Sure Bet (Out of Left Field #1)

2. Brooke

Chapter 2

Brooke

A nything that follows the words “we need to talk” never ends well.

‘We need to talk.’ My first boyfriend’s hesitant opening before unleashing a descriptive list of all the reasons we were incompatible.

‘We need to talk.’ My boss’s stern voice three months ago when she informed me that I hit “reply all” to an email referring to another engineer in the lab as “a micromanaging man-child.”

‘We need to talk.’ My mom’s solemn expression before delivering any devastating news, of which there’d been plenty over the years.

And, case in point, two days ago when Shana, my best friend, sat across from me in my favorite neighborhood cafe and declared, ‘We need to talk.’

No wonder she greeted me at the table with a triple chocolate brownie—my favorite indulgence—and a nervous smile. I dug into the treat immediately, too distracted with joy to consider why Shana brought me to a public place and plowed me with sugar.

‘You’re not going to like this, I know, but hear me out. Liam wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t desperate.’

His name hung in the air like a dead weight, drudging up memories of teasing, taunting, and feeling utterly invisible in his presence. Shana’s twin brother had tormented me during our childhood years and in overlapping encounters since.

She hit me with dopamine, surrounded by witnesses, to ensure I wouldn’t freak out when she delivered the catastrophic news.

‘Things haven’t worked out as planned for him in Boston, and he’d like to move home.’ A brilliant mastermind, my best friend.

And what could I say to that? Tough shit, kick rocks? You’re not welcome on your own property when you have nowhere else to go?

Liam moving home meant one thing: he would be moving in with us. They sold their mother’s house three years ago, the childhood home next door to mine. Like Shana and me, our mothers had been best friends. Had been, until Nina Porter succumbed to cancer. Selling the house was easier than figuring out how to live in it with the memories of their mom’s battle.

‘Listen, you can say no.’

But I couldn’t, and we both knew it. Shana was simply giving me a heads-up as a courtesy. He was her twin, and I wouldn’t shoot down one of the few things she asked of me.

Ruminating about Liam’s impending arrival had been a terrible way to spend the last few days when I had more important matters to contend with: destroying my competition. TechBionic Innovations was a cutthroat robotics lab. Engineers battled with brains, not brawn. I was determined to annihilate them all and win a significant grant for my project and their respect.

Paul, my least favorite coworker, interrupted my thoughts with his grumbling. “Rosie is such a difficult bitch. I don’t get it. Why can’t she be easy for once? Typical woman.”

Myles, his project partner, sidestepped the maze of cables sprawled across the floor. “She’s a robot, dude.” To prove his point, he tapped Rosie’s steel frame. Rosie was Myles’ and Paul’s entry into the research and development competition. I smiled at my robot, Zaza. We’ve got this.

Huddled at the center workstation, Paul scratched his head and sighed.

I jammed my hand into the pocket of my lab coat, wrapping the rubber band around my fingers like a tether to sanity.

Did he not see me at my desk three feet away, the only female junior engineer in this department? Clearing my throat, I alerted them to my presence. “Can’t get her to finish?”

Myles chuckled and adjusted Rosie’s arm, refitting a silicone seal. Paul mumbled something unintelligible, turning his back to me.

Feminizing the robot had little to do with its glitches. The real culprit was their slapdash approach to work, but I wouldn’t point it out. I wanted their robot to fail epically, and I would dance upon the grave of disassembled composites when TechBionic Innovations crowned me queen.

A steady whirr of machinery hummed as half a dozen robotics engineers worked diligently on their presentations. I was the only team of one.

And the only one in a bad mood.

I worked with my head down at my station, focused and determined to get this right. Two weeks before presentations were due, and nothing would distract me.

The newest team member in the lab, Antonio, circled the other side of my workbench to inspect my progress. His eyes lit up at the sight of titanium. “Impressive choice.”

“It offers a high strength-to-weight ratio.” I said, half paying attention to him. My gaze lifted to Dr. Mallory Coleman, our esteemed lead researcher and developer, who stood behind the Plexiglas barrier, observing our work. Her critiques were legendary—sharp enough to slice through steel. That kind of ruthless and blunt feedback could kill a soul.

She was my hero.

Dr. Coleman was the epitome of brilliance in the field of robotic engineering. Landing a spot in her lab was an honor, but winning the chance to lead my own team? That was the dream.

Only one team would win. A team of one.

Antonio examined my robot’s suspension system. “I should have signed on for your project. Kellen’s code is shit, and mine is worse. I’m not even sure we’ll make it to the final presentation.”

I wanted to laugh gleefully at karma’s swift deliverance, but Antonio was friendly. He didn’t ignore me like most of my coworkers did.

We chatted about optimization until he wandered off. Wrapping up for the day, I secured my project in a locked cabinet, taking no chances, and gathered my things. I dragged my feet out of the lab, but I couldn’t avoid the condo forever. Besides, I shouldn’t have to when it was my house.

On my drive home, I called my mom. She was busy with surgeries, but I needed to share my excitement.

“Almost there, Mom,” I said into the phone, knowing she’d catch up on the news eventually. “It’s taking me longer with the modifications, but I’ll have the best search and rescue robot in the lab. I’m sure of it. I just need to figure out how to nail my presentation and not choke up. Wish me luck.”

Days of missed calls and texts would follow before we synced our schedules. Despite growing up in Shoreline, a suburb twenty minutes from my apartment, I rarely saw my mom or spent much time in my childhood house. She managed a text, though, coming through on the tail end of a nightmare commute.

Mom: I’m so proud of you. Devastate them with your brilliance.

The angry gray clouds loomed over the four-story brick building, mirroring the storm brewing within me. My gaze narrowed as I parked the car. Liam Porter was inside my apartment.

He’s there, in your house. His feet kicked up on your coffee table, grubby hands holding your remote and watching your TV. Bet his socks are dirty, too.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, plotting my next move. Ignoring him seemed like poetic justice—he thrived on attention, after all. Then again, there’d been enough moments growing up when he had tuned his indifference into relentless teasing, cranking it to the highest volume. And Liam was as loud as they came.

The rain started a moment later, cascading like tears over the windshield. I tied my hair back, sending a silent Fuck you to the clouds. I was in no mood to run into my newest roommate looking like a drowned rat. It’d been almost four years since I last saw him—on our twenty-first birthdays, to be precise, just after his mom, Nina, died.

The twins were born three weeks early, and I arrived two days late. Our moms ended up in the hospital on the same night. Liam made his grand entrance ten minutes shy of midnight, and I followed suit three minutes past. Shana, bless her heart, arrived five minutes after Liam, forever stuck between us in what would become a metaphor for our childhood.

With inexplicably intertwined lives, our mothers were best friends and neighbors, both single parents. His sister was my best friend, and he was my mortal enemy. That kind of stuff.

I eyed the umbrella in the backseat of my car, chewing on my lip and wondering how much shit I would get for using it. It was an entire thing , a Seattle thing, like wearing socks with sandals and spurning Starbucks.

But my curls didn’t fare well in the rain. I couldn’t give Liam a swift win in his asshole commentary about my appearance. At twelve, he described my hair as mud-puddle brown . At sixteen, he proclaimed it a bird’s nest .

With a resigned exhale, I grabbed the umbrella and hurried out of the car. I hadn’t even made it ten feet before colliding with a passerby, ignoring my presence entirely as they shoulder-checked me. Stunned, I blinked as the person continued without so much as a glance in my direction.

“Don’t mind me, just standing here! ” I clutched the umbrella and gritted my teeth.

“I won’t!” the asshole hollered back, fading into the distance with his hood drawn.

A surge of annoyance bubbled within me. It’d been a long day, and my nerves were frayed. Truthfully, I’d been in a bad mood in the days since Shana announced Liam’s impending arrival. And now that day had come. As in, now. Today. He’s here today. Not that I was tracking closely.

‘Things have been hard for him since he dropped out of college. He seems serious about giving school another go.’ Shana’s explanation for Liam’s move was weak at best.

Liam wasn’t serious about anything, but as Shana said, it was his apartment as much as hers. Besides, Sam and I had talked about condensing resources and space… moving in together.

My stomach tightened at the thought. Excitement. That’s excitement, right? Not panic or dread or worry that I was making a mistake by moving in with my boyfriend.

“Oh, hold the door, please!” I called, approaching the building. “My key card is glitchy, and I’m—” My plea fell on deaf ears as the door closed with a finality that mirrored my day.

I stood for a moment and stared at the glass door, studying my reflection and confirming my existence.

Three attempts with my key card later, I dragged myself to the third floor with a dread-heavy belly. With a cautious twist of the doorknob, I stepped into the dimly lit apartment, hating how fast my heart pounded.

To my relief, there was no sign of Liam’s presence—no discarded shoes in the hallway or unfamiliar belongings strewn about, no boy smell, and no protein drink bottles littering the shared living space.

The apartment sat empty, and I ignored the confusing disappointment that lingered.