Chapter 31
31
BEVERLY, 1999
17 years old
Dinner was a disaster waiting to happen.
Mom had made mashed potatoes and green beans—one of my favorites. But my appetite disappeared before I even picked up my fork. Mom was tired today; I could tell by the way she held her utensils—loosely, as if even lifting it took effort. She wasn’t eating, just cutting her chicken into tiny, perfect cubes that never made it to her lips.
Dad was filling the silence with meaningless small talk, like he thought if he spoke enough, no one would notice how little she ate. He rambled about how the neighbors had painted their fence a shocking shade of pink, shaking his head like it was the most scandalous thing to happen on our street. Then he moved on to Mrs. Thompson’s cat, who had gone missing for three days before finally turning up in her garage, as if the cat’s grand return was somehow crucial dinner conversation.
Blake was silent as usual, staring at his plate, his jaw working like he was grinding down all the words he refused to say.
Not surprising.
What was surprising was that he even showed up for dinner.
I dropped my fork, trying to ignore the way his presence crawled under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch. “I’m done. Can I be excused?”
Dad glanced at my plate. “You’ve barely touched your food,” he noted, his voice laced with concern that felt more oppressive than comforting.
I shrugged, pushing the plate away. “Not hungry.”
Blake’s fork scraped loudly against his plate, a grating sound that made me cringe. It was the only sign that he was listening.
I regretted my words when I saw Mom’s worried glance.
She tilted her head, looking at me with those soft, blue eyes. “Are you feeling alright, honey?”
“Just tired, that’s all,” I murmured, reaching for my glass of water to have something to do with my hands.
She studied me for a moment. “You’ve been busy lately.”
Busy was an understatement. Between school, work, and dance, I had little time to breathe, let alone participate in dinners that felt more like interrogations. But staying busy was the only way I knew to cope—anything to keep my body moving, my hands occupied, and my mind off the things I couldn’t control.
Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin, glancing between me and Blake before clearing his throat. “Tomorrow we’re planning to visit your aunt. She hasn’t seen you in a while, and your cousins have been asking about you. It’d be nice if you could join us.”
A few weeks ago, I’d have jumped at the chance. I’d have welcomed such a distraction. I’d have needed to be there, to soak in the normalcy of it.
But I had already made plans.
“I can’t,” I said carefully. “I’ve got plans.”
“Plans?” Dad echoed, his eyebrows lifting in curiosity.
“A…date,” I added.
I felt the air shift, as if I had just tossed a grenade in the middle of the table. The weight of Blake’s gaze pressed against the side of my face, but I refused to look at him.
“A date?” Dad’s tone was flat but laced with disbelief.
Nodding, I took a measured sip of my water, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. “Yeah,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, though I knew everyone at the table heard it.
“With who?” Mom asked with a smile, her curiosity piqued.
“Reese.”
Dad set his napkin down and leaned forward. “Reese, huh?” He frowned, his face scrunching up as if the name left a bad taste in his mouth. “And how well do you know this Reese?”
“Well enough to go out with him,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. “I met him at work?—”
“Met him at work,” he echoed, unimpressed. “And you think that’s good enough?”
A sigh escaped me. “I don’t need a résumé, Dad. I’m going on a date, not hiring an employee.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “You know how I feel about boys you meet at work.”
“Dad, come on,” I groaned. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You work at a movie theater, Beverly. That’s not exactly a breeding ground for fine young men.”
“Dad—”
Ignoring my protest, he turned his attention to Blake, who had been silent up to this point. “Blake, do you know this boy?”
Blake set his fork down and rolled his neck with a crack . “Yes.”
“And? What’s he like? Is he good enough for our Beverly?"
My head whipped toward Blake.
His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and…
My stomach dropped. No. No, no, no, no.
I shook my head slightly, warning him. Don’t you dare.
He gripped his fork like he was debating throwing it.
Don’t do this , I willed him with my eyes.
Without a hint of regret, he delivered the blow. “No, he’s not.”
My mouth fell open in disbelief.
Dad nodded, as if Blake’s words were all he needed to hear. “Then you’re not seeing him.”
I laughed, but it sounded empty. “ Dad , Reese is?—”
“If Blake says he’s no good, then he’s no good.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I was seething now, my restraint crumbling under the weight of the unfairness. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Dad gave me a look that was meant to be calming but only fueled my frustration. “I trust Blake’s judgment.”
I stared at him, incredulous.
My fingers curled into fists under the table.
He shot me another look, one that said, This is final, Beverly.
“What gives him the right?” I snapped, gesturing at Blake.
“Blake has a good head on his shoulders?—”
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” I cut in, my voice rising with each word. “That doesn’t mean he gets to decide who I go out with.”
Dad’s expression hardened. “You don’t even know this boy.”
“Oh, and Blake does?” I shot back.
Mom let out a sigh, the kind that said, We know better than you . “Blake has good instincts about people, Beverly.”
I scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”
“Language,” she chided, but I was beyond caring.
“You don’t get to do that,” I snapped, fixing Blake with a glare. “You don’t get to make this decision for me.”
He leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully blank. “Then make a better one.”
For a second, I considered throwing my glass of water in his face. The image of it—the stunned look on his face—was almost enough to calm me, but I knew better; it wouldn’t do anything.
He’d probably just stare at me and go on like nothing had happened, his blank expression never changing.
I shoved my chair back so quickly it scraped against the floor. “Unbelievable.”
Mom sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re overreacting.”
“Are you not listening?” I gestured wildly between all of them. “He doesn’t even know Reese! You’re letting him make decisions about my life like I’m incapable of thinking for myself.”
Dad’s look of warning did nothing to quell my irritation.
I turned to Blake, my fists clenching at my sides as my hands shook with anger. “Say something,” I hissed. “Explain yourself.”
Nothing.
I hated the way he looked so calm, so unaffected, as if he hadn’t just ruined the one thing I had left for myself.
Frustration boiling over, I slammed my hand on the table, making the silverware jump. “Blake!”
He didn’t look at me. Like I wasn’t even there.
“Beverly,” Dad warned.
“No, don’t ‘Beverly’ me. I’m going on that date tomorrow whether you like it or not.” My entire body was shaking. I shoved away from the table, standing so fast my chair nearly toppled over. “I’ll go out with whoever the hell I want.”
I turned on my heel and stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Dad calling after me and the sound of my heartbeat pounding against my skull.
“Work out whatever is going on between you two,” Dad bellowed. “I’m tired of you both fighting and giving each other the silent treatment. One day, when your mother and I are gone, all you’ll have will be each other. So, for the love of God, grow up. You’re practically adults now.”
“Typical sibling stuff,” Mom assured him. “They’ll move on.”
Sibling stuff. The words made my skin crawl. I didn’t hide the shudder I felt deep in my bones. Even my eye twitched.
Stomping into my room, I slammed the door with enough force to make the frame shake. I pressed my back against the wood, my chest rising and falling too quickly, my throat burning with all the things I wanted to scream but couldn’t.
Blake had no right. He had spent five months pretending I didn’t exist. Five months refusing to look at me, refusing to talk to me, refusing to be mine . But the second someone else wanted me? The second I tried to move on? Now he cared?
I laughed; a sound that was half sob, half something broken.
I should have expected it.
Blake didn’t want me. But God forbid anyone else did.
Before I had a chance to catch my breath, I heard footsteps approaching. Blake shoved the door open before I could stop him, stepping inside with a confidence that made my blood boil.
“You want me angry?” I snapped at him.
He slammed the door behind him, as if he belonged here. “For thinking you could go out with someone like Reese Carter? Yeah,” he hissed. “I want you angry. I want you as angry as I feel.”
I had never seen Blake truly angry before. It was almost a relief to know he was capable of it—that he wasn’t always so composed, so perfectly in control of his own emotions.
I laughed in his face. “Oh, so now you feel something? That’s funny, considering you’ve spent the last five months pretending I don’t exist. You don’t have any right to be angry. You don’t get to ruin this for me! What you did was wrong . Reese is not a bad guy.”
“But he’s not for you.”
“How would you know?”
“Because he’s not me.”
The words slammed into me like a fist to the ribs, leaving me momentarily breathless. And Blake? He didn’t even look the slightest bit regretful for what he had just said.
He just stood there, looking at me as if he had every right to say those words, to make those claims.
Because he’s not me.
A hollow ache settled deep in my chest, spreading like a sickness. I swallowed hard, but it did nothing to ease the weight of the last five months pressing down on me like a loaded gun.
I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Thank God.”
Blake’s expression cracked just long enough for me to see it—the flicker of something he’d tried so hard to bury.
Fed up with it all, I pointed at the door. “Get out.”
He didn’t move.
“Blake.” My voice wavered. “I said, get out.”
His jaw clenched, and his fists flexed at his sides.
“Is that all you do these days? Clench your jaw and ruin my life?” I asked, my voice dripping with contempt. “Get out. Now.”
He hesitated, his eyes narrowing as if debating whether to fight me on it. But then his shoulders sagged slightly, and he exhaled a sharp breath before stepping back.
His expression became blank again. He turned and walked out without another word, the door swinging shut behind him.
I locked it for good measure.
I barely made it to the bathroom sink before my breaths became shaky, before my reflection stared back at me with wide, glassy eyes, before I realized I was still trembling, still heartbroken.
Before I realized that, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I wanted to believe the words ‘Thank God’ that had just left my mouth, they weren’t true.