40. Ransom
40
RANSOM
I guide Blair and Max through the doorway of my penthouse, my hand hovering at the small of Blair's back without quite touching. She's been so breakable today, in a way I've never seen before. Almost like one more kind touch might shatter her.
Max shuffles toward the pile of toys Mia left scattered across the living room floor, his movements slow and uncertain. He's so fucking young. Too young to have to deal with this.
Blair watches him for a second, then drifts to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. The rigid line of her shoulders breaks my heart. I want to go to her, pull her into my arms, but I don’t know what she needs right now. The helplessness claws at my chest—I can fix almost anything else, but I can't fix this for her.
Yet having her here, in my space, feels right in a way I can't explain. Like puzzle pieces clicking into place. Even with the weight of everything that's happened today, something inside me settles just knowing she's here.
The door opens, and Colton and Mia enter. She runs straight for me, throwing her arms around my legs. I scoop her up, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo and sugar.
"Uncle Ranny," she whispers against my neck, eyes locked on the living room and the little boy slumped there. "Is Max sad?"
I stroke her dark curls. "His mommy's sick, princess. That's pretty hard on a kid."
"I could be his friend." Mia pulls back to look at me with those big earnest eyes. "I'm good at being friends."
"You're the best at being friends, sweetheart." My chest swells with love for this tiny person and her huge heart. "Why don't you go spend some time with him?"
She nods, and I put her down. Mia's all bounce and joy, but she seems to feel the weight of what's happening too and approaches slowly instead. She drops to her knees next to Max and reaches for another toy car. I can't hear what she says to him, but he nods, and they move to their stomachs.
I watch Mia with Max, my throat tight. "You're so fucking lucky, man. She's got such a good heart."
Colton leans against the wall next to me, his eyes soft as he watches his daughter. "Sometimes I think she's wiser than all of us put together. The way she just... gets people, you know? Their hurt, their joy. She feels it all."
"Yeah." I drag a hand down my face, exhausted.
"How're you holding up?"
I frown at him. "Me? I'm fine. Blair and Max are the ones going through hell right now."
"Don't do that." Colton's voice drops lower, intense. "You're their rock right now, brother. You need to keep your head straight if you're going to be there for them."
"I know, I know." I cross my arms, fighting the urge to pace. "It's just... fuck."
"Talk to me."
"Maggie's just... giving up? There has to be something else they can try. Some experimental treatment, some specialist somewhere?—"
"Blair said there wasn't?"
"Says Maggie's made her choice. That she's tired of fighting." My fingers dig into my biceps. "But I can't just accept that. There's gotta be something."
Colton grips my shoulder. "Sometimes loving someone means respecting their choices, even when they tear you apart inside."
"Since when did you get so philosophical?" I try to joke, but it falls flat.
He squeezes my shoulder. "Sometimes the hardest thing is standing back and letting people make their own path."
I give him a look, and he grumbles low in his chest. We both know I'm not big on standing back in anything. "Not my style, brother."
"I know," he says, watching Blair carefully. "But hope can be a fucking awful thing. And your woman over there looks like she can't take much more."
A warmth spreads through my chest at Colton's words. Your woman. The possessive claim hits something primal inside me, makes me want to stride across the room and wrap Blair in my arms. Show everyone she's mine. But she's not. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if I can't get my head straight and focus on what matters.
I lean closer to Colton, dropping my voice to barely a whisper. "I need you to do something for me."
His eyes lock on mine. "Name it."
"Get Maggie’s scans to everyone we know. Specialists, researchers, anyone who might see something others missed. Have Dec hack the hospital records if he has to."
Colton's face doesn’t change. "You sure about that? Maggie might not?—"
"I don't give a fuck what Maggie wants right now." The words come out harsher than intended, but I mean every one of them. "Blair and Max are what matter. If there's even a chance..."
One thick eyebrow raises. "And if we find something? What then? You gonna force treatment on her?"
I watch Blair's silhouette against the window, the way her fingers press against the glass like she's trying to hold herself up. "I don't fucking know. But I can't just sit here doing nothing while Blair falls apart."
"You're playing with fire, brother."
"When haven't I?" My jaw clenches. "Just... make it happen. Quietly."
Colton sighs, but nods. "I'll talk to Dec tonight. Get the ball rolling."
"Thanks." I grip his shoulder, grateful beyond words for this family that always has my back, no questions asked.
"Just remember—sometimes the best way to love someone is to let them make their own choices."
"Yeah?" I meet his eyes. "Well, sometimes the best way to love someone is to fight like hell for them, even when they won't fight for themselves."
"You've done a lot of that," Colton says, something shifting in his eyes. Maybe it's the same thing running through my mind. The memories of him in those fucking underground cage matches. The anger that clung to him like a second skin.
"Yeah, I have. And every time, it was worth it."
Colton's eyes drift to Max and Mia again. "Okay. This is your show, and I'll support you any way I can. But when that woman comes after you with a bat, you're on your own. She looks like she could take a man down with one swing."
"Fair," I slap him gently on the cheek, making him duck away. "I'll bring Mia down later."
"Okay. I'm going to go downstairs and hug my wife. Today was too fucking intense."
Yeah, it was.
I stand rooted in place, watching Mia work her magic with Max. The soft murmur of their voices carries across the room, punctuated by the occasional vrooming sound as they push toy cars across the floor. But my attention keeps drifting to Blair's silhouette against the window.
Her shoulders are tight, her spine rigid. The moonlight casts shadows across her face, and I can't read her expression. My chest aches. I want to fix this, to make it better, but I don't know how. Should I order food? Get her to rest? Pull her into my arms? Big picture, I'm going to do everything I can for Maggie. But right now, I don't know what the right thing to do is. I’m never in this position, and I don’t like it one fucking bit.
Fuck it.
Letting my instincts lead, I cross the room, coming to stand beside her. Up close, I can see the exhaustion etched into her features, the blank look in her eyes that scares me more than her tears did.
"A million for your thoughts?"
The corner of her mouth twitches upward, just slightly. "A penny's not enough for a billionaire?"
"It's not that." I turn to face her fully, wanting her to understand. "Your thoughts... they're worth more to me than any amount of money. I want to know everything going on in that head of yours. The good, the bad, the stuff you think doesn't matter."
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and something in her eyes makes my breath catch.
"Right now?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "I'm thinking about how surreal this is. Eight hours ago, all I was thinking about was us. Maggie was stable, and I could pretend she would stay that way."
"And now?"
"Now I'm wondering if I'm strong enough for what's coming." Her words hit me like a physical blow. "If I can be what Max needs."
I want to grab her, shake her, make her see what I see—this incredible woman who's already been everything to everyone around her. But I know that's not what she needs right now.
Instead, I just say, "I'm so fucking sorry. For all of it. I'm sorry for Maggie. I'm sorry for Max. And I'm sorry for you. And I wish I could make it all fucking disappear."
Blair turns sideways, leaning against the window. Her smile is sad. "Wishful thinking. I used to do a lot of that."
"Yeah?" I step closer, drawn to her like always.
"I'd imagine Maggie just... getting better. Like magic." Her fingers trace patterns on the glass. "That one morning she'd wake up and the cancer would just be gone. No explanation needed."
"Like a miracle."
She hums. "I had this whole scenario planned out. The doctors would be baffled. They'd run test after test, but everything would come back perfect." Her voice catches. "And Max would get to grow up with his mom."
My heart twists. "I get it. After my family..." I swallow hard. "I used to imagine my dad walking through the door. Like the whole thing had been some terrible mistake."
"Did it ever get easier?"
"Not exactly. The wishes just... changed." I meet her eyes in the reflection. "I started dreaming about you instead."
She turns to face me. "Me?"
"Yeah. Stupid stuff, mostly. Like I'd be getting coffee somewhere, and you'd just be there. Or I'd look up from working on a car, and you'd be standing in my garage doorway."
"What would I say?"
"Usually nothing." I laugh softly. "You'd just give me that look—you know the one. Where you're trying not to smile but can't quite help it."
"I remember that feeling." Her voice goes soft. "What else?"
"Sometimes I'd imagine going back to Badger Falls. Just... showing up one day. Throwing you over my shoulder and driving off into the sunset."
"Very caveman of you."
"Hey, they were my fantasies. I got to be as dramatic as I wanted."
She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound fills my chest with warmth. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic."
"Says the woman who set herself on fire to prove a point."
"That was different. That was..." She trails off, her smile fading. "God, we were so young then. I can't believe I did that."
"I couldn't believe it either. But that day changed everything for me."
"It's not going to work, you know."
I drop the matches, then kick them under the tool bench. I meet Blair's level gaze with a glare. I'm taller now, Robert can fucking cook, and I'm nearly eye to eye with her. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
She steps further into the dark of the shop. They were supposed to be asleep. I wasn't going to cause any permanent damage, but all the shit I've been pulling all year hasn't done a fucking thing. I'm still here in this bumfuck town. Jerry comes down to check in, but he won't take me back. Says there's no reason to remove me since I'm thriving.
I'm not fucking thriving. Yeah, I'm going to school, but only because the whole fucking town is keeping an eye on me. There's nowhere to go where Robert doesn't find out I'm skipping and come and take me back. After the first month, it just wasn't worth it anymore. And every time he picked me up, he just had that same calm look on his face.
And okay, I'm taller. I'm eating. But my brain is still fucked up. And something about being around the two of them makes it worse. They're so fucking settled here, and together. They talk about their days. They hang out and watch movies. And I'm still out in the cold. I don't want to join them. I don't accept their invitations.
"I honestly thought you were smarter than this. You set a fire; you might end up in trouble. But you won't get sent away. So what's the point? You make no sense."
"I don't want to be here. What's so hard to understand about that?"
She just shakes her head, eyes piercing. "You're lying to yourself. You do want to be here. You want it bad. And that pisses you off."
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
One black eyebrow wings up. "You can't be this stupid."
As always, the way she talks to me makes me want to grab her. But that urge I had the first day I met her, that urge to punch her, isn't there anymore. It's turned into something else. Something I don't quite understand.
"How the fuck do you think you know anything about me? You with your perfect life and your perfect relationship with your dad. You don't know shit."
She's so still, standing there, letting the waves of my anger strike her. But none of it touches her. She just shakes her head and gives me a pitying look. "You don't see anything. You're too busy being a selfish asshole. It's okay. You're a foster kid. I'm sure you think that gives you an excuse to hurt other people. I'm sure there's a psychological reason for why you're acting like a dick. Poor little boy."
I'm moving before I realize it. Suddenly, we're toe to toe. She's sixteen and not any kind of delicate, but I'm almost the same size. She should be sort of intimidated. I'm big and strong, but she doesn't even blink. Is it fucking genetic? "You don't fucking know me. You have no idea what I've been through."
There's that head tilt again, looking at me like a bug under a microscope. "You lost your family."
Lost. What a stupid fucking word. "I killed my family."
She still doesn't react. Not even a twitch to show she heard me. "I killed my mom too. I didn't mean to, but I did."
"What the fuck do you mean? How?"
"I was born. I lived, and she died.” She’s so matter-of-fact about it, like it didn’t affect her whole life. But not having a mom sucks.
"That's fucking sad. But it's not the same thing. Not at all."
She just shrugs again. "How did you kill your family?"
"You can't just ask people shit like that."
"You brought it up first. And I told you about my mom. So now you have to share your big dark secret. That's the rule."
"The rule?"
"The conversation rules. You share; I share; then you share again. And then I nod and put a sad face on to show you I care."
"Your sad face?"
"Yeah. This one." She puts on a pretty good sad face, just for a second, then it slips off and she's back to blank.
"That's really fucked up. You practice that?"
"Yeah. In the mirror. Dad says it helps people feel more comfortable with me. Seems to work."
"You're a freak."
"You're not the first person to say that. I got called freak, weirdo, alien, and more when I was little."
There really is something wrong with her. She's… off, but I don't know how. "What's wrong with you? Jerry said you guys moved out here because you were struggling back in the city. So what happened?"
Her sigh is long and heavy. "Your memory is very bad. I told you, I already shared, so now it's your turn. You don't get to know anything more about me until you do."
"Forget it. I don't care."
She looks away, dropping to her knees, crawling over to the cabinets, and fishing underneath. Her ass is right there, staring at me, and a little trickle of something other than numbness passes through me.
Numb or angry are my defaults. This feeling isn't either of those. It's something else.
She makes a low sound, then sits back on her heels, holding the little box of matches I'd stolen out of the kitchen cupboard. I didn't have a great plan when I came down here. But I figured if I did a little damage, I might finally tip Robert over the edge, and I would finally get out of here.
Opening the box, she lights a match easily, letting the wood stick burn as she stares at it. "I like fire," she says dreamily.
"Are you some sort of pyro?"
"Like do I like lighting things on fire? Yes. A lot."
"Holy fuck. That's why your dad moved you out here to Bum-fuck-ville. You set your school on fire or some shit like that."
Yawning, she finally looks back at me. "Your turn, remember?"
Everyone knows what I did. It wasn't a secret. The papers talked about it. It was even on the news. So what does it matter if she finds out now? Who cares if she looks at me like I'm a murderer? It's exactly what I am.
"I set my house on fire."
"So you're the pyro. You're projecting your own shit on me."
"I didn't do it on fucking purpose. I was a stupid kid, and I left the stove on, and a rag too close to the burner." My mouth pools with saliva, forcing me to swallow it down. "I didn't mean to do it. But they're still dead."
Her face doesn't change, and I shift my weight to my other foot. "Aren't you supposed to put your sad face on?"
"I'm supposed to, yeah. But you've already seen it, so I don't think there's any point."
"So you don't care that I killed everyone?"
Her mouth twists. "I'm not a psychopath. I've been tested. So yeah, I do care. My face just doesn't always match what's going on in my head."
"What is going on in your head?"
The fire touches her fingers, but she doesn't flinch, just shakes out the match, placing it carefully on her knee, then lights another. "Mostly, I'm thinking that I'm really sorry you lost your family. And that it sounds like an incredibly tragic accident. But I totally get why you blame yourself."
"There's no one else to blame."
"I think when you get a little older, you might see things a little differently."
"When I get a little older? Like you? Is there some magic pile of fucking insight I'll get as soon as I turn sixteen? You sound like an asshole."
That gets a reaction. But not the kind I was expecting. She takes that match and brings it to the edge of her shirt, letting the flame lick the bottom of it. The material immediately melts, and the line of flame starts to spread. "Stop! What the fuck are you doing?" I drop to my knees and slap at her shirt and the match, little licks of heat sizzling on my palm and fingers. "You're insane." I snatch the matches out of her hand and shove them into the back pocket of my jeans.
Blair, looking completely unconcerned, just stares at me. Her shirt is littered with black marks, and the bottom has a big hole, revealing a bit of her stomach.
"You're crazy," I whisper, staring at the skin revealed by that hole.
She hums and rises to her feet. I do the same since I don't want to be on my knees in front of her, staring up at her.
"Maybe," she finally says. "But it seems to me you're someone who wants to protect people. You wouldn't have put out that flame if you weren't. So maybe you're not a murderer. You're just a stupid kid who made one little mistake that had big consequences. You just had some bad fucking luck."
I welcome it when it comes, that wave of red-hot anger. "You did that shit on purpose? You're fucking certifiable."
Desperate for a fight, wishing she were a boy so I could punch her and start one, I end up standing there, clenching and unclenching my hands.
And Blair-fucking-McKenna just turns and walks away, back up the stairs to the apartment above the shop. Back home.
Leaving me feeling like a bomb just detonated at my feet.
Leaving me raw and exposed.
Blinking away the memory, I lean my shoulder against the window, my chest a foot from hers, and give her the truth. "That's the day I stopped wanting to die."