Woo Me, Brent. Woo Me

 

Despite everything going on in his life, Brent seems determined to woo me.

He cooks me breakfast the next morning and serves it to me up in bed.

“Sorry, babe,” he says as he places the tray of food on my lap. “All I had in the fridge that was even remotely breakfast-y were liquid egg whites, some assorted cheeses, and a couple of sweet peppers.”

It’s cute that he’s apologizing for making me a cheese and sweet pepper egg-white omelet. He needn’t be, as this is what he eats back in Vegas. And I like this kind of healthy food too. It’s delicious.

“S’okay,” I murmur around a delectable bite. “This is awesome. Everything tastes really fresh.”

“You have my mom to thank for that,” he says, chuckling. “She somehow found time to sneak into my house and stock the fridge.”

“She sounds like a sweet mom,” I say softly.

“She’s amazing,” Brent agrees.

As I devour breakfast, I take note that Brent is already showered and ready to go. He looks great in his distressed jeans and a long-sleeved gray tee. It’s clear, and understandably so, that he wants to head over to the hospital as soon as possible.

I eat faster so we can hit the road.

A few minutes later, as I’m finishing with breakfast, I say, “Let me jump in the shower real fast. I can be ready to go in less than half an hour. Is that okay?”

“Perfect,” he replies.

We have so much to talk about, especially after last night, but the drive to the hospital doesn’t seem the place.

Outside his dad’s room, I meet his mom. She’s a beautiful lady—petite with whiskey-colored eyes—just like Brent—and long chestnut-brown hair.

“Mom, this is Aubrey,” Brent says with a big, beaming smile.

Placing her hand on my arm, she smiles warmly. “Ah, Aubrey… Brent’s told us so much about you. It’s good to finally meet you.” She sighs. “Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Me too,” I reply. “But it’s still wonderful to meet you, as well.”

“Come, now.” She locks her arm with mine, and I like her already. She seems an easy person to be around. “You must meet Brent’s father.”

In his hospital room, I meet the famous Billy Oliver. He’s like an older version of Brent in many ways. They share the same strong facial features, though Mr. Oliver’s hair is much lighter, and he has a fair amount of gray at his temples. All in all, though, Brent is a perfect blend of his mother’s coloring and his dad’s face and build.

After formal introductions are made, Brent’s dad says, “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the famous life coach.”

“Probably more like infamous,” I murmur.

If his dad knows anything about my termination, or that video leaked by Brent, he probably questions my abilities.

But instead of nodding in agreement at my own slight against myself, he smiles up at me, kindness in his eyes. “Infamous, my ass,” he scoffs. “I’ve only heard great things about you, young lady.”

“Thank you,” I reply, blushing.

Mr. Oliver goes on, “In fact, too bad my son didn’t have you come up here sooner. You probably could’ve straightened out this old-coot-with-a-bad-ticker’s way of thinking. Up until this wake-up call, I thought I was invincible.”

“Too stubborn for his own good,” Mrs. Oliver chimes in.

I nudge Brent. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Mr. Oliver lets out a chuckle. “Ah, your woman knows you well, son.”

Turning about six shades of red, Brent murmurs, “Dad, please.” And then, leaning down to me, he whispers in my ear, “Sorry about that.”

His parents don’t know we’ve not yet talked things out, but they are clearly Team Braubrey.

Mr. Oliver, pushing around the pillows behind him and getting more comfortable in his hospital bed, asks Brent to fill him in on all the latest hockey games and scores, which Brent does. Since I’ve been diligently following league action I’m able to throw in a few updates of my own.

“This one’s a keeper, for sure,” he says to Brent after I give him a pretty thorough recap of a Minnesota Wild game from the other night.

“Billy,” Mrs. Oliver chastises.

I suppose she’s beginning to sense her son’s—and my own—uneasiness at all these relationship references.

Clearing her throat, she brings up what everyone seems to resort to when at a loss for words—the weather.

“Has anyone noticed lately how unseasonably warm it’s been up here? I sure hope it cools down soon. I was hoping for a white Christmas, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for us this year. Maybe we’ll have some snow by New Year’s.”

“Mom loves snow,” Brent then informs me.

Mr. Oliver interjects. “That’s only ’cause she doesn’t have to shovel it.”

Brent’s mom reaches over and caresses her husband’s face lovingly. “There’ll be no shoveling for you, mister, for a good, long time.”

“Guess that means we’ll have to think of other things to occupy our time when we’re all snowed in,” Mr. Oliver says to his wife with a suggestive wink.

“Annnnd that’s our cue to go,” Brent says.

“Oh, stay, honey,” his mother replies. “Your father’s just being silly. Must be all the drugs they have him on.”

Mr. Oliver harrumphs, and Mrs. Oliver shushes him.

Brent, chuckling at his parents’ cute banter, and clearly loving that they care so much about each other, says, “I’m kind of hungry, anyway, Mom. Aubrey and I can come back up after we grab a quick bite down in the cafeteria.”

“Don’t be too long,” she says.

“We won’t,” he assures her as we head for the door.

Down in the cafeteria, as we move through the line, picking out sandwiches and a side of carrot sticks with dipping sauce I insist on having, I finally share with Brent what Lainey told me about how contract addendums have to be signed by both parties to be enforceable.

As I finish with my explanation, I add, “And I don’t think Mr. Dolby ever signed the addendum that day we met.”

“Whoa, what?” Brent stops in his tracks, but I can’t go on since we’re at the register. He pays for our food quickly, and then says, “Let’s talk about it once we sit.”

“That works for me.”

We choose a table far away from everyone, and once we’re seated, he clears his throat and asks, “So what is it exactly that you’re saying about the updated contract?”

I take a bite out of a carrot stick. “It may not be valid.”

“Have you checked to see if Dolby signed it?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I was about to search for the paperwork when you arrived at the townhouse last night. But I’m almost certain he never signed anything.”

Brent leans back in his chair, his sandwich untouched. “Shit, if that’s the case then we could’ve been together all this time.”

I nod as I dip another carrot in a cup of yogurt sauce. “Hmm, maybe.”

He must sense my reticence, as he’s quick to add, “Aubrey, I know I have a lot to apologize for. And I’ve had weeks to go over everything that happened. I think it comes down to three things.” He pauses, then releases a breath, like he’s gearing up. “One, I never should’ve gone through your laptop bag. Two, I shouldn’t have released that video without talking to you first. And three, I definitely should’ve told you about the strip club and the video right from the start.” Sighing, he adds, “I’m sorry I fucked up so epically, babe.”

I know Brent’s sorry, and frankly I can’t hold something against him that I’m not even mad about anymore. Plus, his dad is sick, and I’d be a real bitch to drag this thing out, especially when I want to be with him.

“You’re forgiven, Brent,” I say. “And actually you have been for a while. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“That may be true,” he says. “But I think if we’re getting back together I still need to own up to what I did.”

I like his accountability—it’s a good change for him—but right now I’m more focused on the first part of what he said. “Are we getting back together, then?” I ask.

“I want to. As long as you do too, Aubrey.”

Why fight what my heart is telling me to do. “I want to be back with you, Brent. I want us to be a couple again.”

Reaching across the table to place his hand over mine, he says, “I guess it doesn’t much matter what we want. We still have to wait till you find the new contract, the one with the addendum, to see if we’re free to pursue this relationship.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t care if the addendum is signed or not. I want to be with you no matter what.”

He raises a brow, making him look more adorable than ever. “Are you saying fuck the consequences, Aubrey?

Rising from my seat and leaning my whole body across the table, I press my lips to his. “Absolutely,” I murmur.