22. Blair
22
BLAIR
I arch my back, gasping as his hands roam over my heated skin. Our bodies move in perfect synchronicity, sweat-slicked and desperate. His lips find my neck, sending shivers down my spine as I dig my nails into his shoulders. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter until?—
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I jolt awake, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. Blinking rapidly, I try to shake off the lingering fragments of the intensely vivid dream. The sun's barely peeking through the curtains, but I'm already wide awake, my skin still tingling with phantom sensations. It's been too long since I had sex. That's all this is. It's not about Ransom. We never went that far. We didn't have sex. We never actually got close. There was just a lot of making out and very heavy petting.
I knew what he felt like in my hand, but I never got to see him.
Feeling slightly flustered, I stretch and groan out the last echoes of sleep. Finally, I slide out of bed and pad to the kitchen in my pajamas. "Can you—" my question dies in my throat when I register the emptiness. No Maggie, no coffee brewing.
Just silence.
My stomach drops. This isn't like her. She's always up before me, enjoying her quiet time before Max wakes up and the day gets crazy.
Before I realise it, I’m up the stairs and outside her bedroom door, my hand hovering over the knob. I'm terrified to go in. What if... No. I can't even think it. I'm not ready. We're not ready.
My mind drifts to last night, to my talk with Ransom. The peace that washed over me when I finally forgave him. It feels like I've just cleared my head, like I can finally breathe again. Maggie can't be gone. Not now. Not when I've just found some semblance of peace.
"Come on, Blair," I whisper to myself, barely audible. "Everything's fine. Maggie's probably just sleeping in. She needs her rest, that's all." I swallow hard, trying to quiet the nagging doubt in the pit of my stomach. "You're overreacting. She's okay. She has to be okay."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. My knuckles rap softly against the door. No answer. I push it open, wincing at the slight creak.
Maggie's curled up in bed, a lump under the covers. I tiptoe closer, my heart in my throat. Leaning down, I strain to hear her breathing, to see any sign of movement.
Suddenly, Maggie's eyes fly open. She screams, her arms flailing.
I do what anybody would, and scream too, stumbling backward. My hip slams into the dresser, sending a vase tumbling to the floor.
"Blair! What the hell?" Maggie shrieks, clutching her chest.
"Jesus Christ, Maggie!" I gasp, one hand pressed against my racing heart, the other rubbing my hip. That's going to leave a bruise . "I thought you were dead!"
"Well, I nearly was! You scared the life out of me!"
We stare at each other for a moment, both panting, then burst into laughter.
"Oh god," I wheeze, sliding down to sit on the floor. "I almost peed my pants."
Maggie wipes tears from her eyes, still snorting. "Almost? I did. Fucking pregnancy destroyed my bladder. God, the indignity!" she rails, waving her fist up at the ceiling. "What were you doing, anyway? Trying to check if I was still breathing?"
I nod, sheepishly. "You weren't in the kitchen. I got worried."
Maggie's face softens. "Oh, Blair. I'm sorry. I was just tired and slept in a bit."
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have?—"
"Stop," Maggie cuts me off. "It's okay. Now, get out of here and let me get dressed." She throws back the covers. "Hey, let's go to the coffee shop after I drop Max at school. You can buy me a coffee to make up for almost scaring me to death."
"You're so fucking cheap." It's a fact. She loves that coffee shop, but even though the coffees aren't city prices, they cost a fuck of a lot more than making coffee at home. Me? I go there almost every day. The garage doesn't make much money, but I have more than I need to get by. Even paying half the bills at Maggie's, I have plenty left over. So I buy fancy coffees and put too much money into Dad's truck. There's always something that needs fixing. And getting parts for a '59 F-100 isn't easy.
She sniffs at me. "I'm frugal. It's different."
"Fine, I'll take you out for coffee." I put the colorful plastic vase back on the dresser. Maybe I should get her some flowers to go in it. Or better yet, a plant. Something she can watch grow.
Except she's killed every other plant she's owned.
Maybe a cactus?
I leave the room to Maggie's muttering. I catch 'muffin' and 'bitch' as I shut the door. She's a little salty this morning, and I'm so relieved, my knees feel a little wobbly.
She’s okay, for today at least.
And around here, we’re taking it one day at a time.
I stare at the door across from Maggie's, covered in Max's bizarre artwork and crayon scribbles. It's like a Jackson Pollock painting threw up on a kindergarten craft project.
"Max!" I pound on the door. "Time to get up, you little gremlin!"
Silence.
I crack the door open. "I'm coming in. Hope you're decent." I didn't know that stripping in your sleep was a thing, but Max has a hard time keeping his pajamas on and the covers on him.
Thankfully, this morning he's buried under a mountain of blankets, only a tuft of hair visible. I dig around for his feet and yank. "Rise and shine, monster!"
He shrieks with laughter as I drag him out, his little body wriggling like a fish on a line. "Son of a bitch, Blair!" he exclaims, his voice pitched high with glee.
That sets me off. Any kid swearing, any time, I'm laughing. How can you not? It helps that I'm not the parent and I don't have to worry about manners and shit. Being the fun aunt is, well, fun. It's all the perks of hanging out with kids without the responsibility of raising them.
"Language, you little jerk," I scold playfully, my fingers finding his ticklish spots easily. I tickle his feet mercilessly, and he squirms away, his laughter echoing off the walls. Finally, he tumbles onto the floor, snorting with laughter, his pajamas twisted around his small frame.
My chest gets tight as I watch Max giggle uncontrollably. These moments of pure joy are precious, especially now. Maggie's illness has cast a long shadow over this household, and I know it's been particularly hard on Max. He's too young to fully understand, but kids are perceptive—they pick up on the worry, the hushed conversations, the change in atmosphere.
That's why I've been doubling down on the fun aunt routine lately. Every laugh, every smile I can coax out of him feels like a small victory against the loss that's coming for all of us. It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but if I can give Max these little pockets of happiness, these moments where he can just be a carefree kid, then maybe, just maybe, it'll help him weather the storm that's coming.
Max squirms away, giggling. "Okay, okay! I'm up!"
"Good. Now get on my back, you koala. We've got breakfast to conquer."
He scrambles onto my back, wrapping his arms around my neck. "Onward, noble steed!"
I snort. "I'm not a horse, you little weirdo."
"Then why do you neigh?"
"I don't neigh?—"
"Neigh!"
I roll my eyes. "Fine. Neigh."
We clomp to the kitchen, Max bouncing on my back. I dump him unceremoniously into a chair.
"What's for breakfast?" he asks, swinging his legs.
"How about cereal?"
"Boring," he groans dramatically. "Mrs. Thompson brought us a pie. There's still some left. I'll eat that."
"You can't eat pie for breakfast."
"Why not? It's got fruit."
"Not a bad point." I pull out the pie, cut him a chunk, then pour a glass of milk and pop it in front of him. "There. Breakfast is served."
He cackles and digs in. "You're my favorite aunt."
"I'm flattered. Now hurry up before your mom sees. If she asks, what are you going to tell her?"
"Aunt Blair fed me a nutritious breakfast with all four food groups."
This kid. "Four food groups, huh? Can you name them, the four groups?" He stares at me blankly, then shovels another forkful of pie into his mouth.
"That's what I thought. Maybe just say you had breakfast and leave it at that?"
"You got it, lady," he shouts through the mouthful of pie. There's a look in his eye I don't like. Little shit's going to rat me out, I know it.
We stroll down Main Street, the morning sun warming our faces. Maggie's arm is linked through mine, our steps in sync after years of friendship.
"So," Maggie says, a mischievous glint in her eye. "A little birdie told me Max had pie for breakfast."
I groan. "That little rat. I knew he'd snitch."
"It has fruit," Maggie mimics in a high-pitched voice, laughing. "That's bullshit."
"You've got to admit, the kid's not wrong."
Maggie rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond. "You're a terrible influence, Blair McKenna."
"You love me anyway," I tease, bumping her shoulder.
"God help me, I do," she sighs dramatically.
We wave at Mrs. Peterson watering her flowers. "Morning, ladies!" she calls out. "Maggie, how are you feeling today?"
"Oh, you know," Maggie replies with a shrug. "Some days are better than others. Today's not too bad."
Mrs. Peterson nods sympathetically. "Well, you just let me know if you need anything, dear."
"Will do, thanks!"
As we continue walking, Maggie's grip on my arm tightens slightly. "So, speaking of things I need to know about," she says, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "How are you feeling about the whole Ransom thing?"
I sigh, knowing I can't avoid this conversation. "He's still in town. Or at least, he was yesterday."
Maggie's eyebrows shoot up. "Holy Jesus. I thought he left. What happened? How did you find out?"
"He came by the shop yesterday," I admit. "And then we talked after work."
"Blair McKenna!" Maggie stops in her tracks, tugging me to a halt. "You better spill all the details right now."
I laugh, shaking my head. "There's not much to tell, honestly. We talked, I forgave him."
"You forgave him?" Maggie's eyes widen. "Just like that? You? The woman who literally spat every time someone said his name for the decade after he left?"
I forgot about that. Apparently, I wasn't as good at hiding my emotions as I thought I was. "I had a lot of feelings to process."
"A lot of feelings is a big fucking understatement, Blair."
"Alright! Fine. But…it was time to let it go. I don't have the headspace for it anymore, Mags. I have to let the anger go, so I have room for everything else."
Her eyes get glassy, and she looks down the street, blinking. She knows exactly what I mean when I say 'everything else.' Finally, she sniffs and turns back to me. "So you talked. Give me the details. Don't leave any of the good stuff out. My love life is non-existent, and I’m living vicariously through you."
I give her the details she asked for, but I don't tell her how it felt to sit next to Ransom. Not close enough to feel the heat of his body, but close enough to feel like a woman. It sounds dumb, but for me, it's a fact. Most of the time, I'm as big or bigger than the men I interact with on a daily basis. There are a few exceptions, like Matt and Adam.
Ransom's so much wider through the shoulders than he used to be. So much taller. And his face looks lived in. Ransom at fifteen was hot. Ransom at forty is devastating. "He's got a good life now, Mags. He built a family for himself. And I have a family too." I give the hand on my arm a little squeeze. "It was time to let go of all that old anger."
We start walking again, pausing to let Mr. Granger cross the street with his ancient basset hound.
"Morning, girls," he wheezes. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Sure is, Mr. Granger," I reply with a smile. "How's Buster doing?"
"Oh, same as always. Stubborn as a mule, but loyal as they come."
We watch them amble away before Maggie turns back to me. "So, what happens now? With Ransom, I mean."
I shrug. "Nothing, I guess. I don't think he'll be back again. He seemed to finally understand that I'm happy here and I'm not selling the garage. Ever."
Maggie studies my face, her expression thoughtful. "And you're okay with that? Him just... leaving again?"
"Yeah, I am," I say, surprised to find I mean it. "It's for the best, really."
We're approaching the coffee shop now, the smell of fresh-roasted beans wafting out to greet us. Just before we reach the door, Maggie stops me.
"You know I'm here if you need to talk more about this, right?" she says softly.
I squeeze her hand. "I know, Mags. Thank you. I’m good."
She nods, seemingly satisfied, and we pull open the door to the coffee shop.
And run right into Ransom's very large, muscular back.