The Trouble With Brent Woods
Copyright© 2026 by Art Samms
Chapter 10
It was an intensely boring and morose Saturday afternoon in Brent’s apartment, like none he’d ever experienced. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching on dust motes and the untouched stack of mail on the coffee table. Everything felt muted, suspended.
His phone lay face-down beside him. No new messages. No reason to flip it over.
He had ignored Luke’s last text. Let Sophia’s call go to voicemail. Even Lily’s cheerful check-in sat unanswered in his notifications. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—it was that he didn’t know what to say. Every conversation felt like it would circle back to Maggie, and the thought of explaining the argument made his chest tighten.
Brent leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He’d meant to go for a walk hours ago, maybe take the subway out to Jackson Heights like he used to during his leave. But the idea of running into her—or worse, not running into her—felt unbearable. So, he stayed put, watching the clock tick through a Saturday that refused to move.
“How did everything crash this fast?” he murmured to the empty room.
A week ago, things had felt fragile but hopeful. Coffee walks, quiet laughter, the almost-kiss on the bridge that still lived somewhere in his memory like unfinished music. Now there was only silence.
He replayed their argument again, dissecting every word. For the zillionth time. Maybe he’d sounded defensive. Maybe he should’ve chased after her instead of letting her walk away. Maybe he should’ve told her sooner about Jace showing up, about how his past still had a way of circling back.
Or maybe she just never really trusted him.
Brent stood and wandered to the window. He gazed out at Midtown stretching below him—people crossing streets, taxis weaving through traffic, the rhythm of lives that didn’t know or care about his personal unraveling. He pressed a hand to the glass, exhaling slowly.
Is there anything left to salvage? he wondered. He didn’t even know if she wanted to talk. The silence between them had grown thick enough to feel intentional, like a door quietly closing.
He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Maggie’s contact. A dozen drafts formed in his mind—apologies, explanations, simple check-ins—but none of them felt right. After a long moment, he set the phone back down without typing a word.
Across the river in Jackson Heights, it was a typical chaotic Saturday at Mr. Pollard’s Café. The bell above the door was working overtime as customers came and went, the smell of fresh coffee and toasted bread filling the air.
Maggie sat at her usual table with Tamika, Aiden, and Rosa. A half-finished mug of tea cooled in front of her, forgotten. She stared at the window, watching pedestrians drift past like ghosts she couldn’t quite reach.
Tamika leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Okay,” she said gently, “this silent brooding thing? Not your best look.”
“I’m not brooding,” Maggie muttered.
Rosa snorted. “You’ve been stirring the same tea for ten minutes. That’s brooding.”
Maggie rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Her friends exchanged glances—the kind that said they’d had this conversation already.
“I just think,” Maggie said after a pause, “people don’t change that fast. And I saw what I saw.”
Aiden tilted his head. “You saw him talking to someone. That’s not a crime.”
“It’s not just that,” she insisted. “It’s ... the energy. The way they were laughing. Like he was slipping back into that world.”
Tamika’s voice softened. “Or maybe he was trying to handle someone from his past without making a scene.”
Maggie hesitated, but stubbornness flared. “You didn’t see it.”
“No,” Rosa said, “but we’ve seen how he acts here. With you. That counts for something.”
Maggie’s gaze dropped to the table. She hated how uncertain she felt, how every memory of Brent’s quiet kindness tugged against her anger. She remembered the way he’d stepped in outside the café weeks ago, calm and respectful, nothing like the reckless image she’d once painted of him.
Still, doubt clung stubbornly. The nightclub incident from her past lingered like a shadow she couldn’t outrun. Trust felt like standing on glass.
At that moment, Mr. Pollard emerged from behind the counter carrying a tray of fresh pastries. He set them down with his usual unhurried grace, his ever-watchful eyes turning briefly toward Maggie.
“You know,” he said, almost absently, “assumptions are like over-steeped tea. Leave them too long, and everything turns bitter.”
Aiden grinned. “That one’s definitely for you, Maggie.”
She shot him a look, but her expression softened despite herself.
Mr. Pollard began polishing a mug, his movements slow and deliberate. “People often listen to their fears louder than they listen to facts,” he added quietly. “Fear is persuasive. Understanding requires patience.”
Maggie stared at the swirling surface of her tea. The café’s noise faded around her, replaced by the echo of Brent’s voice during their argument—You didn’t even give me the chance to explain.
Tamika reached across the table, nudging her hand. “You don’t have to decide anything today,” she said softly. “Just ... don’t close the door because you’re scared of what might be on the other side.”
Maggie didn’t respond right away. Outside, the late afternoon light shifted, stretching long shadows across the sidewalk.
Mr. Pollard placed the polished mug back on the shelf and glanced toward her once more. “Time,” he said gently, “has a way of revealing who someone really is—if you let it.”
Luke stared at his phone long after the call ended, listening to the faint drone of traffic filtering through his office window. The screen had already gone dark, but Brent’s last words lingered in the air—casual, dismissive, a little too quick.
“I’m fine, man. Just tired. It’ll sort itself out.”
It was the kind of answer Brent used when he didn’t want to be questioned. Luke knew it well. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. The office buzzed around him—designers laughing near the conference room, someone arguing about fonts two desks over—but Luke felt oddly detached from it all.
Brent wasn’t fine.
He’d heard it in the pauses, the way Brent kept redirecting the conversation away from Maggie. Normally Brent would vent, unpack every angle, maybe even joke about it. Today he’d shut down entirely, hiding behind professionalism like armor.
Luke rubbed a hand over his jaw. “You’re shutting me out,” he muttered to no one.
He picked up his phone again, scrolling through contacts. Lily’s name caught his eye first. She was perceptive, intuitive—probably already aware something was off. But Lily tended to let people find their own path; Luke wasn’t sure she’d push Brent the way he needed.
His thumb paused on another name.
Sophia Castle.
Luke hesitated. He didn’t know her well—just brief conversations at a couple of group dinners back when she and Brent were still together. She’d always struck him as observant, steady, the kind of person who noticed things others missed.
And she cared about Brent. That part mattered.
He tapped the call button before he could second-guess himself.
It rang twice.
“Hi, Luke,” Sophia said when she answered, her tone warm but unsurprised. “Let me guess ... this is about Brent?”
Luke blinked. “That obvious, huh?”
She let out a soft laugh. “You’re not the type to make casual phone calls.”
Fair enough.
He turned slightly in his chair, lowering his voice. “I just got off the phone with him. He’s ... off. Closed off. Seems like something happened between him and Maggie, and he won’t talk about it.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, the sound of city noise faint behind her. “Yeah,” Sophia said quietly. “I figured something like this was coming.”
“You’ve talked to him recently?”
“A few days ago,” she replied. “He sounded ... hopeful then. But also scared.”
Luke leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “He won’t even admit he’s hurting. It’s like he thinks if he doesn’t name it, it won’t be real.”
Sophia hummed softly, considering. “That sounds like Brent. He tends to intellectualize everything until emotions catch up and hit him all at once.”
Luke smiled faintly despite himself. “You really do know him.”
“I used to,” she said gently. “And I still care about him.”
There was no tension in her voice—just quiet honesty.
Luke glanced toward the glass wall of the conference room, watching coworkers move through their routines. “I’m worried he’s isolating himself,” he admitted. “He brushed me off, and that’s not like him. Even at his worst, he usually lets me in a little.”
Sophia exhaled slowly. “He’s probably ashamed,” she said. “Not just about the fight with Maggie—about needing someone so much and then losing that connection.”
Luke paused for a moment. She’d nailed it. Calling Sophia was a good idea, he told himself.
“Yeah,” he finally murmured. “That tracks.”
A silence settled between them, comfortable but thoughtful.
“So,” Luke said eventually, “what do we do? I don’t want to bulldoze him, but this ... this feels like the kind of moment where if nobody steps in, he’s just going to spiral.”
Sophia didn’t answer immediately. Luke could hear her walking somewhere, the rhythm of her steps steady.
“I think,” she said at last, “he needs to be reminded that he’s not alone—and that shutting everyone out isn’t strength. It’s fear.”
Luke nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Agreed.”
“And,” she added, “he needs people who know him from different parts of his life. You see work-Brent. I see emotional-Brent. Together we might actually reach him.”
A small grin tugged at Luke’s mouth. “You’re proposing a tag-team?”
“I’m proposing,” Sophia said lightly, “a gentle intervention before he disappears into his own head.”
Luke leaned back, feeling something like relief settle in his chest. “You know, I was thinking the same thing but wasn’t sure if I was overstepping.”
“You’re not,” she said. “He’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”
He scratched at the back of his neck. “So ... what does this look like? We corner him at a coffee shop? Drag him into a feelings circle?”
Sophia laughed softly. “Let’s start smaller. Maybe we each reach out separately first—no pressure, just invitations. And if he dodges both of us ... then we plan something more direct.”
Luke considered it. “I could get him to meet me after work. He won’t suspect anything if it’s framed as catching up.”
“And I’ll text him tonight,” Sophia said. “Not about Maggie. Just ... about him.”
Luke felt a strange sense of partnership forming, unexpected but solid. Two people who had once occupied very different roles in Brent’s life, now aligning for the same purpose.
“Thanks for taking the call,” he said. “I know you don’t know me that well.”
“We know the same person,” Sophia replied gently. “That’s enough.”
Luke smiled, tension easing from his shoulders for the first time all afternoon.
“Okay,” he said. “Two-party intervention it is.”
“Gently,” she reminded him.
“Gently,” he agreed.
When the call ended, Luke set his phone down and looked out over the city. Somewhere out there, Brent was retreating into himself, convinced he had to carry everything alone.
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