Chapter Twenty-Two
Unconditional Discharge
Brooke sat down in the chapel, her heart emptying. What was Dane’s problem? It was like he didn’t want to win the hearing anymore, like he figured it was impossible now that they knew what a tornado Sarge LaBarge could be.
Like Dane didn’t care one way or another. The hurt and anger in his face burned in her, blurring out all the music and singing people around her. She felt her eyes well up and couldn’t contain a sniffle.
Dane had given up on her. The tone of his voice when he’d said Tuesday sounded to her as though he never wanted to see her again, before or after their court date.
The song went into a third verse. Brooke looked in her purse for a Kleenex.
Ames came and sat beside her. Close. Too close. She’d taken a detour through the ladies’ room and waited until the music started to sit alone and away from him, hoping to avoid this.
Pastor Walden got up to speak, but to Brooke everything was muffled except one word from a scripture he quoted: “Forgiveness.”
Forgiveness. The word buzzed around in the air above Brooke’s head, humming and darting until it floated in through her ear canal and lodged in her brain.
Ames put an arm around her. It felt cold, even on this too-warm day. She leaned a few inches away, but he didn’t take the hint, so she got up and moved to a new seat. Olivia and Quirt made room for her on their row.
The last thing she needed was this complication of Ames claiming territory he no longer had a right to.
Pastor Walden finished up his recitation of the parable of the Prodigal Son, and then said, “The father loved both his boys. He forgave them both. But they both had weakness— the one who stayed and the one who left and returned.”
It was too much. She saw too many parallels to this moment. Dane, Ames, staying, leaving and returning. It slapped her from every direction. Scriptural application to one’s own life could be crushing.
She opened her Bible and thumbed to the Gospel According to Matthew. Her father’s teachings had included forgiveness, too. Always.
Her eyes flicked to Ames, who was sitting a few pews ahead— and who had turned around to look at her. He stood up and approached her pew, moving to sit by her again. She refused to scoot over, so he stepped past her and sat down.
By now, the whole congregation was watching this buffoonery.
“I’m here for church, Ames,” she said.
“Me, too.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to listen to Pastor Walden, but her thoughts kept intruding.
Dane needed to forgive, too. Couldn’t he see that she was only doing what she needed to do in order to defend herself on Tuesday? The best defense is a strong offense. Amesfor now was their only potential weapon. Surely he had to see that.
But can’t you see? A little voice invaded her thoughts. What Dane sees is you, choosing Ames over him.
No. It couldn’t be. Dane was way too confident, way too cocky. He assumed every would woman chose him. He was Dane Rockwell. Women threw themselves at him, like that time in the park way back when she played catch with him, like that cougar who got him in trouble at work. Probably lots of others.
“The son who stayed home was given all his father had,” Pastor Walden continued.
Minus the fatted calf. Couldn’t Dane see? All Brooke was giving Ames was a fatted calf— a chance to speak on her behalf in court, to make up for past transgressions. At its heart, that was what she was giving him. And that was all, despite whatever else Ames might think her deal entailed— as he put his unwelcome arm around her. Again.
He could forget about rekindling old feelings.
No, thanks.
Brooke wrested herself out of Ames’s embrace and surged to her feet. “Just getting some air,” she murmured as she slid past Quirt and Olivia, weaving past their knees and out of the pew. “It’s roasting in here.” Her brother and sister-in-law shot each other knowing looks. How annoying. Brooke would have told them to shut up if Mrs. Proust hadn’t been the next person blocking her exit from this too tight space.
She exited the chapel, but Pastor Walden’s voice carried over the intercom into the foyer. Before she could escape, Brooke heard him say, “The Lord has said, ‘I the Lord will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.’”
That was it. Her limit, and way past it. Brooke pushed her way toward the exit. The fickle spring air outside was eighty-five degrees with eighty-five percent humidity, but much less stifling than in the chapel.
The buckle on her sandal came undone, and she bent down to fix it or she’d have been flat on her face in a second. She had to stumble out the door to avoid hearing any more of the pastor’s lecture— “Often we see the faults in others most clearly treat them harshly when we secretly harbor the same faults in ourselves …”
Slam. The door swung shut, blessedly cutting off any further accusations.
Dane’s truck was gone. The way they’d parted left her stinging. She pulled out her phone to call him, unsure whether he’d want to hear from her right now. See you Tuesday, he’d said with finality. Hopeful to the bitter end, Brooke dialed his number and waited.
Days and days had passed since he’d kissed her. Too many days.
He seemed mad enough today— it was possible he didn’t even want her anymore. That she’d squandered her chance with him.
That dull knife of a thought ripped a ragged gash through her. If being away from Dane for a single day felt like being surgically separated from him, how would parting from him forever feel?
She couldn’t go there.
“Dane?” She left a voice mail, since he didn’t pick up. He probably didn’t listen to voice mails, but she had to try. She’d do anything. “Hey, I’m sorry. Seriously. If you feel that strongly, I can totally let go of that person as a witness.” She was rambling. Stupid voice mail! She could never say things right, and there was no way to erase. Panic rose in her. He’d gone, and she hadn’t made things right, and—
“Hey, you all right?” Ames loomed up behind her. Didn’t he understand how unwelcome he was?
“I’m fine. Go back inside.”
“You’re not fine. I know you, Brooke.” He rested a hand on her shoulder.
“You don’t, Ames.” She moved toward her car.
“I want to help.”
She stuck her key in the lock, but a glint from the windshield of a moving vehicle caught her eye.
Dane’s truck.
Brooke’s stomach clenched. She hadn’t seen him there. Had he been parked there all along? As Dane passed, she saw him at the wheel, his frown and eyes as stony as Mt. Rushmore.
Oh, no.
She dialed him again fast. It took him six rings to pick up, and by then his old Dodge had disappeared onto the street.
“Dane.” She knew he’d seen her talking to Ames. He’d seen Ames touching her. Her voice trembled with uncertainty. Apologies of every kind floated through her, not that she’d done anything wrong, but she’d never dream of hurting Dane. Not after all he’d done for her. They were so close to having this mess behind them. “Dane, I’m so sorry. Our argument earlier—”
Dane interrupted. “You’ll have to find another lawyer.”
Brooke went ice cold, despite the summer’s pounding heat. “Another-er-er …” Her stuttering trailed off.
“Yeah, I mean. Yeah.” Dane didn’t elaborate, and Brooke’s brain raced to grasp the implications— and the cause. Was he that upset that she’d involved Ames Crosby? Dane hadn’t ever seemed the vindictive type before.
“What’s this about?” A long pause ensued during which Brooke’s blood alternated between boiling and frozen.
“I just want you to know, I never intended to leave you hanging.” Agony tinged his voice. She expected him to explain, to make a suggestion of what she should do. But instead he gave a pained, “I have to go.”
The line went dead, followed by Brooke’s insides. No lawyer equaled no chance of reclaiming the Called Shot Ball.
And no Dane equaled no shot at the future her heart had begun to dare imagine.