Where Are You Love?
Why can't I find you?
By: SamiJane
Disclaimer: See profile
Reminder: Since it's been 2+ years since my last update, remember to disregard anything that happened after ep. 610.
A/N: Look who's back! First off, thank you wonderful readers for being amazing fans of this story. It means the world that I still receive messages and reviews for this story more than two years after the last update. What brought me back was renewed inspiration at the news of Chris Keller returning for season 9. =) And the news of the impending end of my guilty pleasure show. =(
Since the last update, Brooke and Julian have broken up twice, made up twice, gotten married, and had twin boys (yay!). But this takes place before all of that happened, even way before she made the letterman jacket for him.
Hopefully this lives up to all your expectations for this next chapter in my version of the Brulian (or Brucas? Hahaha) love story! It's been a long while since I've written fiction, so I'm still getting into the groove of things. Enjoy everyone!
Chapter 13: Tired of the Sunset
Nathan Voice Over: Sometimes we surprise ourselves. We find ourselves in a new place, in new relationships, or in a new state of mind. We realize we do have courage, determination. We have the strength and the will to go beyond complacency's horizon, beyond the sunset, and into the twilight of the unknown.
JULIAN'S POV; Clothes/Bros Store(several days after the last chapter)
Spontaneous. Entertaining. Gorgeous. And a bit laughable. Brooke Davis never seems to run out of spunk or energy lately. Her boutique is overrun with early designs for her new line and plethora of various costumes and accessories constructed for the movie, but none of that stops her from closing her eyes and dancing happily, in pure 80s fashion, to the infamous Breakfast Club track on a Thursday morning. She resembles a modern day Claire Standish in the middle of a sample sale. No; I take that back. She resembles a hotter, modern day Claire Standish.
With a shake of my head and a soft chuckle, I quietly enter the makeshift costume studio and quickly capture the Brookie Ringwald moment with my phone. Chris and Sam will get a kick out of this. I swiftly pocket my phone away and the music soon gets to me; I can't believe I'm doing this. My arms begin to motion from side to side and my body grooves mockingly to the 80s music. After a couple more seconds, I can't contain my laughter anymore and the slight noise yanks Brooke out of her own little world. She catches sight of my purposely embarrassing dance moves and releases the brightest laugh I've heard since I arrived in Tree Hill.
"The Breakfast Club – you were the priss," I point and tease as Brooke takes a brief second to compose herself and turn down the stereo.
Her devilish, raised brow eyes my unfaltering, mischievous grin, "Let me guess, you were the stoner?" If it isn't for her dimpled smirk, I would think she reverted back to hating me.
But, the past few days is evidence that we won't be pushing rewind anytime soon. A couple lunches here, a breakfast there, a couple more rounds of Rockband w/ Chris, Sam, and the NaJaley crew, we're definitely not going in reverse. Well, unless I do something idiotic; and shockingly, I do not want to do something idiotic.
"Alright, if you say so. They end up together;" I shrug casually to Brooke's 'stoner' comment. Usually Brooke is ready to backlash and instantly fence off my flirtatious comments, but this time I seem to catch her off guard. There's no immediate response, just a lame attempt at a scoff.
The brunette attempts to hide whatever she was thinking and guards herself behind her empty counter, examining a massive binder full of costume designs. "That's one interpretation," she utters, her eyes still glued on penciled sketches.
"Actually," I smile, leaning in towards her, my arms resting on the counter that separates us, "It's the only interpretation, Penny D."
I hope to make her jump a little more, but she's ready this time. Any sign of nerves vanishes and she mimics my elbows-on-the-counter stance, with intense hazel orbs, lips upturned, and her game face back on. Our lips would meet if one of us dares to move a few inches forward. Unfortunately, any courage I may have turns out to be merely bravado and our lips hang in limbo, wondering why they remain alone.
"The happily ever after of Stoner and the Priss may be the only interpretation in a stoner's world," seduction oozes from her raspy voice, "But this ain't a stoner's world…It's my world…Jack-y B." She iterates the girly form of my nickname with amused arrogance and I in turn grimace at the 'Jack/Jack-y B' nickname she dubbed me with.
Any chance of physical contact completely disappears and I kick myself for even thinking for a millisecond that Brooke and I are possible. Yeah, like that would ever happen. We're just friends; that's it. I know that. She knows that. Heck, I was so adamant about that fact when Jamie asked me to define my relationship with his godmother last week. But it doesn't escape me that the possibility still exists, simply based on the fact that we've been going uphill ever since I arrived – from strangers to "business and nothing else" to borderline friendship to full fledged friends (that's what she called us yesterday).
"Hey Jack! I need some arm muscles over here. Don't worry; scrawny will do," Brooke motions me towards a rack of costumes. Scrawny? I'd like to see her eyes pop if she ever sees me shirtless. Damn, now an R rated picture just popped in my head.
"Just friends," I whisper to myself. Ignoring her joke about my muscle definition, I childishly whine and ask her if we can forego the whole 'Jack' nickname thing, since Sam's friend has been hanging around a lot the past couple days. Who the hell names their kid Jack Daniels anyway?
"With Sir Daniels around, the name 'Jack' gets confusing. Plus, it's awkward for the kid when both of us respond to the name at the same time," I reason. Yeah, that's a lie. Truthfully, it's getting on my nerves that I still can't figure out what freakin' hat she pulled the name 'Jack' from. For all I know, it's a reference to some lame ass loser from her third favorite movie.
- a couple days ago -
"What hat did the name 'Norris' get pulled out from again?" Brooke questioned when one of the assistant producers called her boutique phone line, and asked, "Is Julian Norris – I mean, Baker. Is Julian Baker in your studio, Miss Davis?"
I hoped I wouldn't have to explain the other-last-name-thing to anybody in Tree Hill. But I was also expecting not to become friends with anyone. I've told the core five one reasoning for my last name change: "I wanted to make it in this business without being attached to my father, Paul Norris, famous studio executive." I wanted to prove to Hollywood and to myself that I could make it on my own. That's all these Tree Hill-ers had to know for now, or so I thought.
Sienna was shocked, yet understanding, when I decided to legally change my last name. Later on, people were more shocked when they found out my birth name. Hell, sometimes I felt weird saying it, especially since I've been using my mother's maiden name, Baker, as my last name for around five years. But, that's my name, Julian Norris; feel free to wear it out.
"Julian Norris." Brooke repeated out loud for the second time that afternoon, after I reminded her of my well known Hollywood father. "Sorry, but that's a kind of weird sounding name," she grinned. I guessed she meant weird in an unexpected way, not strange.
"You get used to it after about twenty some odd years," I shrugged, taking another bite of General Tso's chicken. I doubted this was a date, but it was the first time Brooke and I shared a meal alone. The hour started off fine with random small talk and our usual bantering; and now the conversation detoured into personal history territory.
"So you wanna tell me the other reason for the name change?" Brooke caught me in my omission. She sensed more tangled history to the names Norris and Baker existed.
"You really want to know?" I asked rhetorically, but she nodded in response anyway.
I nicked the surface with my explanation and revealed to her a piece of my past: It was to honor my mom. And I missed the way my mother used to be. My mother from my childhood seemed to be replaced by a mother who succumbed to the figurative drugs of Hollywood. I was only ten when everything started to change. Most of all, I missed the version of our family that existed before things went…well, Hollywood. Why I remained in that California world – it was because I wanted to change it. And at the same time, it was all I knew.
I left out the messy, convoluted details of lies, affairs, betrayals, friendship break ups, and two years of locked up emotions. I didn't want to put more of a downer on this "date/non-date" thing. Especially since it had only been a couple days after the whole Leyton debacle.
But, Brooke sympathized, "You know, you're not alone in the 'I Have Messed Up Parents' club. This town is full of members. And as a fellow member, I will tell you that ten-year-old Brooke knows how you feel. If you ever want to talk about it, she's here to listen. She's just a tad taller...and a bit hotter, if I do say so myself."
I brightened at the sympathy that sparked from her eyes, her empathetic offer, and her attempt to cheer me up with that last line. Damn, McFadden didn't lie. She really did keep being Brooke, even with her own troubles to worry about.
"You're really something, Brooke Davis."
"You're just figuring that out now?" Despite the egotism of the statement, her tone lacked the same amount of confidence. There's so much about Brooke I'd like to figure out, but I surmised that she would claim that her stories were best left for another time. Probably the same time I decide to talk more about my own past.
"Hey Davis," I caught her eye, "If you ever want to talk, ten-year-old Julian is here to listen, too. He's just a couple feet taller." We exchanged kindred, closed lipped grins; she mouthed the word "thanks;" and we embraced the silence that follows any heartfelt exchange.
During the minute of silence, no awkward tension engulfed the air. Instead, we've somehow managed to fight over the food. After a couple seconds of chopstick-fencing for the last piece of chicken, Brooke suddenly relinquished her chopsticks and looked at me with playful eyes. Any visuals of insecurity I may have seen a minute ago were gone and replaced with a figurative light bulb shining inside her head.
"Is the nickname 'J No' out of the question? Or, even better, 'Ju-No'?" Brooke gleefully teased, even though she already knew the answer.
I glared and threw the last piece of chicken at her; at which I received a hand full of rice thrown at my face and ten minutes of 'Ju-No' taunting.
"If you oppose 'Jack' so much, then, tell me, Producer Boy, what would you rather be called?" Brooke questions from her end of the rack as we both wheel the 'Nathan' slew of costumes across the room.
"'Sexiest Man Alive' would be a start," I kid as I note the number of collections that have accumulated on the 'costume studio' portion of the floor. She sure has been busy the past few weeks; nearly every character of the story had a full, overflowing rack to its name. From items as simple as Peyton's reconstructed band tees to garments as rare as Haley's old poncho – everything is here, ready to be worn and shot on state of the art, high def cameras.
"Please," Brooke scoffs at my 'Sexiest Man' remark, "Guitar talent may earn you points in the sexy factor, but even if you somehow garnered a singing voice, you'd still be unable to light a candle next to the hotness that is Johnny Depp."
I ignore the second half of that statement because my ears attune to something more interesting than Captain Jack Sparrow. "You think I'm sexy because I play the guitar?" I inquire more so than tease, inadvertently stopping her in her tracks. Do the musically inclined pull on Brooke's heart strings? I obviously caught her off guard again and I can't help but grin wider at the fact that I managed to make Brooke Davis become just a tad attracted to me.
I nod my head and pretend to accept the explanations she throws my way. But with every excuse she tries to pitch for her recent comments, the hole she digs herself in deepens, as does my intrigue for her.
"Ok, so maybe I did say what you claim I said. I definitely did not mean it in that way, especially since I've never seen you pluck one string on a real honest to goodness guitar. So get that smug, evil grin off of your face, buster, before I smack it out of you," she warns me as she pokes my chest. "Besides, piano players are ten times more awesome than you guitar heroes. And they don't have egos as big as their best friend's hair."
"Piano? Really?" I ask, scribing a mental note that I should strum up the creative energy to play a tune for Brooke and Sam in the near future.
"Yes, really," she insists. "In fact, my favorite god son is playing the piano at his talent show on Saturday, and I for one think he'll fare way better than you ever did on a stage." Her eye's evasion attempts falter and a slight flush sweeps across her cheeks.
"Well, with the one and only Haley James coaching him, I won't be surprised if Jamie steals the whole talent show this weekend," I focus the conversation on Jamie to ease the slight tension we've gotten ourselves into, "And I intend to start the standing ovation when he does."
"I'm glad you're going. For some reason that kid adores you," she sighs in relief; probably because I removed the sexy card off the topics table.
"Of course he does; I'm Julian Baker. What's not to like?" I smirk.
"Believe me; there's plenty."
Side by side, we survey her newly rearranged boutique and it looks spacious and organized enough to tend to several half naked actors at once. Second mental note: Keep Sam and Chris away from wardrobe fitting, mainly Chris.
"Speaking of adoring kids, Sam is getting a kick out of the whole 'after school producer's assistant' thing. She wants to know if you're coming by Tric today," I attempt my own form of nonchalance this time.
"Only Sam wants to know if I'm stopping by?" Brooke asks with a hint of tease. I don't fall for her tricks and strategically avoid admitting the truth of how much more I've enjoyed her presence lately.
"Well, of course Sam wants to show you all the cool stuff we've got set up. And I know your evil twin, Missy, really wants to meet you, and same goes for those Nathan-cloned basketball extras," I sarcastically entice, hoping it's all enough to convince her to stop by, if even for five minutes.
Even though Brooke doesn't have to be on the set till filming officially starts next week, I think it would be fun for Brooke to share these last few days of pre-production with all of us, even if Lucas and Peyton might be around. And there's the fact that I wouldn't mind spending more of my day with the girl that got me dancing to a song from The Breakfast Club.
"Nathan clones, really? Are you luring me with a sizzling batch of toned back muscles and bulging biceps, Mr. Baker?" Brooke asks with Mae West/ Gene Harlow-esque sultriness. Well, when she says it that way, and in that tone, it makes my offer sound dirtier than intended. But I go along; anything to try to get her out and about.
"That and your double's homemade pie," I whisper seductively in her ear and tempt her even more. If there's one thing I've learned after all the past diner meals, I know that Brooke Davis cannot resist pie. She even said herself that it was her choice of breakfast whenever she and Mouth ate at Karen's Café back in high school.
"My portrayer is bringing pie?" she whispers with school girl giddiness. It's hard not to laugh at her excitement for a fruit filled pastry, but I manage to suppress it down to a mere smile.
"Delicious, apple-y goodness, 'I heart Brooke Davis' pie," I place the cherry on the whip cream topped sundae. Apple pie – her favorite.
"Wow, Faux-Brooke almost knows Real-Brooke better than me." She fidgets and her mouth twists into the same form it did a couple months ago when she was deciding on whether or not to accept my job offer as the movie costume designer. She ended up saying yes then; hopefully this time won't be different. Then again, Sam or Haley isn't presently around to reassure the priss that the stoner will be worth her while.
"So, what do you say, Designer Girl? You up for it?"
Brooke Voice Over: But, once in a while we have to turn around and face the truth. Face what's haunting and hurting us. And if we have to, we go back. We go back, before moving forward.
Lucas' POV; Rivercourt
Familiar, repetitive thuds and vibrations of a small basketball dribbling on the asphalt shakes me from my morning day dream. Despite the comforting sound, I refuse to move from my current position or open my eyes, the warmth of the asphalt on my back and the sun's beams on my face relax me too much to move.
Whoever is on this court must think I'm one strange guy for resting my body on a basketball court. Or they're wishing they got here earlier, before my long frame occupied a decent portion of the black cement. They can throw the damn ball at me for all I care; my head hurts too much from worrying about Jamie and Brooke all week. I just want to rest in the one place where I can just be, and where the camouflage of basketball nostalgia temporarily blankets my stresses away.
But my face suddenly cools, like how the earth must feel when it's robbed of the sunlight during a lunar eclipse. I carefully wink open one eye and through the initial blur I see a pair of young, familiar blue eyes.
"Are you sleeping?" my nephew asks as soon as he notices my one eye blink open. His stance is slightly bent over with his face a couple feet above mine. Well, that explains why there were no shouts or complaints to get off the pavement. However, it also explains why I didn't receive any form of friendly greeting when I first heard the thumps of a basketball. I miss the days when Jamie used to scream my name and run straight into my arms. God, that was only weeks ago.
"If I was sleeping, I'm not anymore, buddy," I yawn. Satisfied that I am indeed awake, Jamie takes a few steps backwards and continues to watch me.
As ecstatic and genuinely happy I am to see him standing right in front of me, and not retreating away, my body is still hesitant to move. It's unsure of whether or not Jamie wants to hang out. Maybe he's just standing here because he's curious as to why I've been lying down on the Rivercourt since he arrived...with my old auto shop sweatshirt as my pillow and only companion.
Just as I muster the will to get up, the corner of my eye catches Jamie rolling up his own hoodie and mimicking my form. I smirk as he lies down on the court beside me and lightly throws his miniature basketball inches above his chest. Maybe today will be better than the two awkward outings we had this week. I guess, but mostly hope, he's starting to warm up to me. Then again, he may have copied me just because it looked like a nifty thing to do.
"Hey, sport; how did you get here?" I lift my head a few inches to look around the Rivercourt for any signs of Haley or Nathan. From a distance, I see my best friend talking into her cell phone by her SUV. She looks torn about something, like she's weighing out all her options.
"Mama drove. She's talking to Julian on the phone…about something," Jamie answers, "They've been talking for a while."
Julian? Really? What would Haley need to talk to that guy about? Which diner to go to for breakfast tomorrow morning? The image of Brooke laughing into Julian's shoulder still twists a knot in my stomach. I still don't trust the guy; I sure as hell still don't want to see him as the good guy, or even worse…Jamie's new best friend.
"Wait; shouldn't you be in school?" I ask Jamie as we both watch cotton candy clouds move across the sun.
The intelligent kid that he is, he evades my question with his own. "Well…Shouldn't you be filming a movie?"
A white lie nearly escapes, but I catch myself in time and tell Jamie the truth. Well, the vague truth, anyway. I don't' need to confuse or disappoint him anymore than I have already. "I lost the heart to work on it today. I broke a couple of important things that I don't know how to entirely fix."
Jamie contemplates my so called broken conundrum and reminds me about Uncle Skills' plumbing and baby proofing talents. I can't help but release an air of laughter, "Maybe I should give him a call then." I would do that; if it weren't for the fact that Skills bluntly told me he wanted to avoid crash landing into our Bermuda quadrangle of 'Brucpulian' drama. I don't even want to know where he got 'Brucpulian' from.
Jamie and I have made further progress than me and Brooke. I have no idea where to start with Brooke. Well, besides talking to her voicemail. I will admit that it's a tad easier making amends with an open minded five-year-old than with a confused and hurt 23 year old, especially when you're still unsure of why everything went askew in the first place.
"So what's your story, sport? Why are you playing hooky today?" I ask as we both adjust from lying down to upright sitting positions. I intentionally catch Haley's orbs across the court. My eyes wince at the 'Don't mess this up' warning she exudes before resuming her phone conversation. Is she really still talking to Julian?
"Mama's letting both of us have the day off since I had to go to the dentist this morning." Jamie's voice is matter of fact but body and facial language tell a different story. I ask if he was scared or nervous about his appointment today. He silently shakes his head, and considers on whether or not he should reveal his truth. He sighs and his eyes shift towards mine, "I'm nervous about my talent show tomorrow."
"I'm sorry, buddy," I empathize. Although, I'm not going to lie; a part of me is happy he's talking more to me today than the past week. "You want to talk about why you're nervous about performing? Maybe we can figure out a way to banish those nerves aside."
"It's ok. Chris and Julian already talked to me about how they get rid of their nervousness." My previous happiness is shot and my throat forms a lump at the notion that he doesn't think I can help him. I mean, if he did want my help, he would have still asked for my opinion, right? Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.
"Oh. That's pretty nice of them." I clear the pride from my throat and temporarily push aside whatever dislike I have for Chris and Julian. "What did they tell you?" I inquire, hoping to show Jamie that just because I don't necessarily like the guys, I am ok with them being in his life…sort of…ok, I'm trying really hard to be fine with it. As simple as the concept is, 'fine' is damn hard to achieve. "Do they have good ways to get rid of their nerves?" I narrow down my original question.
"Julian counts to ten and shakes it out of his body. And Chris imagines the whole audience is wearing chicken costumes," Jamie chuckles, his toothless grin peeking out.
"Chicken costumes. I never heard that one before," I join in the amusement. "I wonder how your dad would look with feathers and a beak." Jamie nods and laughs at the thought. He jokes that his dad with feathers could start a Sesame Street basketball team with Big Bird. But, Jamie would join Oscar's basketball team because he thinks Oscar is funnier than Big Bird. That kid has quite a humorous thought process. It's comforting to see him smile again.
"You know that it's only natural to be nervous right?" I reassure Jamie after our light laughter settles into content silence.
"Yeah, I know," He stares at me for what feels like a few hours, but is only a couple minutes; and then he rolls his basketball towards me.
- a few days ago -
He purposely threw the ball short and I watched it roll haphazardly towards my feet. My eyes focused on the empty rim of the basketball net, but I still sensed Nathan's eyes boring down on me in brotherly concern. Our conversation was probably reaching the hour long mark and I knew Nathan was no where near finished with this "brother to brother" covo. Jamie, Brooke, Julian, Chris, and even Haley were all included on our list of "serious things to talk about." But, the smart guy that Nathan is, he never gave me answers.
"I just wish I didn't need Jamie's forgiveness in the first place, you know?" I mentioned to my brother as my arm followed through on my free throw. After the ball missed the net and bounced off the backboard and rim, it bounced into Nathan's waiting hands. "Or yours, Haley's and Brooke's for that matter," I tacked on.
"I think you left someone out," he pointed out and threw the ball back to me.
"I really don't want to like that guy, man," I stared at the ball in my hands and tossed it back to him. After four misses in a row, it was better that I retired from the free throw game sooner rather than later.
"You don't have to like Julian. But you did clock him in the jaw more than once since he got here," he reminded me. The ball, in pure Nathan fashion, effortlessly glided through the net without touching the rim. "And if you don't make the effort to accept his presence in our lives, that's like saying you don't support any of us. Do you really want to convey that to Jamie?"
Talk about simultaneously rendering me speechless and kicking me in the stomach with one statement. Nathan notices my inner aggravation and motions for us to sit. It's one thing when your brother is silent because he's angry with you. It's worse when it's because he's disappointed.
Our view of the gray stillness of the Rivercourt resembled a wistful sixty year old picture you stumbled upon in your grandfather's attic. Nathan's forest green Nikes provided the only flash of color during the unusually dreary, North Carolina day. Even the splintered, aged wood of the picnic table we rested on top of reminded me of how shitty I felt.
How the hell did I not realize how insensitive I was to Brooke all those years ago? And, was I really that much of a jerk the past few months that it warranted a "break"? "I miss the early days when you were the bad guy everyone liked to blame," I sarcastically sigh.
"You actually miss being the quiet bookworm in the corner of study hall?" Nathan's raised eyebrows complimented the disbelief of his voice.
"Nothing this horrible ever happened until Haley and I hung out with you three musketeers," I shrugged the half joke/half serious statement off my shoulder. In reality, I missed the simplicity of those days.
"Nothing extraordinary ever happened either," Nathan replied. I took note of his underlying message, the honest to goodness truth that he was forcing me to remember. With every horrible moment, there can be a handful of amazing ones. It just takes…once again…time and effort.
"Uncle Lucas." I glance at our family's physical proof of extraordinary and notice the concern that swims across his face.
"Yeah, Jamie?" I inquire as I roll his ball back to him. His focus rests on its textured, pumpkin colored skin and I sense our quiet, awkward game of "Roll the Ball" is over.
"Are you and Aunt Peyton still going to my talent show even if Julian is going to be there?" During the brevity of the question, I notice his eyes have the uneasy courage to lock on mine.
He isn't scared of me...anymore. But, he is scared, more so unsure, of what I'll do. That's why any forms of understanding or forgiveness have yet to spill from his mouth. Peyton and I have apologized more than once, but head nods are all that our apologies have received so far. And until today, it took Haley at least fifteen minutes everyday to convince Jamie to hang out with either me or Peyton. His trust still teeters like an unbalanced see saw. That's why right now, I'm proud of the courage and maturity he's exhibiting. Something I failed to do last week.
"Of course, we're going to be there," I scoot closer towards him in reassurance, "Julian and I may not get along, but that's not going to stop any of us from seeing you perform."
Did he forget what we talked about the other day? Even though Peyton and I aren't around, we still care; we'll always love him. But, we are around right now. We will give 110% and be there whenever he needs us. And we know that he needs our support at his talent show.
"I just…I don't want any of you guys to fight. I don't like seeing everyone upset," his response is barely audible, but powerful enough to rip a couple stitches at the seams of my heart, "I want you guys to be friends like before." One more stitch breaks at the plea in his eyes. He already realizes that Brooke, Peyton, and I haven't acted the same around each other.
I heave a deep sigh of hope into the air to catch his plea. But, like my free throws, I know it misses; because everyone being friends means creating a "Julian" piece to fit into our complicated puzzle. "I want all of us to get along, too, Jamie," I manage to croak out. I want us to get along for his sake.
"Then why did you punch Julian and scream at Aunt Brooke?" he presents the question that I managed to avoid till now.
Examining who I was that night hurts, but I owe it to Jamie to figure it all out. I retrieve the emotions I felt in that unbecoming moment and search for the right words that will reveal why I messed up in the first place. Unfortunately, any word combination seems wrong. The truth even rings weak and pathetic. But, words are all I have at the moment.
"I was angry and hurt…and afraid…afraid because I didn't know why what I left behind had changed…everything I believed was true turned out to be the opposite and I didn't understand what was going on anymore. I was afraid to admit that what they were accusing me of was true. And I wish I could take back what I did that night. It was a horrible, unfair, desperate, and selfish thing to do. I regret it because of how much I hurt you and your parents and Aunt Brooke. But I can't take it back. I can only make sure I never do it again."
Somewhere in that poor excuse of an explanation is also a form of apology, an apology for more than just a punch to a face. But I know a simple apology won't be 100% enough.
"So…do you understand things now?" Jamie asks. His voice clings to an ounce of hope that everything is going to be how it used to be; hope that his extended family will go back to how they were before I served a knuckle sandwich.
I want to say "Yeah, buddy; I understand perfectly," but that would be a lie.
Julian Voice Over: If on the way we lose that courage, if we can't find it, then we hope for one person, one person to ignite the spark of truth that we've been searching for.
Peyton's POV; Red Bedroom Records temporary office somewhere
I slam my compact mirror shut for possibly the fifth time in the last hour. But my faint reflection in the office window catches my eye and insecure fingers run through my now straight, auburn hair. No matter how many times I stare back, the girl staring back with the same intensity isn't familiar. Don't get me wrong, I love the new hair; but for some reason, it doesn't feel…right.
Maybe it'll take a few more hours to get used to it. Well, at least the henna-based hair color is an all-natural, semi-permanent dye. And I guess I could lay off the flat iron every once I a while and let my curls do their thing. Man, this isn't vanity, is it? Since vanity is a narcissistic arrogance of one's outer beauty, my curiosity about whether my new hair screams "Peyton Scott" can't possibly fall under the vain category.
"Whoa. What the –"Chris and his gaping mouth freeze at my office door and he unintentionally loses his grip on his guitar case. Well, I guess that answers my question. "When did – what – Do you know how long it took me to figure out suitable nicknames for you? And in one little trip to the beauty parlor, you erase both of them?" Chris complains.
"You don't like it?" I frown at his reaction, reopen my compact, and again find a face that is no longer surrounded by golden curls. For a girl who was looking for some sort of change to embrace, I'm doing a lackluster job of embracing it.
"It's great, sassy even," Chris cajoles, "But dub me sentimental; I've been calling you Curly and Goldie since the early days of Tric."
"Well, it's not like I'll be a sassy red head forever. Plus, once the movie wraps, you'll be recording and performing in Tric. That sounds like a sweet exchange to me," I reason and remind him of our newest business venture together. Although, I wish the momentous occasion of finalizing Chris' recording contract wasn't in this sub-par, blah-beige-walled office building.
"Ooh are these the papers that request a dozen of my autographs?" Chris jumps for the record contracts sitting idly by on the corner of my desk. His urgency stuns me, mainly because I thought he'd be mad at me for everything that went down last week. Maybe, just maybe, somebody is on my side in all of this.
"You know, those persnickety head honchos in LA are going to blow a casket when they find out you're technically leaving them for Red Bedroom," I warn Chris and throw a pen his way.
"So why haven't you exploded with pop rock giddiness, yet?" Chris points out as he scribbles names and initials on designated dotted lines. "Your label is going to jump start even further with names like Keller and Catalano associated with it. Hot Myspace girl still works here, right? Otherwise, I might have to stop signing this contract."
"If you're here solely for the possibility of getting laid, I will tear up your aforementioned contract," I scold with a slap on his shoulder.
"Relax, Miss No-Longer-Curly. I'm not doing the work dating thing ever again. Contrary to popular belief, I can learn a lesson every once in a blue moon while." Despite his haughty tone, I believe him. I assume, like the rest of us, he would prefer to avoid the workplace breakup hell Julian, Sienna, Chris, and I found ourselves in not too long ago. And not even a month after my wedding, Lucas and Brooke are in another version of hell in the workplace.
"One final John Hancock and I think we're good to go, Sawyer," Chris states with his mocking business man voice. When Chris mentioned this label transition idea to me before my wedding, I didn't think he was serious. But, now that papers are signed, well I have to ask the real reason for why he's here. It's a fair question; especially since Chris would be taking a definitive pay cut if he signs with a smaller, independent label. Even though he doesn't need a lot to live, it's what he lives for that gets costly. Add the fact that New York City and Los Angeles are two of his lady loves and this situation becomes even more confusing.
"Not that I'm ungrateful, but why did you agree to join Red Bedroom?" I ask with suspicious, crossed arms, "And don't tell me it's because you slept with a couple of the interns and now you don't want to see their faces everyday."
"Because you need my popularity and natural money making ability to kick start this baby studio," Chris boasts. Skepticism flickers across my eyes and a humble smirk slowly replaces Chris' infamous, egotistical facade. "As absurd as it sounds, The Keller wanted to come back to little Tree Hill for more than a two week vacation. But don't tell anyone else I said that; I'm not even supposed to be on vacation."
A matching smile creeps up on my features. I'm happy, but there is no way this is true. Chris loves the open road and the fast paced city life too much for this to be true. But, maybe his little vacation here changed things. Before I can release the girliest of "awws," Chris deeply inhales and nervously brushes his fingers through his hair. He has one more reason.
"And," he turns to me and for what seems like the first time in his life, he contemplates before speaking, "As luck would have it, you, Julian, and a couple other Hill-ers are the closest I have to family right now. Julian's always on location doing movie stuff, so where else am I supposed to go?"
I give my buddy a sympathetic hug. I understand where he's coming from. No matter how far you travel, you always are pulled back to where you belong; to the people you can call home. "So, it's finally happened. Chris Keller grew tired of the bad romance with fame and found a home. How will your devoted LA groupies throw their bras at you now?" I happily tease.
"Probably via webcam, like all the international groupies do," his arrogant smirk returns, but I still can't help hugging his tall, lanky frame. "It's just too bad I have to hang out with my favorite cronies separately," Chris notes with sarcastic solemnity, shooting a dart straight for the bull's-eye of my happy mood. Great, he wants to talk about Brooke…or Julian…or both.
"Speaking of cronies, I hear you and Sienna are on level ground again. You guys having friendly conversations?" I steer away from any potential conversation about my mistakes. Like I haven't had my own inner arguments about what went down.
"I guess; if you can call them conversations. She does most of the talking…non stop talking. She's such a girl sometimes," Chris complains about the one trait of Sienna's that probably hooked him into her world in the first place.
Julian and I never fully understood why those two called it quits. Something about tour schedules, life goals, his "occasional" lack of maturity, and her commitment issues. I wanted to be there for Chris and Sienna, but not too long after their surprising break up, Julian left me alone with a book and an over packed suitcase. After a little over a year, it's nice to hear that Chris and Sienna are on their way back to a friendship. Who knows how long it will take for Brooke and I to get through this…whatever this is. I don't even know what to call it anymore. If she's as broken as she claims, wouldn't it be more beneficial for her to let Lucas and I in, rather than push us further away?
"What's going on in that head of yours, Peyton?" My distracted mind shatters back into reality once Chris utters my first name. Only a handful of times does he ever revert to my birth-given name, and it's usually when he's trying to seriously set me straight. His concerned gaze and cocked eyebrow tie a few more nervous knots in my already crowded stomach.
"It's nothing; don't worry about it," I attempt to figuratively and literally walk away again, but Chris' long legs effortlessly beat me to the doorway. He's not letting me off that easy. I have a feeling he intended today's meeting topics to include more than just record contracts and tour schedules.
"It's kind of hard not to worry about it," Chris voices, "You haven't talked to Brooke since Saturday. What's up with the stalling?" I briefly close my eyes to restrain my composure from going bananas.
Of course he's been talking to Brooke. Everyone and their rabbits have been talking to Brooke, while Lucas settles for voicemail. Me…each of my phone attempts ended up with anger getting the best of me and throwing the phone across the room. I've been through this before with her; I should know how to handle it. But this time, I don't. And that's what angers and confuses me.
"I'm not stalling," I answer, only to receive a doubtful sneer from Chris. "I just… I don't know where to start because I still don't get what the hell happened. And I don't see how this is anything like high school. I was the one who fought for our friendship junior and senior year, not her," I abruptly stop my explanation when I realize how vacuous and sixth grade I sound.
"That's half wrong," Chris not so discreetly mumbles and unintentionally triggers my emotions to haul a 180.
"How would you know? You weren't even there," I snap and defend a little too loudly. He doesn't flinch at my sudden change in tone and it's clear he expected an argument today.
"What happened back then is over," Chris shifts things back to the present, "Stop being all high school with all of this and figure things out already. With all the history you and Brooke have, you can't tell me that you don't know what the hell happened." His tone is stern and steady; I can sense he's forcing himself not to contest the past with me. As nonchalant as the guy is with his own immature craziness, he has an uncanny ability to make you feel shitty when he believes you're doing something stupid.
I swear and kick the ugly, flame-resistant couch that came with the ugly office, attempting to release some ounce of the confusion and stress that has been building since I first saw Jamie on Julian's shoulders during Brooke's birthday party. "I don't know. It's more complicated this time," I grumble and fish for words to explain my lack of actions.
"So un-complicate it," Chris shoots out, like it's the most obvious answer to this roller coaster of a dilemma.
"It's not that simple," I try to argue.
"It's not like you're trying to banish and kill auto-tune," Chris' wit snaps. If this conversation wasn't about me, I would laugh at the retort.
"I don't see you making things all rosy and perfectly happy with Sienna," I shoot back a bigger dart in his direction, purposely striking a nerve. He should have some inkling of how messed up I'm feeling right now; it's never that simple.
"You think I haven't been trying to figure things out with her the past how many months? Just because I act like a jerk or idiot when it comes to Sienna doesn't mean I'm not trying in my own way to get things back on track and get my damn feelings in order." It's his turn to kick the couch and silence seizes the argument for a few seconds.
"I didn't know you still had feelings for her," I whisper my disbelief. All this time I thought their break up was mutual; how the hell did I miss all of this, too?
"Well, I didn't see you as the type to sell out and let everything go to crap," Chris retorts, concern evident in his voice more than ever.
"That is not what I'm doing," I try to reassure him, my voice rising again.
"From here, it looks like you jumped off the Jeff Buckley train a while ago," he doesn't back down.
"Brooke is the one that initiated this stuff in the first place!" I furiously point out.
"She's taking a break; you're not!"
Why the hell is he still arguing with me on all of this? I thought he considered me family. I thought he was on my side. "God, I am so tired of this," I huff, wanting to literally pull my hair out.
"Tired of what?"
"For once, just once, can't one of you be on my side in all of this?" I shout; desperation for an ally chokes up my voice. "Or should I pull a Brooke and take a break from all of you, too?"
Chris sighs and runs aggravated fingers through his hair. "I'm not on any side, Peyton. I'm neutral in all this, just like Nathan and Haley are. We're like freakin' Switzerland. But if you're going to get pissed off at me for being concerned, then I'll go and stab a 'Team Brooke' flag on the Swiss Alps."
"Then stab away, dude. Nobody's stopping you. I sure as hell am not," I respond coldly, detachment and anger evident in my crossed arms and stiff stance. I don't want to push Chris away, but I can't help it. It's easier for me to push away the truth than to admit that I'm not doing all I can to fix me and Brooke. It's easier to shut out a good friend than to feel the pricks of frustration in their voice.
Chris' eyes unlock from my swollen ones. A few stomps across my office, a swoop for his guitar, a violent pull at the door, and he's almost out. His head shakes and he slowly turns towards me. There's a sad look in his eyes that I've never scene before.
"I know that ticker of yours is all sorts of wounded right now, but this emo, altered version of you has to go. Because the Peyton I know – the girl Julian used to fight for; the girl Brooke has always been fighting for– that girl is ten times better than the red head standing in front of me."
I remain unmoving, feigning that his phrases don't splint or strike. But once the door slams, I collapse on my couch and my head falls in my hands. His words resound in my mind and they hit a nerve…a memory…one I nearly forgot existed.
- several years ago –
"I've been thinking about Lucas. He's just a guy; he makes mistakes like all the rest of us," Brooke whispered, trying to find redemption in Lucas' impetuous decision to sleep with Nikki.
"Maybe. It just feels so much worse when you expected more from somebody, you know?" I responded from my side of the bed.
"Yeah; I know," she held back tears, unable to look me in the eye.
[Brooke and Peyton; ep 120]
Lucas Voice Over: We hope for one person to shine a light and prevent our doubt from blocking the possibility of extraordinary.
Brooke's POV; the park
In real life, Nathan doesn't look as wild or crazy as his pictures make him out to be; with his lopsided smile, he has that quirky cuteness thing going for him. Plus, it kind of helps that he turned out to be sort of a genius, considering who his father is. It's still pretty unbelievable that he said his first words at 9 months old. "Oh, ok, ow; what - what is he doing?" my upper body jumps at the shock of sudden grabs for second base.
Bevin – who just explained to me that she is the all important Senior Exec Visual Merchandiser for Macys' Southeastern division, rather than the bottom-of-the-rung associate I initially thought she was – laughs at my sudden recoil. "Nathan, boobies are not toys; they are nature's bottles," she scolds, reaching out for her first born, "And we don't play with bottles; do we, baby?"
I'm glad I unexpectedly ran into my old cheer buddy today. What was supposed to be a brisk walk to clear my head about Lucas and Julian, transformed into a long awaited catch up hour with Bevin Mirsky. We shared laughs about the corporate world, she discussed home life with little Nathan, and I told her about taking Sam into my home. My troubles with Lucas and Peyton briefly popped up, but that was quickly pushed aside when she asked me to explain how Julian fit in to this crazy mess I put the lot of us in. I was hesitant to delve into details, but I think she got the gist.
The two of us gossiping by the sandbox reminds me of our middle school park outings with her baby cousin. Man, I still don't know how her aunt was comfortable with two riotous twelve year olds babysitting her kid. And now ditzy "Baby Spice" has her own little one to push on the swings and see-saw with. I watch in awe at this grown up Bevin and her little boy; the past five years have been good to her.
"I'm sorry; he's had a weird obsession with squishy things lately," she apologizes once again, and sits giggling Nathan in her lap.
"It's ok, Bev; he's just his father's son," I laugh at the irony. "And that is why I will keep any future daughters I may have away from you," I coo to the little boy with a tickle on his tummy. His bright laughter caps with a baby snort.
"You know you're already an amazing mother, Brooke," Bevin smiles at me, "I've see you with that new teenager of yours; anyone can see she's happy with you."
"I just want to give Sam a chance to really live, you know?" I say, "It was hell at first, but we're at a great place now." I didn't even realize Bevin knew anything about Sam before today; it's sweet that she's noticed the little things.
"Amazingly, Julian helped a little with the whole Sam thing," I add on; my heart skips a beat at the sudden revelation that never crossed my mind till today. With that little eye-opener, memories flash with different interpretations, and a truth I have been running from catches up to me. Holy hell.
"So after all we talked about, why aren't you running over to Tric right now?" Bevin asks me the one question I hoped wouldn't surface; the one question that forces me to admit more than just feelings of anxiety. "And don't tell me it's because of Lucas," she insists and calls me out, "because that boy is the one that should avoid your bad side; not the other way around."
Bevin's expectant and concerned eyes furrow at my silence and my hand's preoccupation to draw asymmetrical hearts in the sand. "Look sweetie, there's nothing wrong with preferring not to run into the guy that gave you trouble in the first place. Believe me, I know," her empathetic hand briefly rests on my own. "But, if you and Julian already have a secret signal to help you out, what's there to be cautious about?"
Her tone indicates more to the question than what rests on the surface. She's asking more so about letting Julian in rather than how to deal with holding Lucas at a distance. The only response I give her is that her question is a pretty damn good one. The fact that she can interpret the various levels of this situation is new for me; high school Bevin thought I was running for president of the United States back in junior year. That means only one thing then. She knows.
Damn it. I can't delude myself from the truth anymore.
I like Julian "Producer Boy" Baker.
Shit.
"Your signal isn't along the lines of a flare gun, is it?" Bevin interrupts my contemplative silence, "Because I hear those things can be seen miles away, and honey, that is totally the opposite direction of what you're going for."
Oh Bevin.
Julian's POV; Tric – movie production
"What's that smell? You're what smells,
You pissed me off today,
Crazy shit you screamed at me,
You're driving me insane, hey!
It's People Always Leave,
Or Curly Always Grieves,
I tried to help her out,
But still she pouts and shouts.
Poor Davis she did hurt
And all then went berserk
Brooke took a break from being buds
…Uhh…
Annnnd she thinks J's a stud! Hey!"
"That's the craziest piece of shit I've heard you sing since you wrote 'Siennageddon,'" I laugh at Chris' newly penned lyrics. With my feet crossed atop the desk and Chris lying lazily on the couch, we probably look like a pair of work-avoiding bums. Last day, pre-production, lunacy isn't over; but with Lucas playing hooky, for god knows why, I could use a fifteen minute break to rest my creative muscles. I scroll through my music playlist and The Breakfast Club anthem echoes throughout the spacious office. Damn I wish Brooke was here; it would make Chris' singing more bearable.
"It's Peyton's fault," Chris gripes from the velvet couch he's sprawled out on, his guitar lying comfortably on his torso, "Damn ex-blonde got me in a bad tizzy today."
"Please, you get people in a tizzy everyday," Haley suddenly chimes in at the doorway, a small box of her personal knick-knacks in her arms. Talk about taking all day to get here; I called her more than seven hours ago. Damn I need to calm down, it's not Haley's fault that Brooke and Lucas bailed on me today. I reluctantly sit upright to make room on the desk for the items she generously brought over.
"Your changed mind on the job offer wouldn't happen to be in this box, would it?" I joke and sift through the box of items she's allowing us to use for props and scenery additions. I smirk at the funny-faced picture of her and her seven siblings. A US presidents poster, a beat up messenger bag, a few of her favorite novels, most of pre-Nathan Haley is all right here.
"Are you kidding? Why would I ever want to work with Chris again?" Haley rhetorically asks in response to my 'changed mind' question.
"Uh because I'm a musical genius with two teen choice surfboards to prove it," Chris confidently proclaims matter-of-factly. "You want to hear my new song?"
Without giving Haley a chance to protest, Chris immediately dives into the cold waters of the first verse and I can't help but interrupt him. There's no way I'm going to let him put any of us through 8 hellish verses about all the random people who have ticked him off the past week alone; Nathan and I are even on the stupid list because we beat him and Mouth in pool the other day.
"Speaking of geniuses, where's that hyperactive spawn of yours?" I ignore Chris' song belting and look around for the little squirt that has half of Tree Hill wrapped around his witty, five-year-old finger.
"We ran into Sam and Missy outside; they're showing Nathan and Jamie around," Haley explains and silently mouths gratitude to me for halting Chris' not so little ditty.
"Missy's still here? Dude, why didn't you tell me?" Guitar still in hand, Chris leaps off the couch, checks his hair reflection via the sunglasses sitting atop Haley's head and bounds out the door faster than Haley and I could have predicted. Well, that was odd. I thought he was still messed up over Sienna. Or maybe he's trying to find someone to make him forget about everything. I catch Haley's rolling eyes and her mumbled comment about Chris forever being a ladies man. Little does she know…
"Come on, Hales. You can't seriously tell a fellow musician that you're turning down a chance to scribe melodies for a feature film," I revert the subject back to the co-composer position I offered her this afternoon, "It's nearly blasphemous to do so."
Haley laughs at the exaggerated gravitas I put on the situation and shrugs, "Sorry, I'm just not feeling it right now, buddy."
"You wound and shame me, Haley Scott," I shake my head and place my hand on the figurative pain she shot into my chest. I watch as her face contorts and I know I have her doing a double take on her initial decision. That's all I need; for her to reconsider how incredible this could be for her and the movie. Plus, it would be great to have someone else here to help provide a buffered bridge between the awkwardness of Scott and Davis.
"I'll sleep on the idea, but that's it," she points at me, a notch of her motherly sternness accidentally slipping out, "Besides, Chris Keller as a best friend is enough of a shame for you, don't you think?"
I laugh off the semi-insult; she's one to talk. "At least he hasn't done anything recently to warrant a suspension in friendship school."
"Yeah, don't remind me," she mumbles and follows me as I peruse the various story boards and memo boards cluttered throughout the room. She stops a few feet behind me, in front of the vibrant, eye-catching costume and wardrobe boards. "So I'm guessing Brooke decided to stay at her place?"
I can only guess what Haley is interpreting from Brooke's decision not to stop by. But, I refuse to believe that Brooke would rather avoid contact with Lucas and Peyton than spend time with me or Sam. She still has some courage left in her. Sure, it's nearly seven pm, but there's still a half hour till sunset. I pretend to change some notes on a nearby board to avoid Haley's inquisitive stares, but I guess I can't hide that easily. "The day isn't over yet; she could still show up," I shrug with what I'm hoping is optimistic nonchalance, as opposed to optimistic enthusiasm.
"Look at you with your 'I like Brooke' neon sign on your forehead," she playfully pokes at my forearm. She exclaims a truth I have been avoiding and have been hoping was merely an illusion from the Tree Hill goggles I've donned since I arrived in this picturesque, Southern town.
"You sure it's not the faulty lighting playing optical tricks on you?" I plaster on a furtive grin that she obviously isn't buying into.
"If it is, that's too bad; because I'm pretty sure she has a similar sign glowing," Haley taunts.
"Why; what did she tell you?" I ask a little too quickly, succumbing to her teasing. "Not that I care…cause, you know…we're just friends," I attempt to feign indifference. Wait a minute. What is going on? And metaphorical bricks hit me once again today.
Damn.
I like Brooke Davis.
Shit.
My mind reprocesses Haley's earlier Brooke observation and I can't control the tiny spike in my heart rate. Does Brooke feel the same way? Yes? No? Maybe…I fight the urge to ask Haley once more what the hell she was talking about. But within seconds my mind loses and my heart earnestly asks Haley what exactly Brooke told her.
Just as Haley's about to disclose some sort of information, she pauses and smiles, "She didn't have to say anything."
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I follow the direction of her line of sight and for the first time since I've been in Tree Hill, I am legitimately frozen and awe struck. She didn't have to say anything at all.
Peyton Voice Over: It's easier to settle for the horizon or even the romantic notion of a sunset. Because ''See ya later's' are inevitable…It's the 'Hello's' that are up to us.
Brooke's POV; Tric – movie production
Damn, it's been years since my stomach housed a single butterfly, let alone a whole family. This time I know it's definitely not the leftover Chinese food that's causing my insides to flip flop. Shit, why are my feet strapped to five inch Laboutins right now instead of my favorite Tory Burch flats? If I freakin fall over from a nervous misstep right now, that will certainly be the end of this bravery thing I've got going. My lungs breathe deeply in time with my wrist's opening of the door.
I catch Haley's gaze far off in the office; her comforting smile and wink of support urge me a few steps forward. I'm barely through the door and his eyes focus on me; before I know it, it's as if his dancing orbs pull me across and we meet halfway, in front of the empty bar. My ears barely hear and process Haley's excuse to leave and now we're down to two.
"Hi," I whisper, feeling the butterflies calm to a comfortable setting. Ok, so maybe this isn't as hard as I thought it would be. It's weird that my eyes aren't frantically searching the vicinity for Lucas and Peyton right now. But, I guess that's a good thing.
"I thought the priss stayed in her own world," Julian references our morning conversation with that devilish grin of his. It's even more hypnotizing now more than ever. Shit, I need to keep my cool. Mischievous, cheerleader Brooke in place, the butterflies transform into flirtatious energy.
"Some stoner convinced her to venture out a little bit," I continue the Breakfast Club banter. "Why don't you look too surprised?" I ask, wondering if he's been expecting me to show up the entire day. Either that or the guy has a damn sly poker face.
"I sort of figured you wouldn't be able to stay away from that rebel kid of yours," his honest reply shrugs casually off his shoulders, as if it's the most logical reason in the world. My brow cocks upward at his ability to understand a part of me so quickly – the part most guys, like Owen, can't comprehend at all – the desire to provide love to a child. Damn it, Julian.
An arrogant chuckle precedes Julian's question of why I'm suddenly speechless. I shake my head and insist that the basketball players that walked by behind him distracted the daylights out of me. He turns around, expecting to catch me in a lie. I notice his face drop a little at the sight of his extras indeed hanging out by the craft services table.
After muffling a laugh at his reaction, I apologize for initially declining his invite and not stopping by earlier. He points his rolled up script at me and insists that I shouldn't apologize for anything; what matters is that I'm here now and we both should prep our ears for Missy's flabbergasted reaction at seeing me here. I laugh and ask if that means I can meet the athletic, muscular extras as well.
"I'll do you one better and give you a ticket to the VIP tour," he offers, as we walk by the stage that is now occupied by an array of methodically organized technical and film equipment.
"Complete with a slice of pie?" I ask a little too eagerly. I'm pretty sure my voice did that high school girl thing, but I can't help it; I like pie. Ok, I love it, especially the apple variety.
"Unfortunately, Chris accidentally ate all that." Damn I should have known; Keller is like the Tasmanian Devil when it comes to food. Before I have a chance to announce my disappointment, Julian offers a consolation gift, "But, you can have me as your tour guide." He holds his slightly bent arm out to me with a smug, 'you know you want to' kind of grin.
After weeks of amused banter with the guy, my eyes automatically narrow down at his expression, feigning disinterest. But I catch myself; instead of a sarcastic, annoyed sigh, I smirk fondly and hook my arm tightly into his, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go, Producer Boy."
Lucas' POV; Clothes over Bros
Well, here goes nothing. My jeans take the brunt of anxious sweat off my palms and I slowly pull the glass door open to Brooke's creative haven. To think, a few years ago I shared this safe refuge with Haley and now I feel like an intrusive, unwanted mosquito pestering the new owner. I have no idea what I'm going to say, or what Brooke is going to think about me showing up unannounced. Hell, I don't even know what to expect will go down. But after firmly deciding I need to go one giant step further in this effort thing, this is where my feet carried me.
My nervous fist lightly punches the other palm in a repetitive motion and I scan the store for a familiar face. My heart pounds an ominous, out-of-sync rhythm in my chest and perplexity wrinkles my forehead. Why is it empty in here? Someone has to be working, right?
"Lucas?" a high pitched, confused voice spins my shaky body around. I'm simultaneously relieved and disappointed that Brooke isn't the voice's owner. Did she already go home for the evening?
"Hey Millie," I manage to wrangle the embarrassed nerves long enough to greet Brooke's friend, "Is Brooke here?" Her eyes bear down on me, cautious to ask the reason for my presence. Does she know everything that went down?
"No, but she's supposed to stop by to pick up some costumes she needs to work on," she informs me. I nod and tell her I can wait for Brooke to return. I need to see her; it took me nearly a week to accumulate the courage to get this far, I can't leave now. Unsure if it's a good idea, Millie reluctantly lets me stay and resumes inventory work in the backroom.
Like every other person in our technology driven society, my focus shifts to my cell phone while I wait for minutes to lapse. As I listen to messages from directors and managers, I shuffle around the studio, admiring the array of costumes. A tattered photo taped to a collage on the "Brooke" rack catches my eye; it's a photo of the five of us on Nathan and Haley's wedding day.
"Hey Luke; it's Haley," the last message begins. Talk about ironic. I pick up the worn out picture and stare at one particular smiling face while Haley's message reverberates from my phone. "Jamie told me what you told him on the River Court. I know it's been rough, but we're going to get through this. Jamie really needs his uncle back in his life."
"I am holding on for dear life, but I need you to need me back," Brooke cried. My mind flashes back to the anguished dispute that became a precursor to mine and Brooke's breakup. Confused as to why my brain reverted to that moment in particular, I shove the painful memory aside and listen to the rest of Haley's message.
"Anyway, Nathan and I had a long talk…and…well, you know, we haven't had a family dinner in a while, so…if things keep progressing positively, maybe we can have one next week? I guess call me back when you get this."
"Ok, why wouldn't you tell me about the kiss? And why didn't you call me while you were away?" Brooke sobbed, "And why won't you ever just let me all the way in?" It broke me to see that somewhere along the line, I had broken the woman I loved. [3.22]
I tense up and swallow hard. One hand accidentally drops my cell while the other clenches tighter to a picture that doesn't even belong to me. I hold on tighter because after five damn years, the gears finally click. I never fully comprehended the depth and gravitas of how much I hurt and disappointed Brooke during the last few weeks of our high school relationship. All this time I thought it was about a kiss and lack of communication. Shit, it was so much more than that. And like a haunting version of paralleled deja vu, I've repeated the same mistakes in our friendship. How could I do that to her?
Haley's Voice Over: Sometimes we venture into the extraordinary. We surprise ourselves.
Brooke's POV
"For when we raid the Naley fridge for dinner tonight," Julian explains when he surprises me with a slice of apple pie he managed to hide from Chris.
My smile widens and my initial evening plans suddenly rearrange themselves, "I was thinking we could raid my fridge tonight; you know…if you want to."
"I'd like that, Penny D." It's his turn to hook his arm into mine, "You do have food this time around, right? Because I don't think one slice of pie is going to cut it."
Haley's Voice Over: And sometimes, we don't.
Lucas' POV
"I heard you saw Brooke's angry side last weekend," I hear Millie attempt small talk; but my eyes remain locked on the photo of the brunette in the red dress, the girl who used to live behind a red door, the girl who deserved so much more from me.
"Please don't be mad, Brooke," I begged her. I couldn't lose her; not now and not again.
"I'm not mad, Lucas. I'm not mad." [3.22]
"No, she wasn't angry," I dolefully correct Millie, and push down the sob that threatens to figuratively choke me, "She was crushed."
A/N: And there you have it. An incredibly long chapter 13; complete with flashbacks, quotes, a Bevin cameo, and a song parody! If you guys haven't read the original song parody – look at my one shot, Jingle Bells Lucas Smells. I hope you guys also liked my tweak to the infamous Priss and Stoner scene.
Some points I wanted to get across:
Lucas finally understands why Brooke is disappointed in them – Since Brooke has always expected so much more from her best friends, she's crushed at the fact that when she needs them most, they never fully understand her and what she needs; something that Brooke is able to do with them.
I believe Chris has deeper levels to him – he's not just a silly, cocky musician. He's a close friend that cares enough to call Peyton out on her crap. Same goes for Bevin; she isn't a dumb blonde. I thought it was important that Brooke and Lucas were the ones to make the first steps and have the courage to go somewhere they weren't expected.
There is definitely more you can interpret from this chapter, but if I point it all out, this A/N would turn into an English class. Lol.
The events of the episode where Brooke confronts her attacker will play a part in my story soon. Since, imo, the writers and Sophia did such a phenomenal job with that episode, I'm not going to rewrite those events. But after I address that issue, everything will be completely AU (author's universe) and not canon with the show. And more of our fave past characters will pop up!
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and please review so I can know your thoughts about the direction I'm taking this story. I respect your opinions so much and they provide so much motivation. Thanks again so much for being fans of this story!