Brooke Roberts

"Do we have everything ready for the classes starting next week?" Kyle asks, looking at Raffi.
"Almost everything. Paula told me two of the new recruits still haven’t completed their admission exams, but if you’re asking about the facilities, everything’s in order. The last security inspection was today and everything was approved."
"Did they install the new equipment in the gym?" Seth questions.
"I think so, I haven’t gone down to check."
"That’s fine, I’ll stop by headquarters tomorrow before heading to the studio. I have a few clients scheduled for tattoos on Thursday."

It’s such an ordinary scene, so normal to see them talking about work. But I feel my heart swell to the point of pain—a good kind of pain, a reminder that I’m here with them, enjoying an almost peaceful dinner in our home. These three men have been the pillars of my life for so long. Not even in the wildest dreams of fourteen-year-old Brooke could I have imagined being in a relationship with all three, yet here we are, nearly five months after the day I moved in, and I can’t even picture anything different from what I have with them.

The same sense of belonging from the day they brought me home fills me, the feeling that every step I’ve taken was always meant to lead me here, to them.
And that’s why you’ve been lying to them? the cruel thought cuts through me.
I’m not lying, I’m waiting for the right time. I justify to myself.

My eyes move from Seth to Raffi, then to Kyle, laughing at some joke I didn’t catch while I was lost in my thoughts. The blond tilts his head, watching me closely, as if he can sense the shift in my mood.
"What is it, Sunshine?"
"I need to tell you something."

My statement is met with the sound of cutlery clinking against ceramic, and I feel their eyes turn to me.
"It’s nothing serious," I assure them.

My heart starts to race, and I don’t even know why I’m so nervous.
"I decided to take a sabbatical year, I won’t be going back to Greenbriar School in September." I declare it out loud for the first time, and the words seem to lift tons off my shoulders.
"I think it’s a great decision, Bee," Seth says, his hand covering mine on the table.
"Your health will always be the priority," Raffi agrees.
"Honestly, after everything that happened, you deserve to take all the time you need," Kyle adds. "Have you informed the school?"
"Yes, last week," I reply, lowering my gaze to my plate. "I didn’t know how to tell you, but I didn’t want to keep a lie between us." I say, and they exchange looks.

The atmosphere in the dining room shifts in an instant. A tension overtakes them all, and they readjust in their chairs as if suddenly uncomfortable. They continue their silent conversation with just glances, and an unsettling anxiety begins to spread through me. I only realize I’ve started trembling when Seth’s hand tightens around mine, pulling my attention back to him. His eyes, full of concern, meet mine.
"What is it?" I ask.

It’s Kyle who answers, and I turn to him.
"Brooke, remember the gifts you were receiving?" His tone is the same he used when I was a kid and he came to tell me he’d run over my favorite doll with his muddy bike. I already knew what he was about to tell me wasn’t good, as if the tension in the room wasn’t enough of a clue.
"What about them?" my leg starts bouncing involuntarily. "They were pranks from the guys who…" my eyes sting and I blink several times to stop the tears.
"That was our initial impression too," Kyle continues, and he seems to swallow hard before going on. "But the last letter made us realize we were wrong."

My heart starts pounding.
"What letter?" I ask.
"After you got home, you received another letter—well, a note actually," Raffi explains.
"It became clear the gifts hadn’t come from the same people who orchestrated your…" Seth hesitates, taking a deep breath before finishing. "Kidnapping."

That word takes me right back to the stinking warehouse, and I almost feel my ribs breaking again. I clench my fists on instinct, trying to protect my fingers from a threat that’s no longer there. I had made sure of that, hadn’t I?
I shake my head, trying to dispel the memory and make sense of their words.
"Someone else?"
They all nod.
"Who? Why?" The questions spill from my mouth as fast as they come to mind. "What does this person want from me? Why me?"

I feel the air start to thin, the walls seem to close in around me, and the soft fabric of my blouse starts to itch my skin. I don’t even remember telling my brain to stand up, but suddenly I’m on my feet, moving away from the table. I don’t even know where I intended to go, but my mind finally grasps what they’re saying and I freeze in place. I need to ask, just in case I’m wrong. Please God, let me be wrong.
"Was I being followed?" The fear in my voice scares me. Seth squeezes my hand again, anchoring me to the present, reminding me without a single word that I’m safe. I’m home.
"We don’t know why, Sunshine. But believe me, we’re doing everything we can to find out who’s behind this." Kyle stands up, rounding the table to wrap me in a hug. As soon as his arms are around me, part of the anguish leaves me, and I finally feel my lungs fill with air.
"We have a suspect," Raffi says, also getting up and approaching. The three of them surround me, and the panic that was about to tear me apart seems to vanish. "What do you know about Patrick?"
"Patrick? No—" I dismiss it quickly, but that voice that always questions everything reminds me how personal the gifts were. Indicating that the person knew me very well. But it can’t be. Patrick was a lousy boyfriend, I can see that now, but he’s not that kind of man. "He was born here in San Jose, his parents died in an accident the summer before he started college, he doesn’t have siblings, and has an uncle who lives far away and they’re not in contact," I say, with everything I remember. I ignore the irrelevant things I still haven’t forgotten, like how his favorite color is red, his favorite dish is yakisoba, and how he loved watching thrillers on rainy afternoons.
"Matches what we have in his file," Seth says, turning to face Kyle.
"Wait, you have files?" I take a step back, away from the blond’s chest.
"I told you we were doing everything to find out who’s behind this. So while we continue looking for the ones responsible for what happened—" his gaze hardens, making it clear what he’s referring to. "We’re also investigating everyone who could be your stalker."
"Everyone… who exactly?"
"Everyone you’ve had contact with in the last five years," Raffi answers.
"You can’t be serious. That would cover my university years—hundreds of people." I step back, in disbelief.
"That’s why it’s taking longer than we expected. Our hope was to solve everything without having to worry you," Kyle says, his hands sliding up my arms until they rest on my shoulders. "I know you’ve always been against having a security detail, but—"
"It’s necessary, I understand," I interrupt him. After all, I always knew this conversation would come, and to be honest, after the dramatic revelation that I’d been followed for months, I’ll feel safer not being alone. "But I thought you guys would take on that role."
Raffi laughs, and his hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

"Did you figure it out?" he asks, still laughing.
"Of course. What’s the point of having three ex... ex-Marine elites around?" I quickly correct myself, shrugging like I hadn’t almost let the word boyfriends slip. We’ve never labeled what we are to each other, but at some point, they stopped being just my friends, and that’s the only way I’ve found to describe what they are to me.
Please God, let them not have noticed my hesitation.
"The idea is that your security guard will be our backup. He'll be with you when one of us can’t," Kyle explains.
"And do you already have someone in mind?" I ask.
"Yes, Ethan Hart. He’s one of our best employees, his record is flawless. He’ll come introduce himself tomorrow," the youngest tells me.
I try to remember if I’ve ever met an Ethan, but I can’t match the name to a face.
"He’s also one of us, as you called it," Kyle jokes. "Oh, ex-Marine elite, but he’s younger than us. I think he’s only one or two years older than you, Brooke."
"Yeah, yeah, he’s great. Not better than us, of course," Raffi says, full of himself, and takes a step back, pulling me with him. "Whoever gets to the living room first picks the movie tonight," he announces, letting me go.
The other two rush down the hallway, the commotion waking the dogs that were sleeping peacefully in the corner, making them run to join their owners.