Chapter Thirty Blake
Chapter Thirty
Blake
The ride home was eerily quiet.
God. What had just happened?
They were going to kick me out, and I couldn’t blame them. I didn’t have that much to pack, so that was easy, but then what? Go where? Heath’s and Marshall’s phones were buzzing nonstop, and I didn’t need a guess to ask who or what they were talking about with each other.
Our SUV pulled to a stop outside of our brownstone, and I looked at Levi.
He’d been quiet ever since Creighton told him to go with us.
He took up residence next to Palma, knowing I’d want space.
He was multitasking. I always wanted space when my world imploded, but he was also acting as a barrier.
Heath and Marshall couldn’t get to Palma’s ear as much, though they could blow up her phone all they wanted.
I was the first inside. My hands shaking, I went to the kitchen to pour myself a drink. I’d need one to get through what was coming next.
They were quiet, traipsing in behind me.
I couldn’t look at them. The guilt was overwhelming.
I knew an argument could be made that I wasn’t Creighton.
I couldn’t be held responsible for what he did, and yeah, maybe they would’ve gone to the fighting ring without me, and yeah, they would’ve gone to that diner, and yeah, those robbers wouldn’t have been stopped like they had, but this still came down on me, somehow.
Later when I would be thinking clearer, I’d figure it out.
Right now, the regret and guilt were like acid inside of me.
I could barely see straight.
“Are we going to fucking talk about this?” Marshall started it out.
Awesome.
I took a big drag from my drink and let the whiskey replace the burn inside of me.
Levi got comfortable at the table, his arm draped over the back of his chair as he was half turned toward me.
The rest were lined up just inside the room.
Palma’s hands were folded over each other, pressed in front of her.
Heath looked half blitzed. His hair was all askew.
Marshall was pissed. His jawline was tight and clenched, and the look he was giving Levi was seething.
Levi clocked it, only grinning back at him. He winked. “This ain’t my act in the play. I’m background support right now.”
“Background support for who? You’re here for him.” His gaze turned my way, still seething. “And speaking of, who is he, Blake?”
I took another drag of my whiskey. My hand was still shaking. Shit.
I didn’t want to lose them.
Sudden very real and clear regret ate at me. I hadn’t had enough time to spend with them. I hadn’t let them get to know me either, and that was suddenly all I wanted.
It was too late.
I needed to tell them what was what. I’d pack and go after that. I’d upended their lives enough.
“Living room,” I rasped out. I couldn’t look any of them in the eye. “Might as well get comfortable for this.”
Levi positioned himself in one of the corner chairs, an arm and leg draped over the side and back of his chair, his big body turned toward the group, also toward the front door.
He’d made himself a drink before joining us, and he rattled his glass to me.
He was keeping a lazy expression on his face, but I knew it was an act.
Catching my eyes, he lifted his glass, shooting me a look of support.
I tried giving him a tiny grin back, except my face was etched in rock.
Heath and Palma were on the couch.
Heath spread his legs out, and his head rested back on the couch.
His eyes were closed. He looked as if he could fall asleep like that.
Palma was in the opposite corner of the couch, a pillow clasped tightly on her lap.
She was picking at the seams in a nervous movement.
Marshall was just behind where Palma was sitting.
His arms were crossed over his chest, and his scowl was directed right at me.
He was going to remain standing. “Enough stalling. You need to clue us in to who the fuck you are and who the fuck that guy was.” He raked a hand through his hair, almost savagely. “We deserve that, don’t you think?”
Levi’s head lifted. His lazy expression disappeared. “Watch how you speak to her.”
“Or what?” Marshall’s head jerked in his direction.
“Or you’ll find out who we are in a whole different way.
One where you might lose a few body parts.
” Levi didn’t move, but the ice delivered with that threat was enough to have Marshall turning back toward me.
Levi waited to see if he’d say anything more.
When he didn’t, Levi resumed his lazy facade again, giving me a wink.
It was my turn.
My stomach filled with lead.
I didn’t give them the whole background story of Creighton and me, but I told them enough.
I met him in a foster home. Levi as well.
We grew up together. The story of explaining Creighton and how he came to take over the streets and the city wasn’t my story to tell.
I didn’t say anything about how Creighton had psychopathic tendencies, or how he tried to curb those so he didn’t hurt innocent people.
I didn’t give them the long and sordid story of how Creighton’s easy ability to end people who hurt me dogged my every decision since I could remember.
“Growing up under Creighton’s shadow has been a lot.
But he and I made an agreement. This was my chance to try and live a normal life, or as normal as a kid from foster care could get.
Moving into this place with you guys, it’s been a dream.
I couldn’t believe it. You’ve all been great.
I know we’ve all been busy with our different courses and workload, but I’ve appreciated that you guys tried including me with your group.
It’s just—getting to know people takes a while with me.
” I was going to throw up. “I just want you to know that, and I’m sorry for anything that Creighton’s done or if you guys end up as collateral damage. I’m sorry again.”
I needed to go. Now.
The urge to flee was strong. I tried to restrain myself. Instead of running, I went upstairs with a brisk walk.
Hurt and panic and the ability to breathe was becoming increasingly hard.
I pushed it all aside as I got to my room and started throwing things onto my bed.
I upended everything in my closet. All my clothes.
Shoes. My things for the bathroom. Grabbing some bags, I began blindly stuffing everything inside of them.
I was trying not to cry. I really was, but this one hurt more than the others. I didn’t know why, but dammit. Tears were breaking free, sliding down my face. I had a suitcase I could use for my books. I realized that I was leaving with four times the amount of stuff.
How had that happened?
I always kept my items to a single bag. It was easier to cut and run if you only had one bag to grab, but here I was now with four.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped.
Palma was inside my door, pale, streaks of dried tears on her face.
“I—”
She jerked forward into the room, her eyes pinned to my bags. “You’re leaving?”
I closed my mouth. My shoulders lowered. “You don’t want me here. I thought you wouldn’t want me to stay.”
She scoffed, bitterness mingling in there. “Maybe give us a chance to say it? Because, Blake, we’re not going to say it. I’m not. Were you going to say goodbye? How was this going to go in your mind?”
I winced, hearing the hurt in her voice. “Creighton is—”
“Your boyfriend is psychotic and scary, but guess what? He doesn’t get to keep you for himself. You’re my friend now.” She raised her chin up. “I’m from the south, darlin’. Us Beauregards don’t scare easy.”
“Marshall doesn’t want me here.”
She snorted. “If you haven’t started to figure Marshall out, what he says and does is usually the exact opposite. He acts all flirty and carefree when he’s the most cautious one of us all.” She picked up one of my bags. “Or he was until you. Pretty sure you got him beat for that award.”
“What about Heath? He didn’t say anything, but I know he doesn’t want me here.”
She took my bag back to my bed. “That might’ve been true in the beginning, but after a week of you being here, you’re one of us.
Heath’s also the biggest baby of us all.
You just haven’t stuck around to figure that out either.
” She unzipped my bag and began pulling out my items. One at a time.
“To my count, that sounds like you’ve still got some things to learn about us. That means you can’t leave. Hmmm?”
Dumbfounded, I stood there. My chest was going to cave in as she walked around my room and returned everything back to where it’d been previously. She got a few things wrong, but it didn’t matter.
She started working on the second bag.
“Palma,” I tried to protest, reaching for it.
She caught my hand and squeezed it before pushing it aside gently.
“I grew up blessed. Two good parents. I love my mama something fierce, and there’s five of us girls from our household.
I had one room growing up. I could fill it up with all of my things.
Change the color on the walls as often as I wanted.
Same house all my life, and I don’t think it’ll be going anywhere.
I don’t see myself ever not being able to go home if I needed to, so I have no idea what it was like growing up how you did.
Not one clue. I’m not even going to try to imagine.
I figure I’d get it wrong anyways, so I’m just going to say this.
Your time being scared to let other people in can come to an end with me.
I get that’s a tall order. I’m aware it’ll take time.
You gotta give me that time to show you I’m worth letting in.
” She put down the second bag. “The minute you told me not to date anyone with fourth or fifth after their name, I began looking at you like a sister I was just meeting for the first time.”
I felt raw, so I jerked up a shoulder and looked away. “The whole name of it all. Brad Grundle? Who wants to become Mrs. Grundle? If someone wrote a poem about you, they’d rhyme that with bundle. You’re meant for more.”
Palma fell silent, staring at me.
She burst out laughing. “I have no idea what that means, but it’s funny. Mrs. Grundle. Rhymes with bundle. A bundle of what?” She picked up the third bag.
I eased beside her and began to take my things from her. She pulled them from the bag. I put them away. “Bundle of dildos.”
She snorted, taking a pile to my dresser. “Bundle of cock rings.”
“Bundle of douchebags.”
“Ew.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why’d you go there? I enjoyed thinking about our poem. Oh, what life would be like as Mrs. Grundle. To wake up each morning, ordering enough vibrators so they’d come as a bundle.”
“To become Mrs. Grundle the fifth, one would need to accept their new life as one for the bird . . . s.”
She laughed. “A jaybird.”
“A game bird.”
“Password.”
We shared a grin.
I said, “Swear word.”
“Unheard.”
“Preferred.”
“Referred.”
My grin darkened. “Absurd.”
She barked out another laugh. “Just like this poem has become.”
“This was a poem?”
We were down to my suitcase. She knelt and unzipped it, grabbing the first of my books. “One of the worst I’ve ever heard.”
“And that feels appropriate for what life might’ve been as Mrs. Grundle the fifth.”
We were still laughing when my room was back in order.
After placing my suitcase in the closet, Palma came over and sat on the end of my bed. We both fell silent. The air in the room shifted, the lighthearted moment was done.
I shifted to sit on the other end and looked at my lap. “He comes here sometimes. You should know that.”
“Comes here?”
I lifted my head. “He sleeps with me.”
Her eyes widened, jerking down to the bed we were both sitting on.
“Not—” I touched the cover. “Not like sex or anything. Not like that. Just—just sleeping.”
“Oh.” She relaxed but continued frowning at the bed. “Do you love him?”
I made a choking sound, hearing words that plagued me. I shook my head. “I . . . He’s family.” Because it was that simple, right?
I didn’t tell her how I ordered him to stay away from me, then wrapped my legs around him the next time I saw him.
“But you . . .” She looked away before turning back. A new determination was over her face. “You don’t love him like you love Levi.”
I stared at her.
She added, “Levi’s like family to you too. Right? Like a brother.”
I couldn’t respond, fearful where she was going next.
“It’s not the same with him. Creighton doesn’t look at you like that.”
“He can’t love.”
She frowned.
“He doesn’t have the capability to love, but yes, he’s obsessed with me.”
“And you’re . . .” She hesitated before reaching forward to take my hand in hers. “He’s obsessed with you while you’re . . .”
She trailed off when I began shaking my head. Fervently.
Pain sliced through me, at almost hearing the words I couldn’t admit to myself.
“I-I can’t. He’d need to be a different person. He’s a monster, and he’ll never not be a monster.”
“He’s not a monster to you.”
No. He wasn’t.
“I think you’re wrong.”
I frowned at her.
She let go of my hand after giving it one last squeeze, the ends of her mouth lifting up in a small grin. A hesitant grin. “I think if he was a different person, you wouldn’t have the feelings you do for him. Because then he wouldn’t be your Creighton.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
My Creighton.