30. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
AJ
I wasn’t lying when I said Davenport was worried about her, but I didn’t tell her everything. I couldn’t—I’d already told her too much. Upsetting the guys at SSI didn't worry me; they’d understand and forgive me. But I wasn’t sure Blake could handle any more surprises.
So I didn’t tell her Davenport was being less than helpful and deflecting our questions like the politician he was. Shrugging off the questions about his financial issues. Refusing to talk to us about who could be behind the threat. Defending his questionable choices as a DA. Declining all our suggestions to keep him safe.
However, he insisted we do whatever was necessary to keep Blake safe. Regardless of what he’d done, might still be doing, there was no doubt he loved his daughter. The only subject he would talk to us about.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’re still investigating, so there are a lot of unanswered questions.” Great, now I sound like a fucking politician . At least it wasn't a lie.
“Great. Another non-answer, just what I need.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to my room.”
Damn it . That hadn’t gone well. Not that I’d expected it to, but I had hoped maybe. I wanted her to talk to me, not shut down and run away.
I messaged Jack on the SSI secure phone and told him what little I’d learned. Blake was ignorant of her father’s questionable practices and his money woes.
Then I messaged Jay to ask if he wanted a sandwich.
After swapping places for a few minutes so he could eat and take a leak, I sat back down to read. A crime thriller probably wasn’t the best choice given the circumstances, but it was all I brought with me.
I must have fallen asleep because my book thunked on the floor when a scream caused me to jump out of the chair.
Blake!
I ran to her room and charged in without knocking, gun drawn.
She sat on the bed, eyes distant with silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
She jumped and yelped when I invaded her space; the door crashing against the wall. I saw her eyes widen when she saw my gun, then she buried her face in her knees, covered her head, and rocked back and forth.
I scanned the room, verifying no one was inside, before holstering my gun.
The bed sagged as I sat down beside her and rubbed her back. “What happened?”
She lifted her head and sniffled. I wish I had tissues for her . “Nothing, I just had a bad dream.” She pulled away from me. “You didn’t need to come charging in here ready to shoot the place up.”
Not expecting her anger, I stood up and walked back to the door.
Before I left, I turned back and said, “I’m sorry if I scared you, but I won't apologize for responding to your scream.”
She turned away and curled up in a ball instead of answering me.
“I’m leaving the door cracked. Please don’t latch it,” I said. I wanted to be able to check on her without disturbing her.
No answer. I sighed and did a sweep of the house, for my sanity, before going back to the living room.
When I got up a few hours later to use the bathroom, I checked on Blake. I could hear her muffled crying, so I knocked softly before pushing the door open with my knuckles. I asked from the doorway, “Blake, do you want to talk about it?”
“You don’t have to pretend you care,” she said around sniffles. “My father isn’t paying you to be nice.”
What the actual fuck . Where did that come from?
“Blake, I’m not pretending.” I took a few cautious steps into the room.
“Nobody cares. I bet my friends haven’t even noticed I’m not around.” She didn’t bother to move while answering me.
Why does she think that? I chalked it up to the stress of the situation and being isolated.
I was sure they’d noticed. Paige seemed okay, at least when Fuckface wasn’t around. I was sure he’d noticed when he had to pay for his own lunch, or some other selfish reason. Not that I’d ever tell her that. I had to believe she had better friends, ones I hadn’t met.
“I’m sure they have,” I said, keeping my voice soft.
“They don’t even like me. Not really.” She sniffled.
Where had all this come from? I’d expected her to be upset about her dream, or being locked up in a safe house, but not this. At least she's talking to me .
“What makes you think that?”
“They can’t. They don’t even know the real me." She sniffled. "They just like me for my money.” She rolled onto her back and leaned up on her elbows.
I hated seeing her puffy, bloodshot eyes and wished there was something I could do to take her pain away. I’d suffer a thousand deaths if it’d ensure she never had a reason to cry again.
“Why don’t they know the real you?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t really care.”
“I do care, Blake.” More than I can ever tell you . I repeated the question.
“They only know the me I'm supposed to show them.”
The image of the perfect politician’s daughter couldn’t be easy to maintain.
“Hang on one second, okay?” I asked. When her eyes rounded in shock before lowering in disappointment, I added, “I’ll be right back.”
I sprinted out of the room and returned with a box of tissues and a bottle of water.
“Here you go.”
This time, the expression in her eyes was shock and gratitude.
“Thank you.”
“Why do you hide who you are?” I’d seen glimpses of the real Blake, and I liked her better.
Loved her, even.
“I’ve been told all my life who I should be, how I should act, what I should wear.” She ran her hand through her hair, exposing the strip of pink. “I got in trouble when I dyed my hair, even though it’s mostly hidden.”
It sounded ridiculous to me that her parents would be upset about a little hair dye, especially since it was barely visible. I’d noticed she always exposed the stripe at school, but hadn’t seen how she wore her hair at home. Thinking back, her pink stripe wasn’t visible in the office.
I understood her feeling like she had to hide a part of herself, I'd lived it. But I wouldn't share my past with her; it was mine to carry.
Wanting to lighten the mood, I said, “I kind of like it. It’s playful.”
She was quiet for a minute before saying, “Thank you.” She turned to stare at the blinds covering the window, as if she could see the field beyond.
We sat in silence for a few minutes; her staring out the window lost in her thoughts; me watching her while lost in mine.
I understood how it felt to not live up to someone’s expectations. My father had reminded me regularly, with his fists, that I wasn’t good enough and never would be.
Understanding the conversation had ended, I didn't push. The sun was setting, and I was getting hungry so I asked, “Want me to cook some burgers?”
“That sounds good.” She gave me a weak smile, and when she lifted her eyes to mine, the only emotion I saw was gratitude.
My heart did this weird little thing where it felt like it jumped out of my chest. But I had to ignore it. Blake was grateful I offered to cook, not confessing her love. And certainly not asking for me to confess my love for her.
This job is going to be the death of me.