Page 7 of Break Out

“Hi, Mr. Thompson. Dr. Fairchild is already seated.” The hostess greets me and beckons me to follow her.

“Hey, Brody,” Aubrey says when we arrive at the table. She stands and I pull her into my arms, loving the way she fits against me. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed this.

“Hi, Aubrey.” I reluctantly let her go, helping her back into her seat before taking my own.

“I ordered us drinks. Figured you’d want a beer with dinner now that the season is over.” Aubrey’s expression sobers. “I’m sorry about the loss.”

“Thanks,” I say, picking up the menu. There’s nothing that can be said to change how the season ended.

“There’s always next year.”

“If there is a next year,” I murmur, staring at the menu. I’m not sure why I’m studying it so intently because I always get the same thing—beef pho with summer rolls to start. We’re both creatures of habit and always order the same meals. The hostess still gives us menus and time to look over them, but if I had to guess, the cook is already preparing our dinners.

“What?” Aubrey puts her hand on my arm, and I glance up, meeting her blue eyes. “What do you mean? Of course there’s going to be next year.”

I stare down at her hand on my arm, it feels like it’s burning a hole into my skin. I’m not sure why. We hug and occasionally touch, but this feels different, like she’s branding me. I take a deep breath. “My contract is up with the Storm. They need to sign me to a new one. I don’t know if they’re going to.”

“Oh” is all she says as she removes her hand. The conversation comes to a pause as the waitress brings us our drinks and takes our orders.

“So,” I say, changing the subject. “How are things with you? What’s new?”

She takes a sip of her wine peering at me over the rim of her glass, I’m sure she’s debating whether to call me out on the subject change. After a few seconds she says, “I got a job offer yesterday.”

“That’s awesome. I didn’t know you were applying for jobs.” Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? And why isn’t she more excited about it?

“It’s for a deputy director job—” She frowns. Odd. “In Hawaii.”

Hawaii? She’s moving almost five thousand miles away. Shit. I’m happy for her, but we definitely won’t be visiting each other as often as we do now. She won’t be a couple of hours away. I know we went almost five months without seeing each other, but that’s the longest we’ve ever gone, and it was torture.

Will she come back to visit?

The time difference will make phone calls nearly impossible. At least we can text.

But I don’t say any of that. She has enough people who guilt trip her for not doing what they want, and she doesn’t need to think I’m disappointed or hurt by her decision. Not that I could ever be. I’m just sad.

Sad that my best friend is moving thousands of miles away.

“That’s awesome. I’ve never been there but I hear it’s beautiful,” I say, picking up my beer.

“I haven’t decided if I’m taking the job.”

I take a deep breath. “Of course you are. It sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“It is. It’s just that . . .” She fiddles with her fork and napkin.

“Just that, what, Aubrey? What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, leaning closer to her, fighting the urge to put my hand over hers to stop her fidgeting, or tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me.

“It could be a risky career move. I’m only guaranteed a one-year contract. I have to reapply every year for the position. I’ll be giving up my tenure track for a job that could only last a year.” She finally glances up at me. Everything she isn’t saying is written on her face—she’s scared and nervous about this role but also really wants to take it.

“How long was the current director there for?”

“Ten years. During the interview, he told me he decided to retire this year and that’s why the job was open,” she says, taking another sip of her wine.

Before I can say anything, her phone buzzes from her purse multiple times. With a sigh, she pulls it out, then grimaces as she reads the messages. With an aggravated huff, she shoves it back into her purse, grabs her glass, and gulps down her wine.

“What’s going on?” I lean over the table, closer to her, and place my hand on her arm. She’s trembling.

Fuck.