36. Chapter 35
Chapter 35
AJ
T he urge to check on Blake had me going stir crazy, but I wanted to respect her privacy while she processed everything. At least that’s what I told myself. In truth, I didn’t want to see the accusation in her eyes. She was in a shoot the messenger mindset and unfortunately; I was the messenger.
Knowing she couldn’t call or text anyone, or even numb herself with social media, I got up and walked to her door at least a dozen times.
Each time I stopped and listened, but never knocked. Coward .
I called Jack for an update, hoping he’d found something positive I could share with Blake. People don’t shoot messengers who bring good news. But there wasn’t. There wasn’t anything negative to add either, so that was good.
Blake still hadn’t come out of her room by the time lunch came around, so I worked up the courage to knock. Not wanting to startle her, I rapped a finger on the door softly. Nothing. I knocked again, this time a little louder.
“Go away!”
“I’m making lunch. Can you come out and eat?”
“I’m not hungry,” she announced through the door.
I doubted it was true and considered begging, but let it go instead. She’d come out when she was ready.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you change your mind.” I waited to see if she’d respond—she didn’t.
I made myself a sandwich and ate alone in the kitchen. The ham and cheese could have been cardboard for all how little I noticed the taste.
Blake giving me the silent treatment was killing me. No, not her silence, her pain. And her shutting herself away to hide it from me.
We weren’t friends, but I’d thought we'd made progress. She just started trusting me.
I worked out again, wishing I could go a few rounds in the ring with Doug. I read, I watched TV. Nothing kept my mind off of Blake for more than a few seconds, so I called Jack. Again.
“Dude, what’s going on?” he said after making sure everything was okay.
“She shut herself in her bedroom after I questioned her and she won’t come out.” I rushed to get it out before I lost my nerve.
There was a hard pause before Jack responded, “Is there a problem, something we need to worry about?”
I bit back my reflexive, angry response as I scratched the stubble on my cheek, I hadn’t trimmed my beard in days and it showed. The problem was she wouldn’t let me help her, but how was I supposed to say that to Jack?
“No.” I finally admitted.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I want to help her, but she won’t talk to me.” It was as much as I would admit in the moment.
“You know, when I fucked things up with Meg, I recall a wise man telling me to give her time.”
I was that wise man, well, one of several, who told him to give her time. But he was in love with her, and everyone knew it. I hadn’t told anyone I’d fallen for Blake. Hell, I was barely willing to acknowledge it myself.
“It’s not like that,” I lied, knowing he wouldn’t believe me.
“You keep telling yourself that,” he said around a laugh. “My advice stays the same. She’ll come around after she’s had time to process.”
I hope so . Her silence was driving me insane.
“I’ll be there in a few hours; we can talk more then.”
“Thanks.” I disconnected the call. If I couldn’t talk to him over the phone, I wouldn’t be able to do it in person. Unlike Jack, I hadn’t grown up with caring parents and three siblings who loved me. Which meant he’d learned how to talk about his problems, while I learned how to hide mine.
Not for the first time, I envied Jack’s relationship with his family. His upbringing helped him become a good man and a great husband. Things I’d never be.
I spent my whole life dismissing the idea of marriage, knowing I could end up being like my father. But Blake fucking Davenport had pierced my heart the instant I set eyes on that damn photo and, for the first time in my life, I wanted more. I wanted a future. With her.
I prowled up and down the hall as I tortured myself with visions of the future I could never have. I need to hit something . Ten minutes with a heavy bag would help me release my pent up stress, but there was nothing in the safe house sturdy enough to hit.
Deciding to be productive, I went to the kitchen and started prepping for dinner. I peeled and cut potatoes, wondering if Blake liked roasted garlic mashed potatoes.
I turned on the oven before separating a few cloves of garlic from the bulb and smearing them with olive oil. Focusing harder than required, I trimmed and seasoned the chicken breasts and put them back in the fridge to rest while I waited for the oven to heat up.
“Here goes nothing,” I said to the pot of potatoes as I turned the burner on.
“What?” she called through the door after I knocked.
“Just wanted to let you know I’m making dinner; it’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”
I hate long pauses.
Assuming she was ignoring me, I turned to walk away. Before I lifted my foot, I heard, “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.”
It was a small victory, but I’d take it.