34. Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Three
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Blaise shouts as Kaden leaves.
I flinch, never having experienced this side of Blaise before. He paces the other side of the living room angrily, shaking his head. Stopping, he looks at me again, running his hand over his face.
"Let me explain," I start but he scoffs.
"You don't need to explain," he snaps. "I think it's pretty clear what happened. God — I thought we moved past this."
I stand awkwardly, hugging myself. "It's not what it looks like."
Blaise turns toward me. "Did you have sex with him?" he asks, frustrated.
"Yes," I murmur quietly.
"Then it's exactly what it looks like."
He opens his mouth to speak again but closes it, turning on his heel to head to his bedroom. I take off after him desperately, catching him before he goes inside.
"I just wanted to ask him a few questions," I sputter out. "We just hung out for a bit."
Blaise whips around, glaring down at me. "I told you that you don't need their closure. It wasn't going to fix anything."
"I know," I agree. "Curiosity got the better of me."
"Yeah," he says sarcastically. "It sure did."
My eyebrows furrow as I reach for his arm but he rips it away.
"Blaise," I mumble. "It was just a few drinks. It was a dumb decision, I know."
He shakes his head, eyes wide with irritation. "Yes, it was. Skylar, I can't keep doing this."
"You don't have to," I argue. "I never asked you to save me."
"You can't even save yourself," he breathes out. "It's like you don't even want to try."
My face drops. "I do! That's why I met up with him. I just needed that last bit of information so I could move forward. Why are you so mad about this?"
Blaise stares at me, silence between us. Finally, he cracks, letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Because I care about you. But if you don't respect my advice, then stop coming to me for things."
It's like I've been slapped in the face. I gape at him in disbelief.
"You're my best friend, Blaise. Of course I respect your advice. I've been trying my best! Sometimes it's hard though. You know what it's like!"
He shakes his head, looking away. "I don't want to talk about this right now. Just give me some space to process things," he grunts, heading into his room and closing the door in my face.
I stare at the painted wood in horror, defeated. I want to talk to him, but I make the right decision, turning and heading into my room.
It still smells like Kaden, and I angrily bundle up my sheets into a ball, carrying them to the washing machine. I throw them in and head to the shower, keen to wash away my sins.
When I finish showering, Blaise is still hiding in his room and I figure I'll just give him some time. He'll come out soon and then we'll laugh about this like we always do.
But he doesn't.
I don't see him for most of the day — only catching glimpses of him whenever he goes to the kitchen or bathroom. I try to talk to him, but he ignores me like I'm a ghost.
What the hell happened?
I'm ignored for the rest of the weekend and by Monday morning, I'm confident that we'll be able to put it behind us. We work together after all — we have to speak.
However, Blaise chooses to work in his bedroom, sending me emails whenever he wants to communicate with me.
Realization dawns on me that I'm in the dog house and I focus on doing my best work possible to get his attention.
Tuesday comes and nothing changes.
Wednesday… same thing.
By Thursday, I've resigned myself to the fact that I've fucked up our friendship beyond repair and I can only assume that I'm not going to the wedding tomorrow.
Even though the wedding is Saturday, Blaise needs to be there on Friday. As his brother's best man, he's responsible for getting him to the event and ready.
We had organized for me to stay on the property with some of his family members, but I guess that's not happening.
Still, I pack my bag just in case. I had even treated myself to a new dress. The sparkling light blue floor-length dress was gorgeous. Sure, it cost the equivalent of three week's salary, but I was determined to not embarrass Blaise. I went all out to make sure I was the best plus one ever.
Friday morning comes and I'm sitting on my bed, scrolling on my cell mindlessly when my bedroom door swings open without a knock.
I look up, spotting Blaise and my heart stops with hope. He looks at me blankly.
"Are you ready?"
"For the wedding?" I ask. "Yeah. I'm all packed. Did you still want me to go?"
Blaise glances down at my luggage next to the door, before giving a sharp nod. "Alfie already accounted for you. I'm not going to throw him another curveball."
"Oh," I mutter, disappointed. "Yeah, I'm ready."
"Good," he says dryly. "You can put your stuff in my car. I want to leave in ten minutes."
Before I can say anything further, he's gone. My heart sinks — he's still mad at me.
I carry my stuff out to his car, putting it in the back with his, and linger by the rose bushes until he comes out.
He doesn't even glance at me as he strolls around to the driver's door and climbs in. I hastily hop into the passenger seat, scared he'll drive off and leave me if I don't follow.
Waiting until we're outside of St. Devil's Creek, I finally speak, trying to start a conversation.
"So, are you excited?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Blaise doesn't answer.
"It looks like it will be nice weather," I say, not giving up.
Glancing over at him, I watch as his jaw tenses up. I sigh, slumping in my seat. "Blaise, can we please not do this?"
Again, no response.
I know what I did was wrong, but honestly, I think he's overreacting a bit. So, I find some of that pettiness I reserve for special occasions and try one more time.
"We should at least get on speaking terms. For Alfie and Lauren's sake."
Blaise's knuckles grip the steering wheel, but a second later, he finally speaks.
"Fine. Yes, I'm excited. Yes, the weather will be nice."
Frustration fills me and I grimace. "Blaise, we don't have to talk about what happened. We can talk about it after the wedding. Hell, I'll even move out if that's what you want. But please… can we just talk?"
"Do you want to move out?" he responds dryly.
"No, of course not. But it seems like you might want me too."
Blaise lets out a small, sarcastic laugh. "You don't know anything, Skylar. Just like I don't know you."
"You do know me," I murmur. "You know me better than anyone else."
He shakes his head. "I thought I did but now I'm not so sure."
Not willing to give up now that he's talking, I force out a bright smile.
"My name is Skylar Ivy Nixon. I'm a Capricorn and have recently given up tequila — well, alcohol in general. I work in IT and can't cook very well."
Blaise doesn't respond, his face completely void of emotion and I'm ready to start screaming when he finally replies.
"So, your initials are SIN?" he chokes out.
Blinking, I'm confused that that's what he took away from my speech. "I guess so."
"Wow."
I'm not sure what he's talking about, and for the first time in forever, I start to feel awkward around him. I gaze out the window, lowering my voice.
"Let's just forget about it."
"Blaise! You made it!"
A man around our age bounces toward us as soon as we step out of the car onto Blaise's parents' property.
It's a rustic style farm with lots of shady trees, green grass, and a large three-story house. Behind the house I spot a large barn, shiny, like it's only a few years old.
"Hi, Michael," Blaise says warmly, making me jealous.
The tall, dark haired man gives him a tight hug, near picking Blaise up. After he plops him down, he turns to me, honey-colored eyes scanning me. "And you must be Skylar."
"I am," I answer politely, offering my hand.
Michael ignores it, opening his arms. "Come here!"
Suddenly, I'm hoisted off my feet, legs dangling as Michael squeezes me.
"That's enough," Blaise muses to him. "Where's Mom?"
"She's in the kitchen having a meltdown. She's insisting on cooking all of tonight's dinner by herself. It's not going well."
Blaise sighs. "And she won't let anyone help her," he answers, already knowing the situation.
"Of course not. Aunty Mack refuses to let us step foot inside the kitchen. The boys and I are just hanging out the back, directing vendors."
Michael looks at me, grinning. He has large dimples, his warm smile putting me at ease slightly, even though I'm terrified everyone will sense our tension.
"I'm Blaise's big cousin. His favorite cousin."
"That's what you like to think," Blaise groans. "Where's Alfie? I need to check on him."
Michael points to the other side of the house. "If you listen very carefully, you'll hear the sounds of the wind. And also… Alfie have a breakdown."
Blaise rolls his eyes. "Is that why you're over here?"
"I'm directing traffic," he says, motioning to the quiet driveway, before giving me a wink.
"You're the welcoming committee," I laugh.
Michael grins. "No better person for the job."
"Anyone else would be better," Blaise teases, walking toward the house. "Skylar, come with me."
"Bye!" Michael yells, waving at me. "See you soon."
I quickly catch up to Blaise. "He seems nice."
"He is."
We're back to stern stubborn words again, but I don't dare say anything now that we're surrounded by his family.
As we walk around the house, I spot a group of guys — eight of them — in a circle of sorts.
They turn as we approach, and it's easy to spot Alfie. He looks very much like Blaise — the same colored hair and eyes. The rest of the group give us various waves as Alfie rushes forward.
"Thank God, you're here finally," he groans.
Blaise checks his watch. "I said I'd be here at midday. I'm pretty much on time."
Alfie looks over at me, relaxing and lightening up. "Oh, hello! Are you Blaise's date?"
I nod, unsure whether to offer my hand or not. "Congratulations. Thank you for having me."
He smiles, glancing at his brother briefly. "We're thrilled to have you. Especially since this one made a little mess of things."
Blaise groans. "You and Mom need to give it a rest."
"She's still talking about it," Alfie says in a sing-song tone. "But whatever you do: don't go into the kitchen."
I laugh, and Alfie looks at me puzzled. I nod my head towards the entrance.
"Michael warned us."
"Ahh," Alfie replies. "He's a good boy. When Mom gets started on a mission, it's best to keep clear. This one," he nods at Blaise, "can attest to that."
Blaise laughs, finally relaxing more. "I should probably go see her shortly, just to let her know that I'm here."
Alfie frowns. "Don't be too long. The caterer is here trying to set up the equipment for tomorrow and I'm also fairly certain the decorators don't have the correct number of chairs."
"Yes, they do," another man behind them groans. "We counted twice."
We look back at the others and Blaise points at them individually.
"Skylar, these are my cousins and some of Alfie's friends. We have Oliver, Jack, James, Axel, Lincoln, Cooper and Paul."
I wave at all of them, already forgetting most of their names. I'll have to pay close attention later to remember when it's not as chaotic.
Blaise puts a hand on Alfie's shoulder. "I'll go say hi to Mom and then I'll count the chairs, okay?"
He nods. "Thanks. And if she tries to talk to you about tiramisu, run!"
Laughing, Blaise motions for me to follow as we head for the house.
"How many are your cousins?" I ask.
"Three. The other four are his best friends."
The backdoor of the house is up a set of wide steps. It's a double door, with large window panes. As we enter the house, I smell a concoction of delicious food.
Blaise leads me through the maze-like hallway, stopping when we reach the open doorway of the kitchen.
The sole occupant of the kitchen has her back to us, muttering to herself while several pots are on the stove. The kitchen counter is filled with condiments and ingredients and I'm impressed that one person can manage all this on their own.
"Hi, Mom," Blaise muses.
She stills, whipping around with a shocked smile on her face. "Blaisey!"
Putting down a wooden spoon, she rushes forward, grabbing him tight into a hug. Her apron squishes into him, leaving evidence of food on his pants.
Cupping his face, she examines him closely, checking for… I don't know, marks?
"Are you eating?" she asks suspiciously.
"Yes, Mom," he groans. "Three times a day."
Satisfied with that answer, she lets him go with a smile. "Good. Who's this?" she asks, looking at me.
I smile, nearly curtsying as I try to figure out how to proper address your roommate's Mom. "I'm Skylar. It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Nolan."
Mrs. Nolan is the splitting image of Blaise and Alfie, her bright wandering eyes scanning over me.
"Skylar, it's nice to meet you. I need your opinion on something. What do you think about tiramisu?"