I won't cry. I won't. I can't. Brooks Caldwell will not be the reason for my tears.

I should've seen this coming, and I'm mad at myself for thinking that it wouldn't; for thinking that Brooks could be this person that he realistically can't. He doesn't know how to commit, nor do I think he cares to. Yet here I was thinking that I could be the girl to change him. I'm sure that's what every girl who Brooks gives 5 minutes of attention to thinks. That she can change him.

Mom and I are having a girls' day, which hasn't happened in months. Work called her this morning and told her that they accidentally double-booked her shift and didn't need her coming in. 

We just finished lunch at Sweets, though, mom didn't eat much. She hasn't had much of an appetite lately and I think that's due to all the stress she's feeling. She did, however, devour the complimentary fudge brownie that the owner Wendy treated us to, which is no surprise considering that they're the best brownies in town. 

The entire time at lunch, mom kept saying how she wants to buy me something special, but I told her that it's not necessary. It's not necessary when that money could go to something else that's more important. Like I said, times in the Baker household are rough, and I don't want to take if I don't have to.

"Let's go in here," mom says when we pass by the window shop of the clothing store To Infinity. They sell mostly casual stuff, but sometimes their clothing can be overpriced.

I follow my mom inside, but refrain from looking, which is so hard for me to do considering I love to shop. I force my eyes to look at anything but the clothing racks, but that doesn't really matter because within minutes, mom has a bunch of tops and dresses piled up in her hold.

"What do you think of this one?" mom asks, raising a strapless dress in the air.  

"Where am I wearing that to, mom?"

"As if you ever needed a reason, honey," she winks at me.

Before I know it, mom's shoving me into a fitting room and purchasing me not one but two articles of clothing – the strapless dress and a button down long-sleeve top that she thinks I need to own for more formal occasions. I don't know where she thinks I'm going that's formal...

The total for everything comes out to a little over 100 dollars, and I feel guilty when mom uses her own credit card to purchase the items. 

She holds out the shopping bag for me to take and I smile at her. "Thank you, mom. This really wasn't necessary, and I rather you spend your money on yourself and other things, but I love you. This means a lot."

"Wear it in good health, honey," she tells me.

We're strolling on the sidewalk, making our way to the car, when I notice Brooks and crew sitting at an outdoor restaurant having lunch and laughing. I turn my head to the side when we pass them in the hopes that he doesn't see me.

It's been a week since the night at The Dive – a week without talking to Brooks. I did see him at Meadows, but any chance I could, I kept my distance. He made that a little hard to do when he came to the fitness center, but I kept it professional and treated him as I did any other member.

There were a few times where he tried to approach me, but he knew that I wasn't having it. If he wants my attention, then he can start with an apology.

The thing is, even with an apology, things can't change between me and Brooks. Brooks showed his true colors the night of The Dive. The kiss was clearly a mistake; maybe not in the moment, but now looking back at it, it was. I just couldn't help it. He was standing right there, and I felt it. I felt this inexplicable connection pulling me towards him, drawing me in. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Maybe, but the spark was so intense that I don't think I could've even if I wanted to.

***

On Tuesday, Jill has me cleaning out the yoga room. It takes me practically all morning to mop the floor, clean the windows, and stow away all the equipment, so, come afternoon, I'm exhausted.

Jill informed me that she had to leave early today – something about her niece's ballet recital – so I have to be here past closing hours, which is fine with me because I'm getting paid overtime. Plus, no one typically uses the gym past 5 pm.

Even though the fitness center is technically open until 6, I knew I should've locked the front door when I hear someone walk in. The lights in the front are off, so I can't make out the person just yet.

That is, until he steps into the lit part of the room.

Brooks stands before me dressed in black joggers and a white t-shirt – not his standard workout gear. He doesn't even have his AirPods with him.

"Mind if I squeeze a quick workout in?" he asks.

I stay seated behind the desk and glide my hand in the air. "Gym's open..."

He simply nods at me and makes his way to the center of the room, silence occupying the air.

Because it's part of my job, I stand up and round the desk, heading for the cabinet, where I grab a clean towel, and then to the fridge, where I grab a water bottle.

I make my way over to Brooks, who's sitting on the bench, and hand him both.

"Thanks," he says, monotonously.

I head back to my desk and try not to watch him punch the speed bag. It takes every fiber of constraint in my body, but I do it, until all of a sudden, I hear:

"Shit!"

I immediately stand up from my chair and scurry to the mat, where I see Brooks holding onto the side of his face.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Ah," he exclaims. "Yeah. I just jabbed myself in the jaw."

I'm trying so hard to contain my laugher because Brooks is being serious, but it's so not like him to lose aim.

"How the hell did you do that?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, "I wasn't focused, I guess."

"I'll be right back. Going to get you some ice."

"Thanks," he says.

I head to the back room and press down on the ice machine lever that's attached to the fridge, filling up the Ziploc bag that I'm holding.

I walk back into the main room to find Brooks right where I left him, still standing.

"You should probably sit," I tell him, nodding at the bench. Brooks follows my instructions and I trail behind him.

I wait for him to sit, then take the space beside him and position the ice pack to his jaw.

"Here, hold it," I say, and we swap hands so that he's now the one applying the ice pack to his skin. "A little higher up," I tell him, placing my hand over his to guide it.

I feel the warmth that his touch brings to my body and know that I'm in trouble, so I quickly remove my hand from his.

"Don't," he whispers the second that I let go.

I ignore his command and come to a stand, making my way back to the front desk. I don't want to walk away from Brooks when he's injured, but being that close to him is not safe for either one of us.

"Remi," Brooks calls out, but I keep walking. "Rem," he says again as he walks my way.

I finally turn around and look at him quizzically. "Brooks, what are you doing? I told you to sit. If you don't ice your skin, it's going to bruise."

"I don't care about that right now. Can we talk?"

"No," I state, shaking my head. "We can't."

"Remi..."

"No. I'm not doing this with you. You made it very clear last night where we stand."

He walks up to me, grasping my hands in his, but I look away from his face. "Remi, I was really drunk last night."

"And what? That should excuse how you treated me? How you spoke to me?"

"No, most definitely not, but you have to know that that wasn't me."

"So, let me get this straight. We can play nice behind closed doors, but in front of your friends we're some sort of shady secret? No, thanks. Count me out."

I turn away from him, but he grabs ahold of the upper part of my arms. "Remi, my friends know what I feel for you. I explained everything to them."

I chuckle sarcastically. "Ha, that's nice. Didn't know you needed their approval to be with me."

"I don't," he argues, removing his hands from my arms to run his fingers through his brown hair. "But Rem, you gotta understand where I'm coming from."

"No," I shake my head. "There's nothing that I need to understand about you treating me like I don't matter."

"I'm not saying that you don't matter," he asserts, but I sigh because I'm losing my patience with his unclarity.

"Then why don't you start saying what you mean, Brooks? Help me out here."

He pauses, trying to find the words. Then, suddenly:

"You make me feel things that I'm not used to feeling," he finally states, and I look at him, trying to comprehend.

"What things, Brooks? What exactly do you feel for me?" My eyes search his as I wait for him to respond, but he doesn't say anything. I can't believe that I'm waiting on him like some sort of loser when he's the one who hurt me.

"What do you feel for me, Brooks?" I ask again, promising myself that this is the last time that I will.

His mouth opens like he's ready to confess, but then he closes it and stays quiet. I let out a chuckle of disbelief; disbelief that I thought he'd tell me something that I want to hear.

"I'm done playing this game with you, Brooks." I shake my head. "Seriously, I'm done."