Soon Enough

A/N: I was absolutely blown away by the reviews on the first chapter, and want to thank everyone reviewed. It really motivated me to continue the story. Now, while the prologue was in 2009, the rest of the story, save for flashbacks, will be written in 2011, where S5 will begin.

Enjoy...and please review!

Chapter 1

Coming Home

2011

"It's called a vacation, mom. I'm surprised you don't know the meaning since that's pretty much how you and dad spent my entire childhood." Lately, Brooke is not one to talk back to her mother, but her boiling point has pretty much been reached.

"Brooke." The way Lydia says her name is enough to make Brooke crawl back into her shell. Her moåther is sitting on the couch in Brooke's living room, sifting through pages of designs. Her chemically straightened and dyed brown hair hangs down to her shoulders, her sharp jaw and deep brown eyes make her seem barely forty, though she is well into her fifties.

But Brooke is tired. She's tired of four hours of sleep a night, and she's tired of popping Advil five times a day. She's tired of letting her mother control her life (Why wasn't she around to do that when Brooke was a kid?), and she's tired of boring parties that well into the early hours of the morning. She's tired of countless faceless men she's had to turn down, because, let's face it, none of them are what she wants.

She doesn't know herself anymore. She doesn't know when the façade she puts on for the media ends, and the real Brooke Davis begins.

"I wanna' go home," she says softly, thinking and maybe hoping for a split second that her mother hadn't heard her. But then Lydia sighs.

"This is your home," she says, without looking up from the designs, tired by her daughter's antics.

But it hasn't. It's never been her home. From the moment she stepped foot for the first time the city, when she was merely 17, she had known this would never be home.

"Mom," she says, a little more forcefully. Lydia finally looks up. "I want to go home."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"Uncle LUKE!" Lucas hardly has time to react as he sets foot in the classroom before a whirlwind of small boy is upon him.

"Hey Jamie," Lucas relies, chuckling slightly at the small boys excitement. "It's as though you haven't seen me in years."

"When in reality, he dropped you off at day camp this morning," Haley replied with a laugh as she stood up from her desk.

"How's it going, Hales?"

"Pretty well," responded Haley, swinging her bag over her shoulder and following Lucas out of classroom. "I only have 30 'my hero' papers to grade by tomorrow," she says sarcastically.

"Ah the life of a fifth grade teacher."

"Maybe I should write a book," says Haley through a smile as they exit the elementary school, and Jamie runs ahead and out onto the boardwalk.

"So have you talked to Peyton lately?" Haley asks after a minutes pause.

"Not really. It's not like I have anything to say to her. Why?"

"She called me today." Haley looked up. "Apparently she's coming home for a week or two."

Lucas shrugs. It's not anything new. Peyton's visits were not uncommon throughout the year – she seems to have a strong attachment to Tree Hill, the town, her house.

"It's been the longest time since we were all home together. You know, me, Nathan, you, Peyton, and Brooke."

"Yeah," responds Lucas, somewhat distantly. His feelings about Peyton are always slightly mixed. He always thinks that he misses her, yet the entire time she's in Tree Hill, he wonders when she'll be leaving. She leads him on the entire time, flirting with him, yet he gets the idea that she is still a lot more in to him than he is to her.

It all ended for him when she played that song.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"Doesn't this song break your heart?"

He looks up from his desk. Peyton is sitting on his bed, sifting through his itunes library. She's been home for three days now. It's the fourth time she's been back since the break-up, each time pretending like nothing has changed.

The familiar lyrics of Boston float out of the speakers. Lucas freezes, his mind blank.

"It reminds me of us." He makes himself look at her. She quickly elaborates. "Not the lyrics, but the melody. It's got that bittersweet tone to it – you know?"

He wants her gone now. Just out of his room. This isn't their song. This will never be their song.

"So I guess we never finished that conversation."

"Dance with me."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

It's not as though at that moment he came to a realization that he was still in love with Brooke – and he wanted Peyton out of his life. It just put things in perspective for him. Music freaks though he and Peyton are, he can't pinpoint many songs that remind him of their relationship – ones he couldn't listen to after they broke up.

After he and Brooke broke up, his music collection got slightly smaller.

He could no longer listen to Aqualung's Memory Man. That album had been playing on repeat one day senior year when they all went to the beach and Brooke brought her ipod speakers.

He could no longer listen to For Blue Skies by Strays Don't Sleep. That song had been drifting out of his computer the night he and Brooke had mended their relationship and said their first I love you's.

He could no longer listen to the entirety of Bruce Springsteen's The Rising, one of his most prized albums. Brooke had quoted one of the songs in almost every letter she had sent to him.

He could no longer listen to all his rap and hip-hop. Not even being able to distinguish which songs he and Brooke had danced to on those Friday nights when she would coax him to a party by teasing him in a dangerously low cut shirt and high skirt. When she would pull him into the middle of the living room, into the middle of writhing adolescent bodies, and place her arms around only him, pressing seductively against him to the music.

He could no longer listen to Soon Enough by The Constantines. It had been one morning senior year when he had woken up in her bed alone. He had ventured into the living room where she was swaying and singing softly along to the song as she twirled around a mannequin holding a dress she was sewing. Her soft waves bounced around the top of his sweatshirt that she wore over a top of faded boxer shorts. At that moment he wanted to stay like that forever – standing in the living room watching her sway and sing to The Constantines.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"Lucas?" her voice sounds far away through the connection.

"Brooke?" He's surprised to hear her voice.

"Hey." She sounds bored – exhausted. He can't really remember the last time he spoke to her when she sounded like the upbeat dimpled girl he knew in high school. In fact, he can't really remember the last time they spoke. They keep up a frequent email exchange, but never really communicate by phone.

After the initial how are you's, there is a pause over the line. Then, "did you get my email?"

Lucas slides the cursor on his laptop over to his email and checks his inbox. Sure enough, a message from Brooke sits at the top. He double clicks.

Hey Broody,

Hey remember when we used to be friends? Before you decided you were much too cool to associate with me? Just kidding. But really, I miss you. I miss Tree Hill. I'm coming home. If I can escape the wrath of Lydia Davis, which, contrary to popular belief, is possible. .

I'll keep you updated.

xo,

Brooke

He smiles as he reads the fun and flirty note. "You're coming home?" he exclaims, excited.

"I am," and he can hear her grin through her words.

"Brooke, that's great! God, I haven't seen you in…"

"Two years."

"Oh." There is a short pause. "Right."

He doesn't really realize until now that they hadn't seen each other since that night. The night in which they weren't quite drunk enough to make the stupid mistakes that they made.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

She's still giggling as she leans against her building. It's dark where she is – a space in between where the streetlights cast eerie glows upon the sidewalks. Lucas walks up to her, letting his hand fall against the stone façade next to her head, trapping her against the building.

He can see in her eyes that she's only tipsy, no drunker than he is. He knows this was a stupid idea, that neither of them had really needed the free drinks – or the free buggy ride for that matter. Her dark hair falls straight against her ribcage, her wispy side-swept bangs framing her face. Her mascara is slightly smudged.

Lucas leans in and their bodies are inches apart. He can smell the perfume on her neck. He can almost taste the alcohol on her lips. She's looking straight at him. She wants this. Whatever this is.

He isn't sure why he is doing this. He's not thinking clearly. He brushes his lips just barely against hers and he feels her pull back. She duck under his arm and places a soft kiss on his cheek. She pulls off the ring and places it into his hand.

"Bye Luke," she says gently before disappearing into the building.