without you in it. I feel like we can talk about
anything—”

“Yes.” Brook agreed.

“I got to know you. I know, despite what you
sometimes think, you are a strong person. You were in a place when
you arrived here, unsure, maybe experiencing a little too much of
what drove you away.”“

“I was vulnerable. Let’s just admit it.”
Brook chuckled softly. “Starting over, starting anything isn’t
easy. Here, I have both all the support I could want, and all the
memories I would rather forget. I reacted.”

“So did I. We each had our bad moment. But
there’s been a lot days—when we had our best ones.”

“Still will.” She hugged him.

Rafe embraced her, saying, “You made that too
easy.”

“Because it is. There’s nothing tragic or the
end, about us, Rafe.”

“We’ll still hang out. Call. All that.”

“I’m not giving up my special friend.”

In a bit, she walked him out. The sun was
bright, promising to be hot that day, Brook watched him get in and
start his car. They had been having a blast together. They had not
slept together since the time at his house.

He was telling her before today, in many
subtle ways, their relationship was special, different from any he
had; close on a level that neither of them shared with another.

Nothing was voiced until today about why
neither of them was taking the other to bed. Why the friendship
part became the focus.

She was not surprised that neither of them
were emotional about it, upset, or taking it apart. She trusted
him, knew she could tell him anything, and loved him on some level.
The same he likely loved her on.

Rafe was right, they did not share any dreams
about someday getting married, having kids, or whatever the future
might be. They always enjoyed their time together. Always— would.
It was nice, having someone who understood so much about her.

She felt she understood him too.

The flash fire of passion was not anything
she would regret. She still believed it was meant to be Rafe. Both
of them waited 7 years for it. Nothing felt wrong. There was just a
“place” each filled— in the other’s life, that was unique.

It simply was not, the falling in love; die
without you, other half of the whole, thing. She was glad he got to
say it, because she sensed he struggled with telling her how he
felt. How he sensed, she did. He had admitted to her once, during a
long phone conversation, that he did not actually date per se. He
should. Perhaps now, he would. It was just something she sensed, as
if his own walls came down—and he saw nothing disastrous happened
because of it.

Rafe winked at her and backed out.

Brook waved and went in to dress, and then
she loaded her car. She got the outfit she was going to perform in,
and hung it in the back.

Rafe would be there to support her, as he had
always been. He was part of those who cared about her. It meant
more to Brook than anything. A different relationship could have
ended badly, been negative, for them both. They still had what they
built, uncovered, discovered, and cherished. That—was really the
something perfect in her life.

Soon she had no time to ruminate.
Distractions began in earnest. Her phone ran every five minutes,
Renee, Donna—Jordan, checking in. Her family called, telling her
where to park, what they needed her to do, when she got there. So.
Brook was on her way there, trying to get her head in the “first
live performance,” not wanting to be nervous, but she was.

Not only were potential fans hearing them for
the first time, so were the Coburns. They took their music
seriously. She knew they were excited, backing the venture 100%.
However, Brook looked up to them. If any of them said, y’all
sucked; she would hang up her guitar forever.

The Old Mill was a family investment—as well
as a labor of love and good for the area. She and the others would
be giving out flyers and information packets, as well as helping
with arrivals, being part of the welcome committee, before they
performed.

Brook already knew from advanced ticket
sales, the radio announcements; flyers— that locals gave out, the
five acres would be teeming with people. The open stage was ideal
for these sorts of fans—even if the younger crowds would mostly
show up today, along with fans of pop, rock, and more current
music.

Saturday, had more known acts, bigger names,
in gospel and bluegrass. However, Madeline and the rest said, that
today had drawn an impressive number of people. There were always
later arrivals, those who followed their particular bands
around.

Chill. Stop stressing, she muttered and
turned off Copper Creek, going up the winding road, toward the
mill.

“Oh. Lord.” She started seeing cars, miles
ahead, people walking, carrying coolers, lawn chairs. Ages from 50
down, and not a few bikers, and bikini top clad teens—hard-bodied
guys—and some, with impressive beer bellies. Unable to drive over
10MPH, Brook found herself smiling.

Okay, so a person’s worst fear is that no one
will show up. It’s all good. Cool.

When she reached the entry, an officer looked
at a sheet he held, and then waved her left.

She could hear music already from the stage,
a grunge band, but could not look over because of people darting
out between the parked cars. She finally spied Mitch’s camper, the
front, and rear awnings up.

Pulling her car beside Renee’s classic Ford,
she parked and got out.

“You’re here!” Renee jumped to her feet from
having been sitting at the table, under the shade. She her cell in
hand, was wearing denim shorts and a tank that advertised the Mill.
When Brook reached her, she supplied, “Everyone’s around. Jordan is
over helping Madeline and Ruby hand out the packets. Donna went to
help some of the family doing other stuff.”

They collected the boxes of T-shirts from
Brook’s car, and headed out.

They walked past the cars. Brook saw people
everywhere, even with the sun getting hotter overhead; they were
dancing and laughing, having a good time with the band on stage.
Coolers, fold out chairs, in the back acre, the scent of grilled
food mixed with suntan oil and sunscreen. She and Renee greeted
people, smiled at kids running all over the place, some of them
Coburns.

“This is good. Lots of people,” Brook
expressed above the music.

“Yes.” She pointed to the right. “Fire and
rescue are here, in case folks get over heated. Mitch built one of
those mist things and everyone’s selling water, or brought their
own. The family has been going to these things for years. They know
what to do, to keep people safe and give them a good time.”

Skirting around the main crowd of about 500
bodies, they went past vendors and tables, set up to sell things
for the bands. At the table where some of the younger Coburns were
selling T-shirts, CD’s and the like, they handed off the
shirts.

“Do we get one free?” one of the teens
asked.

“Sure.” Brook laughed, watching her whip off
her shirt—thankfully wearing a bathing suit top underneath. She
pulled one the shirts on.

“I’ve ordered a spare box, for family.” She
assured them.

She and Renee spotted Mitch and Jude, going
back and forth from the side entry of the stage.

The Mill was huge, open, and what Jason had
done with the lights was going to be awesome once the sun went
down. The stage was at the perfect level, jutting slightly, and
back stage were sections of bathrooms and waiting/dressing
areas.

The band completed the number to a stream of
whistles and whoops. Brook watched another set up. They were
southern rock, and obviously already had fans, because the whistles
and yells were deafening.

“Hey, Brook.”

She turned and smiled at Levi. He was in his
wolverine T-shirt and baggy shorts, sweating and flush faced.

“Hey.”

He was with Jett and Remy, and an older set
of cousins.

“Aunt Madeline’s down there—” He pointed back
toward the main entry. “I’ve been bringing water and sodas to
everyone. We’ve got a truck load of coolers.”

“That’s great, that you’re helping out.”

“Yeah.” He waved at the others. “Let’s go.”
He informed Brook, “I got to go get some more. Dad and Jason are
back behind the stage, in the clearing, Max is all over— taking
pictures.”

“Thank you.”

“Good luck tonight. I don’t know how long we
kids get to stay.” He grinned wryly. “But that’s okay. Jason’s
gonna let cousin Patty take us to his house, to swim in his
pool.”

“Sounds better than staying here after the
bugs start biting.”

Before they ran off, she spoke to Jett and
Remy, reacquainting herself with the twelve and fourteen year olds
too, who were with them.

“What should we do?”

Renee waved her to the concession. “Let’s
just see who needs our help.”

They did. For the next two hours, they helped
in the concession, and then were commandeered by Mitch, to refresh
the food in the back, for the entertainers. After that, Brook
finally saw her mother, and passed out flyers, talked and laughed
with people, and generally ran her legs off.

She had worn a thin strap summer top, and
shorts, her sneakers, but when she finally grabbed a half frozen
water and found a shaded spot, she sighed and poured water in her
hand, patting her face with the liquid.

“Get in the truck and turn the AC on.”

She looked up at Coy. “I thought you were
parked out back of the stage.”

His shirt was off. His cut offs rode low on
his hips. “That’s one of Alvin’s trucks. He leaves the keys in it.
He won’t mind.”

“I’m fine.”

He walked over, opening the door and turning
the key. The truck engine hummed. “Your face is blood red. Unless
you want to look like a tomato under the lights tonight, you’d
better cool off.”

She grimaced and walked around him, having to
brush by him as he stood by the door.

He smelled of sun, man sweat, mixed with
tropical sunscreen.

The AC was blasting on high. She leaned her
head back and let it rip. “Oh, God, that feels good,” she murmured,
eyes closed.

“I’ll get you another water.”

She didn’t protest. She drank the first one
down, opened her eyes, and took the one he gave her.

Having been standing by the window, he was
also watching her. Coy shifted his gaze for a bit, digging in his
back pocket, then lighting a cigarette. He flipped the sunglasses
that had been slid up on his head downward, over his eyes.

When chills started coming up, she turned the
AC on low and rolled the window down more. “Great turn out.”

He blew smoke, turning his gaze on her again,
not completely hid by the “bad ass” shades. “Yeah. Better than we
expected.”

Brook told herself not to study his strong
jaw, his almost full lips. She muttered in her mind, do not look
down his hard ripped body, or note the texture of his sunbaked
skin.

He was broader, more honed as a man grown. He
had always been a tall and muscled male. Now, it was man, in every
sense of the word.

All right. So there were things she could not
erase, like the way he kissed, the times those strong white teeth
showed in a full smile, and his deep laugh. There were feelings
though, she did not want to feel. Remnants—of his more tender and
passionate side never faded. The way his big hand felt on her
spine. The whispers they exchanged in those never fulfilled make
out sessions.

Worst of all, there was the days and nights
at the lake, where they drank wine and confided young dreams and
frustrations— where they fought temptation to the point of tears
for her.

She closed her eyes and turned her head.
Brook grunted and reached to turn the truck engine off.

Coy opened the door for her, and was standing
there when she stepped down.

Brook hated noticing that her head came only
to his collarbone. It used to make her feel—

Shut up, Brook.

“Good luck tonight,” Coy sounded raspy.

She glanced up. “Thanks.” Brook stepped
away.

He closed the door and crushed out the
cigarette, reaching then, in the back of the truck, digging in one
of the coolers.

Brook glanced out the corner of her eye,
seeing his ribs fan and that hard back-muscle flex.

Disgusted with herself, she looked around for
Renee or Jordan. Rescue. Escape. Where the hell were her
friends?

The sound of a soda opening came from beside
her.

Coy murmured, “They’ll be showers in the
dressing area, everything you need to prepare.”

“Great.”

She finally spotted Renee, and Jordan, along
with a group that included Madeline, by the tables selling their
T-shirts. They were laughing and talking, in high spirits, passing
around cups of ice as everyone looked sweaty and hot.