Chapter 15 - Blair
Momentum is a hell of a drug.
It feels like champagne bubbles in my veins, fizzy and light. For the first time in months, treading water isn't the only option. I’m actually starting to swim.
My beat-up sedan pulls out of the gravel driveway of the boutique owner’s lakeside cottage, tires crunching on the snow-packed road. Three new clients in one week. Three contracts signed. Three deposits hitting my bank account—the new one Ryder can’t touch.
It’s not millions. It’s not even thousands. But it’s mine.
I earned it.
Gabriel wasn't needed to smooth the way. His name and connections stayed out of it, unless you count the whole working for the Savage Society thing, which I don’t because it hasn’t happened yet.
No, this happened with a pitch deck, a smile, and the sheer, stubborn refusal to let my life fully implode.
The drive back to Gabriel’s place is scenic, the kind of view people pay to put on postcards. The road winds around Crescent Lake, hugging the shoreline and lined with snow-dusted pines. Snow starts to fall, fat white flakes drifting down from a slate-gray sky, settling on the windshield.
I hum along to Last Christmas before turning it up and singing it full out because why the hell not?
Making this work is the only option. Rebuilding the business, paying off debts, and figuring out what the hell is happening between me and Gabriel Hollis without drowning in his shadow.
I glance in the rearview mirror and notice a car coming up fast behind me.
Too fast.
My foot eases off the gas to let them pass. The road is narrow here, a two-lane strip of asphalt with a steep drop-off to the lake on one side and the forest on the other.
The car doesn't pass, though.
It rides my bumper, so close the headlights are obscured, leaving only the dark grill of a luxury sedan visible. But out here it could belong to literally anyone. My car’s the one that stands out in Emerald Hills.
"Asshole," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
Speeding up seems like the safest bet even with the treacherous slick surface of the road, trying to put distance between us. As soon as I press down on the gas, the car behind me speeds up, too.
It’s aggressive as hell and unease pricks at the back of my neck.
Another check of the mirror shows the car swerving slightly, trying to intimidate me or get me to move toward one side of the road or the other.
It’s a black BMW.
My racing pulse stutters.
That car is familiar. The dent in the front bumper from hitting a parking bollard at the club a month ago is unmistakable.
Ryder.
My pulse spikes and a cold sweat breaks out across my entire body. Adrenaline floods my veins as I try to figure out what the hell I should do.
"What are you up to?" I whisper, eyes darting between the road ahead and the mirror.
He accelerates. The engine of his car revs, a deep, angry sound drowning out the radio. He pulls into the oncoming lane, pulling alongside me.
To my left, Ryder glares right at me.
But then his face breaks into a grin, like he’s enjoying every second of my terror. Bloodshot, wild eyes meet mine. He looks drunk. Unhinged.
"Ryder!" I scream, though the glass blocks the sound. "Stop!"
He doesn't stop.
He jerks the wheel to the right as I try to hit the brakes and let him pass, but I react a second too late.
Metal screeches against metal as his car slams into the side of mine.
The impact is violent. My teeth jar together, snapping my head to the side. My car slides toward the shoulder, toward the drop-off.
A scream rips from my throat as I fight the wheel, trying to correct but the ground is icy and unforgiving.
"No, no, no!"
He hits me again, harder this time and my muscles ache from trying to keep my car from catapulting off the road and into the lake.
He’s trying to kill me.
My ex-boyfriend wants me to die and I don’t understand what the hell I ever did to him.
My tires hit a patch of ice.
The world tilts.
Any semblance of control I had vanishes as fast as the snowflakes melting against my windshield. The steering wheel spins uselessly in my hands. The car slides sideways, the scenery blurring into a kaleidoscope of gray sky, white snow, and dark trees.
The guardrail gets closer and closer with every frantic beat of my heart as my leg shakes with the effort to press the brake pedal into the floor.
Bracing myself is the only thing left to do, so I squeeze my eyes shut.
And I see Gabriel.
God, what’s he going to do if I die here?
My chest aches with the thought of him getting this news, the devastation on his handsome face.
The impact is deafening.
Glass shatters. Metal crumples. The seatbelt locks across my chest as my body is thrown forward and it feels like getting slammed into a metal pole. Pain explodes in my head, my shoulder, my ribs.
The car spins, tumbling, rolling.
And then…
The world goes black.
Ugh, I hate alarm clocks.
The constant beeping is so annoying. I need to turn it off and go back to sleep, but I can’t seem to get my limbs to move to do it.
But then I notice the smell.
My nose wrinkles with the scent of antiseptic and weirdly a hint of old cooked carrots.
Hospital.
The word floats through the fog of sleep, ripping me straight out of unconsciousness.
My eyelids try to open, but it feels like they weigh a thousand pounds. When I do eventually get them to crack open, the light is blinding. I slam them shut again, breathing through the feeling of an ice pick hammering at my brain.
Eventually I try again, blinking until the room comes into focus. It helps that someone seems to have turned the lights down so it’s less stabby in my brain.
Trying to move forces another groan from my throat. Everything hurts. My head feels like it’s been split open with an axe. My chest aches with every breath.
"Blair."
The voice comes from the left. It’s low and rough and achingly familiar.
Turning my head takes every bit of strength I’ve got and my whole body trembles with the effort.
Gabriel sits in a chair beside the bed gripping one of my hands in his. How did I not feel that until now?
He looks... wrecked.
His suit is wrinkled. Tie gone. Hair a mess, like his hands have been running through it for hours. But his eyes are the scary part.
They’re wild and terrified and burning.
I’ve never seen Gabriel Hollis afraid of anything. It didn't seem possible. But right now, looking at me, he looks like a man who just watched his world crumble at his feet while he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
His grip tightens until it’s almost painful, but I’d never ask him to let go.
"Gabriel?" My voice sounds horrible as his name croaks out. My throat’s dry and rough like sandpaper.
"I'm here," he says, leaning forward. He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. His stubble is rough as his lips tremble against my skin. "I'm right here, baby."
"What... what happened?"
"Ryder," he says. The name comes out as a snarl. "He ran you off the road."
That’s when the memory crashes back in. The black BMW. The unhinged look on Ryder’s face. The screech of metal.
A shudder racks my body. "He wanted to kill me."
"But he didn’t," Gabriel says darkly. "And he’ll never get close enough to try again."
"How long have I been out?"
"About twelve hours," he says. "You have a concussion. Some bruised ribs. A lot of cuts and bruises."
"How did you get in here?" I ask, brain still sluggish. "Don’t they only let family in?”
Gabriel hesitates. His jaw tightens.
Before he can answer, the door opens.
A nurse walks in, checking a chart. A smile appears when she sees I’m awake.
"Oh, good! You're back with us," she says. She moves to the monitors, checking the readouts. "Your vitals are looking much better, Mrs. Hollis."
I know my brain’s fuzzy, but what did she just call me?
Mrs. Hollis?
The world stops.
The beeping of the monitor seems to slow down, each sound echoing in the silence of my mind.
Mrs. Hollis.
Staring at the nurse is the only reaction available. "What did you call me?"
"Mrs. Hollis," she repeats, frowning at me like she’s wondering if I have amnesia or a worse head injury than they thought. She glances at Gabriel. "Your husband’s been very worried. He hasn't left your side."
Husband.
My head turns slowly to look at Gabriel.
I ignore the way my head throbs and the room spins with the movement. I ignore the ache in my ribs while the beeping monitor speeds up with the rate of my heart.
Gabriel’s not looking at the nurse. He’s looking right at me. His face is stone again, the fear replaced by a hard, unyielding resolve.
He doesn't deny it.
"The doctor will be in shortly to discuss your discharge plan and go over the ultrasound results for the baby," the nurse continues, oblivious to the second bomb she just dropped that I don’t even know how to begin to process.
"Everything looks fine, but we want to be careful with a pregnancy this early. "
The fucking baby.
All the air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room and I can’t seem to get any into my lungs.
The nurse bustles out, ignoring my panic and leaving us alone in the suffocating silence.
Well, except for the fucking beeping that won’t stop. I reach up with a shaking hand and rip all the sticky leads off my skin and the beeping finally turns into a flatline but I don’t give a crap.
My gaze snaps to the man I’ve been sleeping with, the man I’ve been trusting, the man I thought was helping me rebuild my life.
The man I’ve somehow become completely obsessed with and dependent on, like air or water or food. He’s necessary to my survival now, and even if he’s done what I think he’s done… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to exorcise the parts of him that’ve taken root inside of me.
"What did she say?" I whisper.
"Blair—"
"She called me your wife," I say, voice rising as the words scrape along my dry throat. "And there’s a baby? Why did she say those things, Gabriel?"