CHAPTER 33
BLAIRE
T he silence in the room was suffocating.
Colt’s arm was slung possessively across my waist, his hand curled loosely around my hip, as if some subconscious part of him knew I was already half gone. As if his sleeping body was already preparing for the goodbye his waking mind couldn’t yet face.
I couldn’t stay in here. Not with the taste of all those secrets crushing around me.
I rested my hand over his fingers, just for moment, a small surrender to this man I’d always loved.
My thumb traced the callus on his palm, the same roughness I’d memorized as a teenager, and something in me wanted to crawl against his chest and pretend I hadn’t heard a word.
A quiet restlessness settled over me, a flutter beneath my ribs that wouldn’t ease. I counted my breaths—in for four, hold for seven, out for eight—the way my mother had taught me during thunderstorms. It didn’t help. The thoughts kept coming, soft but insistent, like rain against a window.
I slipped out from under the covers. The loss of his warmth hollowed me, a quiet ache spreading beneath my skin.
Goosebumps rose where his body had pressed against mine, as if each inch of me remembered and longed for his heat.
I rose on trembling legs, wincing at the whispered protest of the mattress, my fingers seeking blindly for something to cover the chill that had settled into my bones.
I reached for his sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and pulled it over my head, drowning in fabric that carried the scent of him.
The floorboards creaked softly under each hesitant step as I crossed the room, my bare feet padding against the cold wood.
My chest ached with something that felt like grief, and I pressed my palm flat against my sternum, feeling its wild rhythm beneath my fingertips.
Phone clutched in my hand, I eased into the hallway, pulling the door shut with barely a whisper. The screen’s harsh glow made me wince. 4:32 a.m. Not even the sun was up. The world outside was covered in mist.
I knew I should step outside into the morning air, clear my head, and try to catch my breath.
Instead, my feet betrayed me, carrying me down the hallway toward Ruby’s room.
A thin sliver of her nightlight spilled from the cracked door onto the hallway floor.
I paused, my fingers hovering against the wood, before easing it open and slipping inside.
Ruby lay sprawled across her mattress, arms and legs flung outward as if she’d fallen from the sky into her pile of stuffed animals. We hadn’t even changed out of yesterday’s clothes, and the memory of her excited face at the fair tugged at my lips.
As I approached her bed, something on the floor caught my eye. It was the drawing Colt had carefully stepped over last night, and three stick figures hand-in-hand beneath a crooked sun.
Colt, Ruby, and me.
A small sob escaped my lips before I could stop it, and I bent down and clutched the drawing in my hand.
My fingers traced the crayon lines, pressing so hard the paper crinkled at the edges.
This family, these three stick figures, was everything I’d dreamed of for as long as I could remember.
They stared back at me impossibly simple and devastatingly complicated all at once.
I pressed it against my chest where my heart thrashed like a wild animal.
My fingers clamped around the edges of the paper until it shook. I wanted to rip it, to tear through the fragile hope it forced in my chest, but my hands were too unsteady and my vision blurred as tears fell down my cheeks.
Of course this was what I wanted. I wanted a family, a place to belong, something that could never be taken away, but every time I reached for it, it seemed to slip from my fingers.
What if I wasn’t enough for any of this?
“Blaire?”
I spun around, clutching the drawing against my chest like I’d been caught stealing. Ruby sat up in bed, one hand rubbing her eyes, the other clutching her stuffed rabbit by its ear.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” I whispered, my voice catching. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She blinked at me, her eyes huge and solemn in the dim light. There was a pink flush on her cheeks, sleep-warm and soft, and the tangle of her dark hair reminded me so much of Colt it made something sharp twist in my chest.
“Why’re you sad?” she whispered, voice rough with sleep. She hugged her rabbit tighter, gaze flicking between the drawing I still pressed to my heart and my face, like she couldn’t decide which was more important.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Part of me wanted to gather my things and slip away before dawn, before anyone could stop me. Another part wanted to crawl into that little bed and promise I’d never leave. “I’m just—” My voice cracked. “I’m not having a very brave day.”
“I have those too.” Ruby climbed down from her bed and clutched my hand in hers. Her small fingers felt both like an anchor and a trap. She tugged me forward, and I followed.
“Come on.” She slid into her little canopy tent, and I hesitated at its entrance, before I slipped inside behind her.
Inside the tent, everything was muffled and shadowed, a world apart from everything outside. We sat cross-legged on the quilted floor, knees knocking, our faces almost touching in the cramped space.
She stared at me with an unblinking gravity that made me want to look away. “Is this what you do in here?” I asked, an unsteady laugh breaking out of my throat.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Sometimes I just sit with my stuffs.” She pointed to the pile of stuffed animals that took up half the tent. “Sometimes I just play in here until I can be brave again.”
I pressed my knuckles to my mouth, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. “Does it work?”
“Not always.” She shrugged. “That’s why I need my brave berry.”
I blinked at her. “Brave berry?”
She clambered up onto her knees and shuffled past a barricade of plush animals to the very back of the tent, where the shadow was thickest. I watched her fumble around, arms disappearing into a nest of mismatched pillows, and when they emerged again, her hands were clutching a tiny pink jewelry box.
“My daddy gave me this when my mama left.”
The words landed between us with a weight I physically felt in my stomach. Five years old, and she’d already learned who stayed and those who didn’t.
Ruby fumbled with the clasp of the jewelry box, a small tongue of concentration poking from the corner of her mouth. “He lets me put it on whenever I need help feeling brave.” She looked up at me, seriousness radiating from every pore. “Maybe you can try?”
She pushed the jewelry box into my hands. I wasn’t ready, but I opened the little lid anyway. Inside, nestled on a velvet pillow, was a thin gold chain. I dug my fingernail under the clasp and lifted it, uncertain and trembling. There, dangling at the end, was a small, gold strawberry charm.
My heart stuttered, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
I held it up, the charm swinging gently between us, and I stared at the necklace I’d thrown back at Colt over ten years ago. The very necklace that gave him that little scar on his jaw.
“Daddy said it belonged to the bravest girl he ever knew. He said when I need it, I can put it on and borrow some of her brave.”
The ache in my chest expanded, pressing against my ribs, pushing up behind my eyes. I tried to breathe around it, but it was like swallowing a stone. The charm was warm in my palm, and I realized I was shaking.
Ruby plucked the chain from my grip with delicate fingers. “I’ll put it on you.” She leaned forward, tiny tongue sticking out in concentration again, and fastened it around my neck. Her hands were cool and sure. The gold strawberry settled against my throat like a brand.
“There,” she said. “Now you can be brave, too.”
I pressed my fingers to the charm, staring down at it as if it were a fragment of another life. I could smell Colt in the cotton of the sweatshirt I still wore, and I wondered how many times he’d held this necklace, how long he’d kept it hidden away.
“Do you feel braver?” The question was so earnest, so impossibly gentle, it nearly undid me
I looked into her big blue eyes, this little girl who I loved so much, and the bravery I felt had nothing to do with the piece of metal around my neck.
My fingers closed around the little strawberry pendant, feeling its fragile weight press into my palm. It was an absurd thing, really, to believe that courage could be conjured by a scrap of gold, but when Ruby’s eyes fixed on me with that searching, loyal faith, I could almost pretend it was true.
I wanted to answer her with something grand, something worthy of the moment, but the truth was, there were no grand words left in me.
I was emptied out, scraped raw by the night and by all the secrets that had come tumbling loose hours before.
What I had left was the warmth of her, the steady hush of her breathing, and a memory of Colt’s hands on my skin, anchoring me to a future I’d been too afraid to name.
“I do,” I whispered, before I drew her into my lap and wrapped my arms around her, burying my face in her tangle of hair. She was so small, so impossibly light, and yet the gravity of her was what made me pull out my cell phone and click on my father’s name.
There were so many unread messages, and the familiar suffocation of expectation and obligation clawed at me.
“What are you doing?” Ruby asked as she looked down at my phone.
“Borrowing some of this bravery.” I kissed the top of her head and looked at the very last message from my father.
Senator Monroe: My patience is wearing thin, Blaire. Do you really want to handle this the hard way?
I stared at my father’s message until the words blurred.
Every cutting remark, every backhanded compliment, every disappointed sigh he’d ever aimed at me seemed to echo from that glowing screen.
Then I looked up at Ruby’s trusting face, her small fingers still touching the brave berry at my throat, and something hardened inside me.
Blaire: I know what you did to Colt and to June. I’m never coming back, dad.
Blaire: Willow Grove is my home.