brooks & hale ✔️

brooks

eleven ;
b r o o k s

"DID YOU HEAR, REVEREND Ellis has used the funds from the church fundraiser to refurbish the pews?" Amanda cut a tiny sliver of food off her chicken strip and chewed it with dainty precision. "An ill-considered contribution, in my opinion."

"Yes, a wasted opportunity indeed. The funds could have gone to upgrading that terrible out of tune organ."

"Or perhaps, better hymn books? Our current ones are a tattered mess."

John Montgomery gave a short, serious nod. "Completely unacceptable."

Brooks gave his chicken a half-hearted poke with his fork and tried to muster up an appetite. It wasn't helping that the only thing he had to listen to over dinner was the dry discussion between his parents, which was almost as mind numbingly boring as Mrs Mulligan's chemistry lectures. At least it could be guaranteed that the food Inkeri made would never be as stale as the conversation at the Montgomery dinner table.

Even if they'd been talking about something interesting, and not lame church gossip, Brooks wouldn't have been able to focus on it. All he could think about was long dark lashes across tanned skin, cheeks flushed from the cold and maybe something more, the weight of warm lips on his - Brooks' knife skidded across the plate with a too loud scrape, earning him a pointed look from his mother. From across the table, Adam raised an eyebrow at him.

"Careful, darling," she said.

Brooks muttered, "Sorry, mother."

He'd already tuned out whatever she said next. As unforgettable as the memory of the kiss, it was also difficult to forget how quickly he'd bolted from the scene and how Hale had seemed on edge, which was never a good sign after locking lips. It could have just been over whatever happened with Elliot, or it could have been regret at what he'd done with Brooks. He desperately hoped it was the former, but the latter seemed more likely.

Hale had been drunk, after all. Alcohol made you do things you'd never do while sober. Brooks had no such excuse; he'd been painfully aware of every second of that night, from the first moment he saw Hale leaning against the wall of the club. His nerves weren't helped by the fact that he hadn't seen Hale since that Saturday. He hadn't been in school today, something Brooks tried and failed not to be worried about.

He couldn't have gotten into trouble over the incident at the club, because Will and all his other friends came in. None of them seemed particularly concerned or anxious, not even Elliot, who made his usual immature jokes as if he hadn't beaten someone up at the weekend. Hale hadn't even been at the club when the fight happened, so he couldn't have possibly been caught. Right? Brooks had no way of contacting Hale to find out, unless he actually wanted to approach Elliot about it.

Which he definitely didn't. Elliot Jones was the last person he wanted to talk to about Hale.

Okay, Brooks wasn't completely cut off. Maybe he didn't have his number but he could have easily messaged Hale on Facebook. He'd already wasted an hour after school sitting in front of his laptop, repeatedly typing and deleting countless messages he could have sent. The truth was, he was scared. He was scared Hale would reply that the kiss meant nothing, that it was all a big mistake, that he definitely wasn't gay and he was disgusted Brooks had even considered it.

"Brooklyn," John said, in his usual stern, no-nonsense tone. Brooks straightened up and tightened his grip on the cutlery, both instinctive gestures when his father addressed him. "It's incredibly rude to zone out in such an uncouth manner during family meals. And get your elbow off the table, we raised you with better manners than that."