FIC: Just a Little Insight (15/?) Popular, Sam/Brooke
Just A Little Insight (15/?)
By Misty Flores
Teaser: It was the sharp realization, sitting at that dinner table, as soon as Harrison had chosen her and Sam's eyes welled up with tears, that for all her protestations of sisterly love to the world about Sam, she was incredibly, hopelessly, desperately, IN love with her. There was enough difference in that statement to completely destroy any sense of stability she had.
Series: Popular, Sam/Brooke, Brooke/other, Sam/other
Spoilers: Post SII
CHAPTERS
Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V| Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII
| Part XIII
MAJOR props go to faechick for the awesome beta.
--
Part 15. Drive Until You Lose The Road
Brooke McQueen wasn’t sure how ‘together’ she really was, all things considered.
Still, when her eyes drifted open, she awoke with a rather unique sense of calm.
Uncertain, Brooke kept still in bed, buried underneath her covers, and stared up at the ceiling. She took a deep breath, and discovered no hitch, no pressure building inside of her.
Sam was in the room across from her, and even so, there was no impending sense of doom.
Cheek sliding across her sheets, Brooke curled into her side, catching side of the beta fish on her desk, fins fanning lazily.
Nothing ever seemed to happen casually for her. Her life was an awkward whirlwind of extremes, and the presence of Sam in her life only exacerbated that.
But now, Sam was sleeping in the next room, and while Brooke was intensely aware of that, there existed an inexplicable optimism.
Brooke hated to think of herself as an after school special, but she wondered briefly if she was growing as a person.
A tepid knock at the bathroom was enough to make her sit up.
“Come in.”
She watched with a full heart and a growing smile when chubby fingers clumsily reached through the opening crack, and two matching sets of brown eyes and brown hair stared tenuously at her.
The two sisters were a picture-perfect sight, and Brooke found herself suddenly looking for her camera.
“Well, hello!” she said, suddenly sappy beyond belief, as she threw off the blankets, waiting as Sam brought the still sleepy-eyed toddler to her bedside. “Hey there, munchie!”
“Ah, yes.” Sam said, growling good-naturedly, trying to keep a hold of the slippery baby. “There was a bundle of Mac that was thrown on my stomach this morning. It was the best way to wake up ever. We’re babysitting,” she added, a half-hearted explanation. “Mom’s showing a bunch of houses.”
“That’s fine with me,” Brooke breathed, pulling her camera off the nightstand and fussing with the lens cap.
Settling on Brooke’s bed, Sam’s eyes narrowed, nearly letting go of their monkey of a sister’s waist as the baby bounced happily up and down on the bed.
“… What are you doing?”
“Oh, come on,” Brooke breathed, concentrating on attaching her lens. “This is a Kodak moment if I ever saw one.”
“Uhuh. Maybe for Mac. I still have crud in my eyes.”
“It’s nice crud,” Brooke amended. In an impossibly good mood, even Sam’s ever present pout was almost criminally adorable. Bringing the camera up, she looked through the viewfinder, and discovered the beauty of her step-sister all over again.
At the action, Sam glared at her, and immediately hoisted up Mac until the baby was pressed against her cheek, blocking her from the shot.
Lowering the camera, Brooke arched an annoyed brow. “Hey, now. None of that.”
“I mean it,” she heard, muffled behind Mac’s amused giggles as the baby kicked her booty-ed feet. “I look like crap.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Sam that no matter what she was wearing, she was always gorgeous. Brooke’s palm tightened around her camera, and she felt a curious block of awkward emotion. Swallowing hard, she breathed out slowly and too casually, lifted the camera back to eye range, effectively covering her face.
She waited as Mac struggled with her mid-air pose, and then the moment the shot came, as Sam finally lowered the growing baby, she took it, the frame cemented as she saw a flash of amused-against-her-will smile come from Sam.
“Bitch,” Sam mumbled, and Brooke grinned.
“Get dressed,” she said, and reached for Mac. “We’re heading out.”
--
Clad in a kicky little hat and an entirely too expensive dress from Baby Gap, Mac looked like a little fashionista. She was arguably the best dressed of the three, and yet, Brooke didn’t mind.
Dragging around a thirty pound camera bag didn’t allow for dainty heels or nifty little boots, and Brooke had always preferred a simple, classy look.
Sam, on the other hand, always had liked to have an edge, and her dark jeans, black tank top with the skull with a bow on it, and Converse were accentuated with a tangle of black bracelets, silver hoops, and dark-colored nails.
They must have made quite the trio, sitting together as the tram made its way up the track to the Getty Museum.
“Really?” Sam chortled, leaning her head back as they climbed slowly through the hills. “A museum?”
Keeping a steadying hand on Mac, who had her face pressed against the glass, obviously consumed with the view, Brooke shot her a mock glare. “Have you seen the gardens? They’re gorgeous. And there’s a photography exhibit I’ve been really wanting to see.”
Dark eyes moving to the camera bag sitting at Brooke’s feet, Sam appeared contemplative. “You really took that back up.”
Blowing out a haggard breath, Brooke shrugged. “I love it, Sam. I don’t know what really triggered it, but there are some things I see and… I just have to capture it. They’re more than photographs to me. They’re…” she struggled, trying hard to explain it. “Alive.”
Sam’s dark brown rose in response.
Suddenly embarrassed, she laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know.”
“No, I think it’s cool.” Crossing her arms, Sam glanced outside the window, taking in the view. “You were great at school, Brooke, but you were always looking for something else. You weren’t ever really satisfied.”
It was surprisingly insightful, considering Sam’s usual dismissal of her in those days. Straightening, Brooke studied her carefully, feeling fragile. “Is this what it’s like to be you?” ”
Dark eyes met her own, thoughtful and engaging. “I’m not sure you wanna be me right now, Brooke.”
The heaviness behind the statement made her heart sink, but her ex-lover only smiled at her thinly, and reached forward, pulling Mac into her lap.
--
Mac was an awkward walker, but she had absolutely no problem pitching herself forward to roll down the sloping green lawn with the other kids.
Brooke had nearly hyperventilated at the sight, but thankfully a five year old had taken it upon himself to look after the tyke, and as Mac giggled and rolled, he was right there beside her, carefully warding off the other enthusiastic children like a stern older brother.
It left Brooke and Sam free to maintain a watchful distance. Sam had sprawled on the grass carelessly, plucking blades of grass with her slender fingers and pulling them apart. Brooke kept her camera in her hands, snapping shots of her little sister, trying to capture the innocence and courage that only babies had. It was only that mixture that could cause such fearlessness.
“So…” Turning back to Sam, Brooke discovered the other sister prone, one arm slung lazily over her forehead, an attempt to foil the sun. Sammy looked like a vexed vampire. “Why wouldn’t I want to be you?”
Raising her camera, she focused on the other girl through the viewfinder. As one eye opened to squint at her in mild irritation, she snapped a picture.
Brooke took another glance at Baby Mac, and when the baby waved gleefully at her, she waved back, turning her attention back to Sam.
“Oh come on.” Getting on her knees, she adjusted the focus, until she had a gorgeous shot of Sam’s frustrated, fiery expression. “You didn’t think I was going to let that one go, did you?”
Seemingly resigned to be Brooke’s pick as a model, Sam turned into her side, and eyed her carefully, directly staring into the camera.
Brooke shot the frame.
Glancing back towards Mac, Sam’s tone was low, guarded. “Why would you want to? You know what you want, and you’re where you want to be to get it.”
The camera lowered an inch. “And you’re not?”
Grabbing a pair of sunglasses from her pocket, Sam slipped them on, masking her eyes. Brooke thought it was only fair, as she lifted up the camera and shot another frame.
The audible click of the camera forced a barely-there shift of Sam’s head. Dark eyes pierced into her camera, and heart suddenly in her throat, Brooke pressed the shutter button.
It matched the beat of her heart.
“I don’t know,” came the honest answer. “This semester really sucked, Brooke. And I don’t know if it was because of us…” Brooke’s heart hammered a hard thud, “Or the fact that I completely alienated half of my friends on Spring Break and they all took Rebecca’s side, but… I felt really alone, and … you know… Mac is growing up so fast and I’m terrified that she’s not gonna remember me and…”
“It doesn’t feel like home,” Brooke whispered. Dark orbs glittered with sudden intensity, and for the moment, Brooke was overcome.
“Sammeee!” The childish laughter broke into the moment, and as Sam turned, she was suddenly tackled by her baby sister.
The unexpected laughter that came from her depressed love brought a sudden charge into her chest.
Reflectively, Brooke captured the moment, a series of stills that she could only hope would appear cleanly with the sudden movement.
--
Brooke understood that her and Sam’s alliance was tenuous. While she liked to think they were acting like sisters, the truth of it was that they were acting more like polite acquaintances. Every action that passed between them was careful, too careful, because there was a line drawn in the sand that Brooke was intensely aware, could only too easily be crossed.
She had tasted Sam, she had held her, and she had been inside her.
She and Sam had only been lovers a total of two nights, but the emotion that had coursed through her at the feel of Sam thrusting fingers inside her, the pure overwhelming sense of need that had occurred the first time she had pushed Sam’s legs apart to taste the deepest part of her…
She now understood why some people went mad with passion, and she understood what it meant when all those dumb Harlequin novels went on and on about sensations and fulfillment.
It was because of that, she kept her hands to herself, and she adored Sam through the safety and intimacy of her camera.
She had made Sam a promise, and while Brooke had proven herself frighteningly good at breaking promises, she told herself she wouldn’t break this one.
The only problem was, she didn’t trust herself.
Things were too new. They were too raw. And despite herself and her good intentions, it was hard to forget the complete devastation that had occurred when Sam had broken her heart at her most vulnerable moment.
It was that fear, and the awkward awareness of Dusty in her thoughts that kept her hesitating as they drove back to their house.
It was quiet. Worn out by the day’s activities, Mac had crashed in her seat, heading leaning to the side, plastered against the side of the car seat. In the passenger seat, Sam slunk back in her chair, glasses on, looking the very picture of indifference.
Brooke knew better.
Fingers tightening around the wheel, Brooke questioned the sanity of what she was doing.
“Sam,” she said suddenly. Dark hair and dark glasses turned her way. “You know, USC has a great Journalism program.” Sam continued to stare at her. “Maybe you could consider transferring.”
Sam remained silent, and it was impossible to gauge her reaction.
Breathing unsteadily, Brooke kept her eyes on the road. “You got in before. Why not now?”
Sam’s voice was uncharacteristically weak when she responded, “That might be an idea.”
It was out there, and Brooke couldn’t take it back. She wouldn’t. If Sam was struggling, and wanted to be closer to home, it was an ideal solution.
If Brooke could manage to completely ignore the tension that seemed to mount between them, then it would have been a perfect solution.
As long as there was an understanding.
Sucking in her breath, she trudged on. “There’s a gig tonight. Dusty has this gig. At the Gig.”
The mention of her girlfriend gave her a rather absurd flush of relief and anxiety. She pasted on a bright smile and glanced over to her step-sister. “I’m going to go. I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come with me.”
She was trying. She was. What Sam needed was a friend, and although the pain was still there and Sam still effected her profusely, she wasn’t going to screw this up. Not again.
A slow, odd smile floated on Sam’s face as she kept her eye on the traffic. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans with Harrison.”
She felt a pang of disappointment. Licking the moisture onto her lips, Brooke tried again. “I just think you two could be friends. You both have a lot in common, and…”
What followed was an audible sigh. A beat, and then the glasses came off, and Sam emerged, with brilliant dark eyes and a sad, conflicted smile.
“Brooke, I’m not ready to be her friend,” came the honest, broken answer. “Okay?”
Sam was absolutely breathtaking and absolutely not ready for this.
Sucking in a ragged sigh, Brooke found herself blinking away sudden tears. She kept her eyes on the road, determined not to let Sam see her sudden devastation.
This just completely sucked.
“Okay,” she managed, and when her words seemed to lack conviction, she nodded. “Well, if you change your mind…”
“It’s fine.” Sam crossed her arms against her chest, posture uncharacteristically perfect. “I’m hanging with Harrison.”
Nodding again, feeling absurdly like a bobble head, Brooke find she could think of nothing else to say.
--
It was unfair, she knew, to compare Dusty to Sam, because she told herself there were different kinds of love and the love for Sam was altogether too complicated and had too many permutations. She and Dusty were new, and passion was an obvious factor.
There were long sessions of making out, hot breath and steamy windows. Dusty’s fingertips were rough with calluses, but her lips were soft. Brooke had found an affinity for reaching for Dusty’s nape of hair, so black it shimmered purple, and tangling her fingers in it.
She always closed her eyes, when she kissed Dusty.
She told herself the reason why she wasn’t ready for sex with Dusty was because she was determined to go slow. A one-night stand and a torrid affair with your step sister hardly counted as relationships and the intimacy with both happened so fast. She barely remembered Abby. Sam would stay with her forever.
When she made the decision to move on from Sam, Brooke knew it wouldn’t be the same. Sex with Sam wasn’t sex - it was a violent explosion and a culmination of need. It was looking into a familiar face and knowing every part of it, it was sliding into wet folds and shuddering at the response, the feel of it.
Dusty was new. Dusty was different. Dusty was passionate and fun and incredibly attractive.
It didn’t make her any less terrified to find out how different it would be.
When she came to Dusty’s door, dressed as hot as she could make herself, ready for to play the role of supportive girlfriend groupie for the night, she was feeling particularly nervous and desperate.
Thankfully, her girlfriend had more important things on her mind, like her incredible nerves before each and every performance.
“I’m going to suck tonight,” Dusty said matter-of-factly, the minute she laid eyes on her. “I’m a quarter beat behind the measure and I can’t stick the solo. It’s three fucking minutes long and I can’t stretch my fingers long enough to fit over seven frets in a half second. It’s not going to happen.”
Dusty was a nervous shade of green.
Coming forward, Brooke curled her fingers around the taller woman’s face and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.
“If you get nervous,” she said simply, “Just look for me. You’ll be fine. You’re always amazing.”
A gleam of desperation in her eyes, Dusty had never looked more vulnerable. Fingers locking around her neck, she pulled Brooke closer to her, locking a forearm around Brooke’s neck and planting her lips against hers.
It was a searching kiss, and despite a brief moment of unexpected panic, Brooke obliged, opening her mouth and feeling a hot tongue slip between her lips. It was pleasurable, it was different, and Brooke shut her eyes in determination, allowed herself to feel.
--
Elphaba Thropp was one of 7 bands playing tonight, and thanks to being a marginally talented LA group, they weren’t on until third to the last.
“Not quite headliner,” Dusty admitted, as they weaved their way through the eclectic crowd, but it’s a start, right?”
“Princess.” Johnny, the bass player, always looked at her like he was ready for a sexual harassment suit. “Where’s my girl?”
Johnny and Maria had struck up the oddest relationship Brooke had ever seen. While Johnny was never going to give up his groupies, the open monogamy seemed to work on both ends, and thankful that at least Dusty didn’t feel the same way, Brooke was in no real place to judge.
“Hey,” she said, waving politely, unslinging the camera bag from her shoulder. “I think her and Stephanie were gonna stop by later. They’re coming from another party first.”
“Allright, allright. That’s cool.” Tipping his beer at her, he took a swig. “You want one?”
“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Coming forward, one hand slipping unconsciously on Brooke’s hip, Dusty glared at him. “After the gig. Never before. I’ve already talked to you about that shit.”
“Hey, Nazi. Relax. It’s just one. And I’m not the one who served them out!” Johnny protested. “Caleb did!”
When an accusing eye went to their other guitarist, he just rolled his eyes. “Hey, you’re the one having the problem with the solo,” he snorted. “I’m having no problem keeping the beat.”
Seeing Dusty blanch, Brooke sighed. “Come on, Caleb.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dusty said, grabbing hold of her hand. “He’s always like this when he drinks. He’ll sober up pretty soon.”
Johnny winked. “Don’t forget. After party tonight. Booze and orgies and groupies.”
Suddenly irritated, Brooke glanced back at Dusty. “You really know how to get a girl going, Johnny.”
--
“So, what’s up?” Lounging on the bar, in a dimly lit corner away from the stage, where the fourth band was finishing it’s set, Dusty looked desperate to be distracted. “You look a little tense.”
“Oh.” Toying with the cap of her water bottle, Brooke offered her a muted smile. “I spent some time with Sam and Mac today.”
Arching a curious brow, Dusty leaned forward, trying to hear her from above the crowd. “Bonding time?”
“Something like that.” Sighing raggedly, Brooke shot her a glance. “Sam’s having some problems at school and… I brought up the idea of her transferring to SC.”
Dusty took that in, expressionless. “I thought you said you were thinking about going to Italy the second half of sophomore year.”
“Well, yeah, but that has nothing to do with Sam. Annenberg is a great school. I was lucky to get into journalism, but she’s REALLY good, Dusty. They’d want her like crazy. I’m sure she wouldn’t have an issue.”
Dusty absorbed that and a small smile flashed onto her face. “Well, I’m glad you two are getting along.”
--
Elphaba Thropp got decent applause, and when Dusty stepped onto the stage, there were both a few whoops and an incredibly shrill couple of screams. Her groupies were an attractive set, Brooke would admit that, but there was a small bit of catty satisfaction in knowing that Dusty’s was looking for her.
When the other girl actively scanned the crowd, she caught her eye and offered a supportive wave. With a tight smile, Dusty slung her guitar over her shoulder, obviously ready to play.
She wasn’t ready for the male hand to sling around her shoulders, jerking her in.
“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”
Brooke let out a small shriek, whirling around and accidentally whipping Harrison in the face with flying blonde strands. “Oww!”
“Oh, God, Harrison! I’m so sorry!”
“Those things are friggin’ deadly machines!” Rubbing at his eyes, he blearily opened one to glare at her.
“I’m sorry! You sneaked up on me!”
“I offered to buy you a drink! Not molest you!”
Fighting her ridiculous smile, Brooke shrugged. “I’m sorry!” she said, trying to look as sincere as she could. “But what are you doing here, Sam told me that you were picking her up-“
“He did.”
Heart jumping into her throat, Brooke whirled and once again nearly blinded Harrison as she found Sam behind her. Wearing a slightly embarrassed smile, her step-sister had never been more gorgeous.
Forgetting to breathe, Brooke found herself overwhelmingly happy. Palms flattened against her jeans, she couldn’t help but stare, overtaken by the subtle beauty in the women presented before her.
This was Sammy. This was Sammy trying.
“You came,” she managed, heart full. She must have looked like an idiot, with the too wide smile on her face and her eyes wide as golf balls, but it didn’t matter.
Nodding self consciously, Sam looked openly uncomfortable. “Yeap,” she said, slightly sheepish. “I’m here. Harrison dragged me.”
“Oh. Harrison!” Whirling again, Brooke’s eyes widened even more when she realized that once again, she had whipped Harrison across the face. “Oh, God!”
“Get away from me!” he mumbled, stumbling back.
--
Still rubbing his eyes, Harrison had taken up a self-pitying stance with Stephanie and Maria, who cooed at him and rubbed his shoulders, attention that Brooke and Sam’s sometimes ex seemed to adore.
Brooke found she had no complaint. It left her alone with Sam, and Brooke found herself utterly absorbed.
“So that’s Dusty the rocker, huh?” Fingers curling around the coke, Sam eyed the stage.
Seated close to her, Brooke found herself having to turn to catch her girlfriend, concentrating hard on the beat, arms and face already glistening with sweat under the harsh light. “Yeah,” she breathed. “She’s good, isn’t she?”
“A little more hardcore than you usually go for,” Sam noted with a grin. “The music, I mean.”
“Oh.” Bringing her shoulders up to shrug, Brooke blushed slightly. “Honestly, I’m not a fan of this stuff, but when she plays classical guitar, it’s pretty amazing.”
“Oh.” Glancing down, Sam’s fingers slid against the condensation of her glass, watching the water pool against her fingertips. “She seems nice though.”
An unexpected jolt of emotion lodged in Brooke’s throat. “Yeah,” she managed roughly. “She is.”
Mouth quirking in a phantom ghost of a smile, Sam nodded.
Hands in her lap, Brooke’s fingers laced together, suddenly nervous. “Was it a mistake to ask you to come?”
Dark eyes met her, on Sam’s face a startled expression.
“I just…” Licking her lips, Brooke tried to voice her thoughts. “When I saw you and Rebecca together… it was hard. And um… I just… I just want to make sure…”
“It’s not easy, Brooke, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sam’s eyes were clear, and her stare was unwavering. It burned through her. “But when I said I wanted us to be friends, to trust each other, I meant it.”
It was Sam at her most sincere, and staring at her, Brooke felt her heart burst into a sudden ache.
She couldn’t stop her hand reaching over, grabbing hold of Sam’s. The touch was soft, and for Sam, unexpected, but as Brooke’s eyes shined at her, Sam’s grip tightened.
--
“Can I talk to you?”
Blinking, Brooke turned away from Sam, suddenly surprised to see Dusty staring at her.
“Hey!” she said, dragging unsure eyes from the stage back to the bar. “You guys finished fast! You remember Sam-”
“Brooke, I need to talk to you.” Grabbing hold of her wrist, Dusty only glanced at the other girl before yanking on Brooke’s hand impatiently.
Suddenly annoyed, Brooke glanced back at Sam and Harrison. “I’ll be right back.”
Following Dusty, Brooke kept her mouth shut, until Dusty led them into a corner near the backstage. “What the hell are you doing?”
Surprised at the heated question, Brooke found herself completely at a loss. “What are you talking about?”
Dusty looked visibly upset. “You know, Brooke? When you said ‘Look for me’, I thought you meant that shit. I didn’t think it meant ‘Look-For-Me-And-I’ll-Be-Holding-Hands-With-My-Gay-Step-Sister-Who’s-Obviously-In-Love-With-Me’.”
Blinked, Brooke found herself at a loss for words. “Sam? What? No-“
“Oh, God, don’t think I’m fucking stupid, Brooke, okay? I’ve seen how she looks at you.”
The realization of what Dusty had seen, what Brooke should have been doing, and what she DIDN’T do floored her.
“Oh, God…” she whispered, palm raising up to meet her forehead. “Dusty, that wasn’t… I’m sorry, but it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“No?” Her girlfriend wiped furiously at the sweat on her neck. “Which part?”
“I didn’t think Sam was coming! The fact that she did is a huge deal-“
“What about the fact that I was shitting bricks around tonight? About my solo-“
“I know! I know!” Grabbing hold of Dusty’s shoulders, Brooke felt like a complete asshole. “I’m sorry. I am.” Dusty’s head lowered, obviously conflicted. “Dusty, I heard you. You did great.”
“Yeah, no fucking thanks to you,” she sniffled.
Jaw clenching, Brooke forced herself to take a breath. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.” She swallowed down the sense of panic in her fluttering chest. “The thing with Sam-“
“Oh, Fuck, you know what Brooke? I don’t want to hear it.”
“Dusty-“
“Do you want to be with me?”
Inhaling sharply, Brooke stared at her. “What?”
Dusty was a picture of anger and fear. “Do you want to be with me?” Head lowering, Dusty shivered, like a wet dog. “Just tell me yes or no.”
Heart hammering inside her chest, Brooke ached. She wanted to look, back at Sam, back at the room, anywhere but at the frightened eyes that were staring at her.
She could consider it. She could think this through and think of all the reasons why she shouldn’t have been with Dusty and all the reasons why she couldn’t be with Sam and she could think it over forever and it wouldn’t change anything.
“Yes,” she managed, pushing past her doubts. “Yes, okay? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Dusty’s jaw clenched, tightened, and those dark eyes burned into her, as if the tortured artist was trying to see into her soul.
Suddenly her girlfriend deflated. “I hate this,” she heard, as a palm went to Dusty’s forehead. “I hate this. I’m not like this. I’m not a jealous freak. Oh, God, Brooke-“
Stiffly, Brooke felt lost. She hesitated, and then without another word, she stepped forward. Dusty’s arms came around her immediately, pulling her in close.
The body was sweaty, and warm.
“I’m sorry,” Dusty muttered, words muffled against her neck.
“Shhh,” she whispered, and rubbed at the back of her head, tightening her grip. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered, an intimate whisper against Dusty’s ear.
After a long moment, she could feel the other girl begin to relax.
“I’m not used to this,” Dusty managed. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Stiffening, Brooke pulled back, and let her palm drift across a sharply angled cheek.
“So we learn how to do it together.”
--
Locked in a spinning whirlwind of emotion, Brooke found herself incredibly vulnerable, relieved and depressed.
She had been handed a beer, and she had downed it, frustrated with her own weakness and witt the reality with which she was presented with.
Dusty was falling for her. Dusty, with her rock star hair and black etched tattoos and tweener groupies, wanted her.
It wasn’t casual anymore.
For some reason, the very idea frightened her to hell.
Pushing through the mass of people gathered around the stage, she searched the crowd with wild eyes, looking furiously for a brunette with dark hair.
When she found her, Sam was leaning against the bar, deeply engaged in conversation with a gorgeous blonde. The other women was leaning into her, with her too wide smile and one foot curling on the floor.
Brooke’s chest tightened immediately into a painful, ugly ache.
She watched, unable to breathe, as the other women only kept getting closer to Sam, until she saw fingers digging into pockets and a pen borrowed from the bartender. On a scrap of paper, the blonde girl etched what could only be her phone number, and with a smile that Brooke hated, she grabbed hold of Sam’s hand, fisting them together. The paper crumpled between their palms.
It was then that Sam saw her, ten feet away, and as she leaned in close to speak to the girl, Brooke felt her pulse quicken and her fists clench.
She swallowed hard, and held her ground.
“Hey.” Sam said, when she had worked her way through the crowd. “I tried to find you-“
“That’s okay,” she said stiffly. “I can tell you kept yourself busy.”
Blinking at her, Sam looked confused. “Brooke-“
Slipping her fingers into her pockets, Brooke pasted on a polite smile. “So, listen. Dusty wants to go to this after party with the guys, and Johnny was our ride so… I’m gonna head out with them…”
Brow furrowing, Sam considered the statement. “Brooke, you sure that’s a good idea?”
Still unreasonably angry, Brooke inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, after their set, those guys drank A LOT.”
Her heart sank within her, but Brooke refused to register that feeling. “Sam, they had one drink each.”
“Uh… no they didn’t, Brooke! The guy with the dreads took like, three shots in like a minute, okay?”
“I didn’t see that.”
“Well, yeah!” Sam sneered, exasperated. “Because you and Dusty took off back stage forever doing who knows what-”
A terribly, ugly feeling of triumph invaded her before she could stop it. “Oh,” she said, shoulders straightening, suddenly justified. “So this is because of that? Sam, you said you would try.”
Sam blinked at her, mouth agape. “What, you think I’m jealous?”
“Honestly, yeah.”
Sam stared at her. “Brooke, this isn’t about JEALOUSY. The guys were drinking! Just let me and Harrison drop you off or something-“
“No! Okay?” Hands flinging out of her pockets, Brooke stepped back. “Look, I can understand jealousy, okay? But her friends aren’t drunks-“
“I didn’t say that-“
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Stepping back, Brooke gave her a muted smile. “That blonde girl you were talking to is staring at you.”
“Brooke! Come on!”
Shaking her head, Brooke turned on her heel, determined to walk away from Sam, and toward Dusty.
--
She wasn’t in the mood for a party. Ears ringing from the loud music, Brooke would in an incurably bad mood. Plastered in the backseat with Dusty, Maria, and Johnny, she felt nearly claustrophobic.
Her girlfriend was faring now better. Dusty was exhausted, and unusually quiet. Completely distracted, Dusty kept her eyes closed, obviously lost in her own thoughts, one hand half heartedly holding her own.
The flash of petty emotion had given her an unmistakable rush, but now her thoughts were consumed with Sam, and as they drove away from the club, Brooke found herself staring back at it.
She had been jealous. She had been jealous and stupid and mean. She hadn’t listened to Sam, and now, she realized she could smell the alcohol on Caleb’s breath.
“Hey, guys?” Moving between the seats, she tapped at the guitar player’s arm. “Maybe we should slow down-“
She was the first to notice when Caleb barely slowed at the stop sign, and she was the first to scream a warning, just before they were plowed into from the side.
--
end chapter
By Misty Flores
Teaser: It was the sharp realization, sitting at that dinner table, as soon as Harrison had chosen her and Sam's eyes welled up with tears, that for all her protestations of sisterly love to the world about Sam, she was incredibly, hopelessly, desperately, IN love with her. There was enough difference in that statement to completely destroy any sense of stability she had.
Series: Popular, Sam/Brooke, Brooke/other, Sam/other
Spoilers: Post SII
CHAPTERS
Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V| Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII
| Part XIII
MAJOR props go to faechick for the awesome beta.
--
Part 15. Drive Until You Lose The Road
Brooke McQueen wasn’t sure how ‘together’ she really was, all things considered.
Still, when her eyes drifted open, she awoke with a rather unique sense of calm.
Uncertain, Brooke kept still in bed, buried underneath her covers, and stared up at the ceiling. She took a deep breath, and discovered no hitch, no pressure building inside of her.
Sam was in the room across from her, and even so, there was no impending sense of doom.
Cheek sliding across her sheets, Brooke curled into her side, catching side of the beta fish on her desk, fins fanning lazily.
Nothing ever seemed to happen casually for her. Her life was an awkward whirlwind of extremes, and the presence of Sam in her life only exacerbated that.
But now, Sam was sleeping in the next room, and while Brooke was intensely aware of that, there existed an inexplicable optimism.
Brooke hated to think of herself as an after school special, but she wondered briefly if she was growing as a person.
A tepid knock at the bathroom was enough to make her sit up.
“Come in.”
She watched with a full heart and a growing smile when chubby fingers clumsily reached through the opening crack, and two matching sets of brown eyes and brown hair stared tenuously at her.
The two sisters were a picture-perfect sight, and Brooke found herself suddenly looking for her camera.
“Well, hello!” she said, suddenly sappy beyond belief, as she threw off the blankets, waiting as Sam brought the still sleepy-eyed toddler to her bedside. “Hey there, munchie!”
“Ah, yes.” Sam said, growling good-naturedly, trying to keep a hold of the slippery baby. “There was a bundle of Mac that was thrown on my stomach this morning. It was the best way to wake up ever. We’re babysitting,” she added, a half-hearted explanation. “Mom’s showing a bunch of houses.”
“That’s fine with me,” Brooke breathed, pulling her camera off the nightstand and fussing with the lens cap.
Settling on Brooke’s bed, Sam’s eyes narrowed, nearly letting go of their monkey of a sister’s waist as the baby bounced happily up and down on the bed.
“… What are you doing?”
“Oh, come on,” Brooke breathed, concentrating on attaching her lens. “This is a Kodak moment if I ever saw one.”
“Uhuh. Maybe for Mac. I still have crud in my eyes.”
“It’s nice crud,” Brooke amended. In an impossibly good mood, even Sam’s ever present pout was almost criminally adorable. Bringing the camera up, she looked through the viewfinder, and discovered the beauty of her step-sister all over again.
At the action, Sam glared at her, and immediately hoisted up Mac until the baby was pressed against her cheek, blocking her from the shot.
Lowering the camera, Brooke arched an annoyed brow. “Hey, now. None of that.”
“I mean it,” she heard, muffled behind Mac’s amused giggles as the baby kicked her booty-ed feet. “I look like crap.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Sam that no matter what she was wearing, she was always gorgeous. Brooke’s palm tightened around her camera, and she felt a curious block of awkward emotion. Swallowing hard, she breathed out slowly and too casually, lifted the camera back to eye range, effectively covering her face.
She waited as Mac struggled with her mid-air pose, and then the moment the shot came, as Sam finally lowered the growing baby, she took it, the frame cemented as she saw a flash of amused-against-her-will smile come from Sam.
“Bitch,” Sam mumbled, and Brooke grinned.
“Get dressed,” she said, and reached for Mac. “We’re heading out.”
--
Clad in a kicky little hat and an entirely too expensive dress from Baby Gap, Mac looked like a little fashionista. She was arguably the best dressed of the three, and yet, Brooke didn’t mind.
Dragging around a thirty pound camera bag didn’t allow for dainty heels or nifty little boots, and Brooke had always preferred a simple, classy look.
Sam, on the other hand, always had liked to have an edge, and her dark jeans, black tank top with the skull with a bow on it, and Converse were accentuated with a tangle of black bracelets, silver hoops, and dark-colored nails.
They must have made quite the trio, sitting together as the tram made its way up the track to the Getty Museum.
“Really?” Sam chortled, leaning her head back as they climbed slowly through the hills. “A museum?”
Keeping a steadying hand on Mac, who had her face pressed against the glass, obviously consumed with the view, Brooke shot her a mock glare. “Have you seen the gardens? They’re gorgeous. And there’s a photography exhibit I’ve been really wanting to see.”
Dark eyes moving to the camera bag sitting at Brooke’s feet, Sam appeared contemplative. “You really took that back up.”
Blowing out a haggard breath, Brooke shrugged. “I love it, Sam. I don’t know what really triggered it, but there are some things I see and… I just have to capture it. They’re more than photographs to me. They’re…” she struggled, trying hard to explain it. “Alive.”
Sam’s dark brown rose in response.
Suddenly embarrassed, she laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know.”
“No, I think it’s cool.” Crossing her arms, Sam glanced outside the window, taking in the view. “You were great at school, Brooke, but you were always looking for something else. You weren’t ever really satisfied.”
It was surprisingly insightful, considering Sam’s usual dismissal of her in those days. Straightening, Brooke studied her carefully, feeling fragile. “Is this what it’s like to be you?” ”
Dark eyes met her own, thoughtful and engaging. “I’m not sure you wanna be me right now, Brooke.”
The heaviness behind the statement made her heart sink, but her ex-lover only smiled at her thinly, and reached forward, pulling Mac into her lap.
--
Mac was an awkward walker, but she had absolutely no problem pitching herself forward to roll down the sloping green lawn with the other kids.
Brooke had nearly hyperventilated at the sight, but thankfully a five year old had taken it upon himself to look after the tyke, and as Mac giggled and rolled, he was right there beside her, carefully warding off the other enthusiastic children like a stern older brother.
It left Brooke and Sam free to maintain a watchful distance. Sam had sprawled on the grass carelessly, plucking blades of grass with her slender fingers and pulling them apart. Brooke kept her camera in her hands, snapping shots of her little sister, trying to capture the innocence and courage that only babies had. It was only that mixture that could cause such fearlessness.
“So…” Turning back to Sam, Brooke discovered the other sister prone, one arm slung lazily over her forehead, an attempt to foil the sun. Sammy looked like a vexed vampire. “Why wouldn’t I want to be you?”
Raising her camera, she focused on the other girl through the viewfinder. As one eye opened to squint at her in mild irritation, she snapped a picture.
Brooke took another glance at Baby Mac, and when the baby waved gleefully at her, she waved back, turning her attention back to Sam.
“Oh come on.” Getting on her knees, she adjusted the focus, until she had a gorgeous shot of Sam’s frustrated, fiery expression. “You didn’t think I was going to let that one go, did you?”
Seemingly resigned to be Brooke’s pick as a model, Sam turned into her side, and eyed her carefully, directly staring into the camera.
Brooke shot the frame.
Glancing back towards Mac, Sam’s tone was low, guarded. “Why would you want to? You know what you want, and you’re where you want to be to get it.”
The camera lowered an inch. “And you’re not?”
Grabbing a pair of sunglasses from her pocket, Sam slipped them on, masking her eyes. Brooke thought it was only fair, as she lifted up the camera and shot another frame.
The audible click of the camera forced a barely-there shift of Sam’s head. Dark eyes pierced into her camera, and heart suddenly in her throat, Brooke pressed the shutter button.
It matched the beat of her heart.
“I don’t know,” came the honest answer. “This semester really sucked, Brooke. And I don’t know if it was because of us…” Brooke’s heart hammered a hard thud, “Or the fact that I completely alienated half of my friends on Spring Break and they all took Rebecca’s side, but… I felt really alone, and … you know… Mac is growing up so fast and I’m terrified that she’s not gonna remember me and…”
“It doesn’t feel like home,” Brooke whispered. Dark orbs glittered with sudden intensity, and for the moment, Brooke was overcome.
“Sammeee!” The childish laughter broke into the moment, and as Sam turned, she was suddenly tackled by her baby sister.
The unexpected laughter that came from her depressed love brought a sudden charge into her chest.
Reflectively, Brooke captured the moment, a series of stills that she could only hope would appear cleanly with the sudden movement.
--
Brooke understood that her and Sam’s alliance was tenuous. While she liked to think they were acting like sisters, the truth of it was that they were acting more like polite acquaintances. Every action that passed between them was careful, too careful, because there was a line drawn in the sand that Brooke was intensely aware, could only too easily be crossed.
She had tasted Sam, she had held her, and she had been inside her.
She and Sam had only been lovers a total of two nights, but the emotion that had coursed through her at the feel of Sam thrusting fingers inside her, the pure overwhelming sense of need that had occurred the first time she had pushed Sam’s legs apart to taste the deepest part of her…
She now understood why some people went mad with passion, and she understood what it meant when all those dumb Harlequin novels went on and on about sensations and fulfillment.
It was because of that, she kept her hands to herself, and she adored Sam through the safety and intimacy of her camera.
She had made Sam a promise, and while Brooke had proven herself frighteningly good at breaking promises, she told herself she wouldn’t break this one.
The only problem was, she didn’t trust herself.
Things were too new. They were too raw. And despite herself and her good intentions, it was hard to forget the complete devastation that had occurred when Sam had broken her heart at her most vulnerable moment.
It was that fear, and the awkward awareness of Dusty in her thoughts that kept her hesitating as they drove back to their house.
It was quiet. Worn out by the day’s activities, Mac had crashed in her seat, heading leaning to the side, plastered against the side of the car seat. In the passenger seat, Sam slunk back in her chair, glasses on, looking the very picture of indifference.
Brooke knew better.
Fingers tightening around the wheel, Brooke questioned the sanity of what she was doing.
“Sam,” she said suddenly. Dark hair and dark glasses turned her way. “You know, USC has a great Journalism program.” Sam continued to stare at her. “Maybe you could consider transferring.”
Sam remained silent, and it was impossible to gauge her reaction.
Breathing unsteadily, Brooke kept her eyes on the road. “You got in before. Why not now?”
Sam’s voice was uncharacteristically weak when she responded, “That might be an idea.”
It was out there, and Brooke couldn’t take it back. She wouldn’t. If Sam was struggling, and wanted to be closer to home, it was an ideal solution.
If Brooke could manage to completely ignore the tension that seemed to mount between them, then it would have been a perfect solution.
As long as there was an understanding.
Sucking in her breath, she trudged on. “There’s a gig tonight. Dusty has this gig. At the Gig.”
The mention of her girlfriend gave her a rather absurd flush of relief and anxiety. She pasted on a bright smile and glanced over to her step-sister. “I’m going to go. I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come with me.”
She was trying. She was. What Sam needed was a friend, and although the pain was still there and Sam still effected her profusely, she wasn’t going to screw this up. Not again.
A slow, odd smile floated on Sam’s face as she kept her eye on the traffic. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans with Harrison.”
She felt a pang of disappointment. Licking the moisture onto her lips, Brooke tried again. “I just think you two could be friends. You both have a lot in common, and…”
What followed was an audible sigh. A beat, and then the glasses came off, and Sam emerged, with brilliant dark eyes and a sad, conflicted smile.
“Brooke, I’m not ready to be her friend,” came the honest, broken answer. “Okay?”
Sam was absolutely breathtaking and absolutely not ready for this.
Sucking in a ragged sigh, Brooke found herself blinking away sudden tears. She kept her eyes on the road, determined not to let Sam see her sudden devastation.
This just completely sucked.
“Okay,” she managed, and when her words seemed to lack conviction, she nodded. “Well, if you change your mind…”
“It’s fine.” Sam crossed her arms against her chest, posture uncharacteristically perfect. “I’m hanging with Harrison.”
Nodding again, feeling absurdly like a bobble head, Brooke find she could think of nothing else to say.
--
It was unfair, she knew, to compare Dusty to Sam, because she told herself there were different kinds of love and the love for Sam was altogether too complicated and had too many permutations. She and Dusty were new, and passion was an obvious factor.
There were long sessions of making out, hot breath and steamy windows. Dusty’s fingertips were rough with calluses, but her lips were soft. Brooke had found an affinity for reaching for Dusty’s nape of hair, so black it shimmered purple, and tangling her fingers in it.
She always closed her eyes, when she kissed Dusty.
She told herself the reason why she wasn’t ready for sex with Dusty was because she was determined to go slow. A one-night stand and a torrid affair with your step sister hardly counted as relationships and the intimacy with both happened so fast. She barely remembered Abby. Sam would stay with her forever.
When she made the decision to move on from Sam, Brooke knew it wouldn’t be the same. Sex with Sam wasn’t sex - it was a violent explosion and a culmination of need. It was looking into a familiar face and knowing every part of it, it was sliding into wet folds and shuddering at the response, the feel of it.
Dusty was new. Dusty was different. Dusty was passionate and fun and incredibly attractive.
It didn’t make her any less terrified to find out how different it would be.
When she came to Dusty’s door, dressed as hot as she could make herself, ready for to play the role of supportive girlfriend groupie for the night, she was feeling particularly nervous and desperate.
Thankfully, her girlfriend had more important things on her mind, like her incredible nerves before each and every performance.
“I’m going to suck tonight,” Dusty said matter-of-factly, the minute she laid eyes on her. “I’m a quarter beat behind the measure and I can’t stick the solo. It’s three fucking minutes long and I can’t stretch my fingers long enough to fit over seven frets in a half second. It’s not going to happen.”
Dusty was a nervous shade of green.
Coming forward, Brooke curled her fingers around the taller woman’s face and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.
“If you get nervous,” she said simply, “Just look for me. You’ll be fine. You’re always amazing.”
A gleam of desperation in her eyes, Dusty had never looked more vulnerable. Fingers locking around her neck, she pulled Brooke closer to her, locking a forearm around Brooke’s neck and planting her lips against hers.
It was a searching kiss, and despite a brief moment of unexpected panic, Brooke obliged, opening her mouth and feeling a hot tongue slip between her lips. It was pleasurable, it was different, and Brooke shut her eyes in determination, allowed herself to feel.
--
Elphaba Thropp was one of 7 bands playing tonight, and thanks to being a marginally talented LA group, they weren’t on until third to the last.
“Not quite headliner,” Dusty admitted, as they weaved their way through the eclectic crowd, but it’s a start, right?”
“Princess.” Johnny, the bass player, always looked at her like he was ready for a sexual harassment suit. “Where’s my girl?”
Johnny and Maria had struck up the oddest relationship Brooke had ever seen. While Johnny was never going to give up his groupies, the open monogamy seemed to work on both ends, and thankful that at least Dusty didn’t feel the same way, Brooke was in no real place to judge.
“Hey,” she said, waving politely, unslinging the camera bag from her shoulder. “I think her and Stephanie were gonna stop by later. They’re coming from another party first.”
“Allright, allright. That’s cool.” Tipping his beer at her, he took a swig. “You want one?”
“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Coming forward, one hand slipping unconsciously on Brooke’s hip, Dusty glared at him. “After the gig. Never before. I’ve already talked to you about that shit.”
“Hey, Nazi. Relax. It’s just one. And I’m not the one who served them out!” Johnny protested. “Caleb did!”
When an accusing eye went to their other guitarist, he just rolled his eyes. “Hey, you’re the one having the problem with the solo,” he snorted. “I’m having no problem keeping the beat.”
Seeing Dusty blanch, Brooke sighed. “Come on, Caleb.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dusty said, grabbing hold of her hand. “He’s always like this when he drinks. He’ll sober up pretty soon.”
Johnny winked. “Don’t forget. After party tonight. Booze and orgies and groupies.”
Suddenly irritated, Brooke glanced back at Dusty. “You really know how to get a girl going, Johnny.”
--
“So, what’s up?” Lounging on the bar, in a dimly lit corner away from the stage, where the fourth band was finishing it’s set, Dusty looked desperate to be distracted. “You look a little tense.”
“Oh.” Toying with the cap of her water bottle, Brooke offered her a muted smile. “I spent some time with Sam and Mac today.”
Arching a curious brow, Dusty leaned forward, trying to hear her from above the crowd. “Bonding time?”
“Something like that.” Sighing raggedly, Brooke shot her a glance. “Sam’s having some problems at school and… I brought up the idea of her transferring to SC.”
Dusty took that in, expressionless. “I thought you said you were thinking about going to Italy the second half of sophomore year.”
“Well, yeah, but that has nothing to do with Sam. Annenberg is a great school. I was lucky to get into journalism, but she’s REALLY good, Dusty. They’d want her like crazy. I’m sure she wouldn’t have an issue.”
Dusty absorbed that and a small smile flashed onto her face. “Well, I’m glad you two are getting along.”
--
Elphaba Thropp got decent applause, and when Dusty stepped onto the stage, there were both a few whoops and an incredibly shrill couple of screams. Her groupies were an attractive set, Brooke would admit that, but there was a small bit of catty satisfaction in knowing that Dusty’s was looking for her.
When the other girl actively scanned the crowd, she caught her eye and offered a supportive wave. With a tight smile, Dusty slung her guitar over her shoulder, obviously ready to play.
She wasn’t ready for the male hand to sling around her shoulders, jerking her in.
“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”
Brooke let out a small shriek, whirling around and accidentally whipping Harrison in the face with flying blonde strands. “Oww!”
“Oh, God, Harrison! I’m so sorry!”
“Those things are friggin’ deadly machines!” Rubbing at his eyes, he blearily opened one to glare at her.
“I’m sorry! You sneaked up on me!”
“I offered to buy you a drink! Not molest you!”
Fighting her ridiculous smile, Brooke shrugged. “I’m sorry!” she said, trying to look as sincere as she could. “But what are you doing here, Sam told me that you were picking her up-“
“He did.”
Heart jumping into her throat, Brooke whirled and once again nearly blinded Harrison as she found Sam behind her. Wearing a slightly embarrassed smile, her step-sister had never been more gorgeous.
Forgetting to breathe, Brooke found herself overwhelmingly happy. Palms flattened against her jeans, she couldn’t help but stare, overtaken by the subtle beauty in the women presented before her.
This was Sammy. This was Sammy trying.
“You came,” she managed, heart full. She must have looked like an idiot, with the too wide smile on her face and her eyes wide as golf balls, but it didn’t matter.
Nodding self consciously, Sam looked openly uncomfortable. “Yeap,” she said, slightly sheepish. “I’m here. Harrison dragged me.”
“Oh. Harrison!” Whirling again, Brooke’s eyes widened even more when she realized that once again, she had whipped Harrison across the face. “Oh, God!”
“Get away from me!” he mumbled, stumbling back.
--
Still rubbing his eyes, Harrison had taken up a self-pitying stance with Stephanie and Maria, who cooed at him and rubbed his shoulders, attention that Brooke and Sam’s sometimes ex seemed to adore.
Brooke found she had no complaint. It left her alone with Sam, and Brooke found herself utterly absorbed.
“So that’s Dusty the rocker, huh?” Fingers curling around the coke, Sam eyed the stage.
Seated close to her, Brooke found herself having to turn to catch her girlfriend, concentrating hard on the beat, arms and face already glistening with sweat under the harsh light. “Yeah,” she breathed. “She’s good, isn’t she?”
“A little more hardcore than you usually go for,” Sam noted with a grin. “The music, I mean.”
“Oh.” Bringing her shoulders up to shrug, Brooke blushed slightly. “Honestly, I’m not a fan of this stuff, but when she plays classical guitar, it’s pretty amazing.”
“Oh.” Glancing down, Sam’s fingers slid against the condensation of her glass, watching the water pool against her fingertips. “She seems nice though.”
An unexpected jolt of emotion lodged in Brooke’s throat. “Yeah,” she managed roughly. “She is.”
Mouth quirking in a phantom ghost of a smile, Sam nodded.
Hands in her lap, Brooke’s fingers laced together, suddenly nervous. “Was it a mistake to ask you to come?”
Dark eyes met her, on Sam’s face a startled expression.
“I just…” Licking her lips, Brooke tried to voice her thoughts. “When I saw you and Rebecca together… it was hard. And um… I just… I just want to make sure…”
“It’s not easy, Brooke, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sam’s eyes were clear, and her stare was unwavering. It burned through her. “But when I said I wanted us to be friends, to trust each other, I meant it.”
It was Sam at her most sincere, and staring at her, Brooke felt her heart burst into a sudden ache.
She couldn’t stop her hand reaching over, grabbing hold of Sam’s. The touch was soft, and for Sam, unexpected, but as Brooke’s eyes shined at her, Sam’s grip tightened.
--
“Can I talk to you?”
Blinking, Brooke turned away from Sam, suddenly surprised to see Dusty staring at her.
“Hey!” she said, dragging unsure eyes from the stage back to the bar. “You guys finished fast! You remember Sam-”
“Brooke, I need to talk to you.” Grabbing hold of her wrist, Dusty only glanced at the other girl before yanking on Brooke’s hand impatiently.
Suddenly annoyed, Brooke glanced back at Sam and Harrison. “I’ll be right back.”
Following Dusty, Brooke kept her mouth shut, until Dusty led them into a corner near the backstage. “What the hell are you doing?”
Surprised at the heated question, Brooke found herself completely at a loss. “What are you talking about?”
Dusty looked visibly upset. “You know, Brooke? When you said ‘Look for me’, I thought you meant that shit. I didn’t think it meant ‘Look-For-Me-And-I’ll-Be-Holding-Hands-With-My-Gay-Step-Sister-Who’s-Obviously-In-Love-With-Me’.”
Blinked, Brooke found herself at a loss for words. “Sam? What? No-“
“Oh, God, don’t think I’m fucking stupid, Brooke, okay? I’ve seen how she looks at you.”
The realization of what Dusty had seen, what Brooke should have been doing, and what she DIDN’T do floored her.
“Oh, God…” she whispered, palm raising up to meet her forehead. “Dusty, that wasn’t… I’m sorry, but it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“No?” Her girlfriend wiped furiously at the sweat on her neck. “Which part?”
“I didn’t think Sam was coming! The fact that she did is a huge deal-“
“What about the fact that I was shitting bricks around tonight? About my solo-“
“I know! I know!” Grabbing hold of Dusty’s shoulders, Brooke felt like a complete asshole. “I’m sorry. I am.” Dusty’s head lowered, obviously conflicted. “Dusty, I heard you. You did great.”
“Yeah, no fucking thanks to you,” she sniffled.
Jaw clenching, Brooke forced herself to take a breath. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.” She swallowed down the sense of panic in her fluttering chest. “The thing with Sam-“
“Oh, Fuck, you know what Brooke? I don’t want to hear it.”
“Dusty-“
“Do you want to be with me?”
Inhaling sharply, Brooke stared at her. “What?”
Dusty was a picture of anger and fear. “Do you want to be with me?” Head lowering, Dusty shivered, like a wet dog. “Just tell me yes or no.”
Heart hammering inside her chest, Brooke ached. She wanted to look, back at Sam, back at the room, anywhere but at the frightened eyes that were staring at her.
She could consider it. She could think this through and think of all the reasons why she shouldn’t have been with Dusty and all the reasons why she couldn’t be with Sam and she could think it over forever and it wouldn’t change anything.
“Yes,” she managed, pushing past her doubts. “Yes, okay? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Dusty’s jaw clenched, tightened, and those dark eyes burned into her, as if the tortured artist was trying to see into her soul.
Suddenly her girlfriend deflated. “I hate this,” she heard, as a palm went to Dusty’s forehead. “I hate this. I’m not like this. I’m not a jealous freak. Oh, God, Brooke-“
Stiffly, Brooke felt lost. She hesitated, and then without another word, she stepped forward. Dusty’s arms came around her immediately, pulling her in close.
The body was sweaty, and warm.
“I’m sorry,” Dusty muttered, words muffled against her neck.
“Shhh,” she whispered, and rubbed at the back of her head, tightening her grip. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered, an intimate whisper against Dusty’s ear.
After a long moment, she could feel the other girl begin to relax.
“I’m not used to this,” Dusty managed. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Stiffening, Brooke pulled back, and let her palm drift across a sharply angled cheek.
“So we learn how to do it together.”
--
Locked in a spinning whirlwind of emotion, Brooke found herself incredibly vulnerable, relieved and depressed.
She had been handed a beer, and she had downed it, frustrated with her own weakness and witt the reality with which she was presented with.
Dusty was falling for her. Dusty, with her rock star hair and black etched tattoos and tweener groupies, wanted her.
It wasn’t casual anymore.
For some reason, the very idea frightened her to hell.
Pushing through the mass of people gathered around the stage, she searched the crowd with wild eyes, looking furiously for a brunette with dark hair.
When she found her, Sam was leaning against the bar, deeply engaged in conversation with a gorgeous blonde. The other women was leaning into her, with her too wide smile and one foot curling on the floor.
Brooke’s chest tightened immediately into a painful, ugly ache.
She watched, unable to breathe, as the other women only kept getting closer to Sam, until she saw fingers digging into pockets and a pen borrowed from the bartender. On a scrap of paper, the blonde girl etched what could only be her phone number, and with a smile that Brooke hated, she grabbed hold of Sam’s hand, fisting them together. The paper crumpled between their palms.
It was then that Sam saw her, ten feet away, and as she leaned in close to speak to the girl, Brooke felt her pulse quicken and her fists clench.
She swallowed hard, and held her ground.
“Hey.” Sam said, when she had worked her way through the crowd. “I tried to find you-“
“That’s okay,” she said stiffly. “I can tell you kept yourself busy.”
Blinking at her, Sam looked confused. “Brooke-“
Slipping her fingers into her pockets, Brooke pasted on a polite smile. “So, listen. Dusty wants to go to this after party with the guys, and Johnny was our ride so… I’m gonna head out with them…”
Brow furrowing, Sam considered the statement. “Brooke, you sure that’s a good idea?”
Still unreasonably angry, Brooke inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, after their set, those guys drank A LOT.”
Her heart sank within her, but Brooke refused to register that feeling. “Sam, they had one drink each.”
“Uh… no they didn’t, Brooke! The guy with the dreads took like, three shots in like a minute, okay?”
“I didn’t see that.”
“Well, yeah!” Sam sneered, exasperated. “Because you and Dusty took off back stage forever doing who knows what-”
A terribly, ugly feeling of triumph invaded her before she could stop it. “Oh,” she said, shoulders straightening, suddenly justified. “So this is because of that? Sam, you said you would try.”
Sam blinked at her, mouth agape. “What, you think I’m jealous?”
“Honestly, yeah.”
Sam stared at her. “Brooke, this isn’t about JEALOUSY. The guys were drinking! Just let me and Harrison drop you off or something-“
“No! Okay?” Hands flinging out of her pockets, Brooke stepped back. “Look, I can understand jealousy, okay? But her friends aren’t drunks-“
“I didn’t say that-“
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Stepping back, Brooke gave her a muted smile. “That blonde girl you were talking to is staring at you.”
“Brooke! Come on!”
Shaking her head, Brooke turned on her heel, determined to walk away from Sam, and toward Dusty.
--
She wasn’t in the mood for a party. Ears ringing from the loud music, Brooke would in an incurably bad mood. Plastered in the backseat with Dusty, Maria, and Johnny, she felt nearly claustrophobic.
Her girlfriend was faring now better. Dusty was exhausted, and unusually quiet. Completely distracted, Dusty kept her eyes closed, obviously lost in her own thoughts, one hand half heartedly holding her own.
The flash of petty emotion had given her an unmistakable rush, but now her thoughts were consumed with Sam, and as they drove away from the club, Brooke found herself staring back at it.
She had been jealous. She had been jealous and stupid and mean. She hadn’t listened to Sam, and now, she realized she could smell the alcohol on Caleb’s breath.
“Hey, guys?” Moving between the seats, she tapped at the guitar player’s arm. “Maybe we should slow down-“
She was the first to notice when Caleb barely slowed at the stop sign, and she was the first to scream a warning, just before they were plowed into from the side.
--
end chapter