Author's Note: I just want to give a shout-out to every single person that reviewed the last chapter. You guys seriously make my days a million times better. You make the best comments, suggestions - and you even correct me when I'm wrong! I have to say, I love this story. I've been writing this for nearly two years! Can you believe that? I started this when I was thirteen!

Also, you might have noticed, my profile has considerably shortened over the past couple weeks. I've been toying with the idea of deleting stories I knew I'd probably never get to updating, and as hard as it was, I finally did. I was going to delete some stories that I wrote when I was like, twelve, but I couldn't for some reason. The quality of writing is terrible, but I have to keep 'em.

Anyway: I take a pretty cliché route in this chapter, and though a lot of you may disagree with it, (which, feel free to tell me by the way! Heh) I feel that's its really necessary for the plot.

Enjoy and review!

Movie Script Ending

Chapter Thirty-Four: Ice Age, Heat Wave, Can't Complain

It was like Dan Scott himself had arranged the weather for his funeral. Though the calendar was closer to summer than it was the beginning of Spring, the rain poured from the skies as if the man himself had requested that everyone suffer on his day of remembrance.

Shoes slopped through mud in order to reach the burial grounds, and most wore large jackets and parkas that did not fit them as well as they had during winter, making them look less formal than the situation demanded.

A strong gust of wind blew up the hem of Deb Scott's black skirt, and as she blankly smoothed it down, Brooke mused from her spot beside Lucas that the woman looked like she could certainly use a cigarette. Hidden behind her large, dark sunglasses, Brooke was able to stare endlessly at those she would normally look away from, and Deb Scott was at the top of her list. Mostly because she saw so much of Deb in herself; an unhappy woman with a life that she was fortunate to even have.

Excusing herself quietly from Lucas, Brooke took slow, steady steps towards the older, blonde woman, feeling somewhat nervous.

"Hi," she exhaled, the cold wind inspiring her to tug her jacket closer around her thin frame.

Deb seemed to barely register, eyes looking up from the mahogany-colored casket before them.

"Are you, um, are you okay?" She didn't know what else to say, and she rubbed her gloved hands together. She saw that Deb was not wearing any gloves, and her wrinkled fingers were slowly turning a pale shade of blue.

Deb pasted on a smile for a moment, but it dropped off the corners of her mouth almost instantly. "Oh, I'm fine."

Brooke wasn't sure what else she could say to start conversation, and she didn't have to, because after a moment, Deb turned to her, her eyes vacant and wide. "I'm free," she said, and then she said a little louder, "I'm free."

Involuntarily, tears filled Brooke's eyes, and she hastily wiped them away. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

Deb shrugged, and for a vulnerable moment, Brooke realized that Deb Scott was not okay with Dan being dead. The woman laughed hollowly. "You must be the only person crying at Dan Scott's funeral."

It was true, she was. But still, she did not say it. Instead, Brooke reached her hand down to grab Deb's, holding it tightly in her own.

"We're going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

Deb shook her head. "I'm not so sure."

As another gust of wind hit them, giving off an eerie gusting sound, Brooke shivered. "Me either."

--

Nathan, Lucas, and Brooke sat at the elder Scott kitchen table, desperate to get away from the rest of the wake; each equally depressed by the situation around them.

"I never thought he'd die," Nathan said suddenly, more to himself than the others. "I mean, the heart attacks and that fire, and.. I don't know, you know? It seemed like he'd live forever."

Lucas, the only person from the group that was probably genuinely upset about his father's death, heaved a sigh. "I never thought I'd miss him. He hurt everyone so badly.."

"It was his second heart attack," Brooke shook her head. "He was lucky he lived so long. His body probably couldn't hold on any longer."

"Actually," Lucas corrected. "This was his third heart attack. When I came here that night, Deb told me that he'd suffered another one a few years ago."

Nathan frowned. "Bullshit. Why wouldn't he tell us?"

"Apparently, he didn't want to worry us. He didn't want us to feel obligated to visit him."

Brooke bit her lips as the lump in her throat grew. "Who knew he had a heart after all."

As the three young adults sat in Dan Scott's kitchen, all could not help but wonder about the man they'd never really known.

--

She could hear the rain drumming against the house gutters and windowpanes, and her bedroom was certainly dreary from the gray of the outside reflecting. Yet, as she reached a hand over to run her fingers over Jake Jagielski's newly shaved skin, she felt shivers go up her spine for an entirely different reason.

This was probably one of the first time he'd really slept in years, so she allowed him to in peace, only touching him when she could not quite help herself; sometimes only to see if he was really there.

She wasn't sure what would happen between them, or if anything ever would. History had a way of pushing someone back into your life just so it could rip them away again. But for some reason, she did not care. Because every time she opened her eyes and found him laying in front of her, at such ease just being near her, she felt her heart flutter in a way no one had ever made it flutter before. Except of course, him.

As she pulled her hand away, she rolled over from her side to her back, looking up at the bare ceiling of her bedroom. She closed her eyes and tried for a moment to pretend that she was a teenager, but found she could not remember the feeling.

Finally bringing herself to look outside the window, she sighed as Dave's house came into eyeshot.

She had to do the right thing, or she knew karma would certainly come back for her.

With one last look towards Jake, she slipped silently out the door.

--

Soon after leaving her house did she realize that it had not been a smart idea not bringing a jacket, but she was already halfway up his lawn, and she knew that the part of her telling to return home was the part of her that was a chicken.

She knocked several times before she finally heard footsteps coming, and when he finally opened the door, he looked very tired, and not exactly pleased to see her there.

"Can I come in?" She managed to sputter out, her mouth nearly full with the water that was pouring from the skies.

"Oh, what, after I asked you to marry me and haven't seen you for days since because some guy you used to be in love with showed up? Sure, why not," he deadpanned, but pulled the door wide enough to let her inside anyway.

She bit her lip. "Okay, I deserved that. But me and Jake - we're not together."

"Yeah," he laughed bitterly. "Not yet. But what do you give it? A week? Maybe two?" She had no reply to this one, and he sighed. "Let me get you a towel."

She stood awkwardly in his living room, which was very similarly designed to hers, until he returned moments later with a large towel, which he helped wrap around her.

Peyton offered him a smile, and when he did not return it, she sighed. "Okay, here's the deal. I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry, Dave."

"Well thanks, because that really solves… nothing at all."

"I know," She dropped her head in guilt. "Look, I can't explain it to you-"

"Well, go ahead and try. This ought' a be good." He leaned against his plain, cream-colored sofa, and she wrapped the towel tighter around herself.

"I've known Jake for… pretty much my entire life. And he's always been really sensible and nice, and-"

"Yeah, and he had a daughter, and you fell in love, and then he had to leave to go look for her. I get it." And he was giving her a look that told her he didn't quite care either, and she didn't exactly blame him.

She shook her head. "Okay, but you really don't get it. I've had a hard life, okay? And I'm not just saying that. And I know it sounds stupid that I actually am saying it. Even to me. But there's only been one person in my entire life that has - even when I feel like I'm going to die because life's so hard, or even if I'm in the worst possible situation ever - the ability to make me feel safe. And truthfully, when I was seventeen years old, he promised me he'd come back for me eventually… and I've spent every day since then waiting. Even if I didn't know it."

"That's a pretty good reason, I guess," Dave admitted, eyes lowering. "But I'm still mad! I mean, I'm - my heart is completely shattered right now. You have to understand that."

"I do, I do," She reached for his hand and he flinched slightly as if her touch burned him. "But listen, you're one of the best friends I've ever had, and I don't want to lose you."

She could see the tears shining in his eyes as he fought not to make contact with hers. "Maybe. Maybe eventually. But right now, I'm just going to need to not be near you. Or see you."

Peyton nodded. "And that's okay. Well, I guess I'm going to go."

As her fingers touched the knob, she heard his voice, so low it was almost a whisper. "Nothing's really happened between you two, yet?"

She turned to look at him, making sure their eyes met as she said her next words. "I promise. I wouldn't have without talking to you first."

He bit his lip. She continued, "I hope someday you won't hate me."

"I hope so too."

--

Tears spilled from her eyes onto the white-tile floor, and Brooke grabbed the towel off of the rack nearest to her to muffle her sobs. She allowed them to rip through her similarly to a tidal wave crashing down against the water.

She hugged her knees close, and rocked herself slowly back and forth.

What would she do? Whatwould she do?

Before she could continue to hyper vent any longer, Brooke groaned softly, using all of her strength to grab the bathroom sink and pull herself up into a standing position.

She rubbed her eyes once more, and then reached down to grab the small, white, plastic object off of the counter.

Eyes watering with a fresh batch of tears, Brooke Davis-Scott looked down at the only test she'd ever hoped to fail with confusion and fear.

What would she do?