42. Ransom
42
RANSOM
B lair's drunk.
More than drunk. Fucking off her rocker.
And I'm completely fascinated.
We never did this when we were kids. We shared a beer once, and a few sips of something fruity and disgusting, but that was it.
Now she's sprawled across my couch, her long legs dangling over the armrest. The bottle of whiskey dangles from her fingers, nearly empty now. I've never seen her like this—all loose limbs and unguarded expressions.
"You know what's funny?" She takes another swig, grimacing. "I always thought you'd come back. Even after five years. Ten years." Her grey eyes fix on me, unusually bright. "Kept thinking, 'Any day now, that idiot's gonna show up in his stupid leather jacket.'"
I lean forward in my chair. "I don't wear leather jackets anymore." That’s more Nick’s thing. He’s got the whole motorcycle-riding-bad-boy thing going on.
"No shit." She laughs, a real laugh that makes her whole body shake. "Look at you now. All..." She waves the bottle at my sweats. "Corporate. Well, not that outfit. But usually, right? You had a fancy outfit on the night you drove into the ditch."
"I didn't drive into the ditch. The damn cow forced me off the road."
"Sure she did." Blair rolls onto her side, propping her head on her hand. "You know what else is funny? I went on dates after you left. A whole bunch of them. Turns out I was popular and didn't know it. The boys liked me anyway."
My chest tightens. "Just dated, or more?"
She shrugs but doesn't give me an answer. And I really fucking want one. "Doesn't matter. They weren't you. They were never you."
The raw honesty in her voice hits me hard. "Blair?—"
"No, shut up. I'm talking now." She points the bottle at me. "You broke my fucking heart, Kyle. And Maggie got sick again, and my dad died, and you weren't there for any of it."
"I wanted to be."
"But you weren't." Her voice cracks. "And now you're here, looking at me like... like you used to. And Maggie's dying, and Max needs me, and I can't..." She takes another drink. "I can't handle you looking at me like that."
I move to sit beside her on the couch. "How am I looking at you?"
"Like I'm still seventeen and beautiful."
"You're still beautiful."
She snorts. "I'm old and tired and scared all the time."
"Tell me about it. Tell me everything I missed."
"There's nothing to tell really." Blair waves the bottle dismissively. "Just a small life in a small town."
"Bullshit. Tell me everything."
She snorts. "What? About fixing cars? About watching Max grow up? About holding Maggie's hand through chemo?" Her words slur slightly. "Or maybe you wanna know about Adam?"
My jaw tightens. "Yeah, actually. I do."
"Oh my God." She bursts out laughing, nearly tipping off the couch. "Fine. You really wanna know about Adam? He came by the shop one day. I was sitting in front watching the sunset, and he sat down. I hadn't seen him much. He was gone for a long time, in the army. We talked about nothing important." She takes another sip. "Did that for months. Just... sat and talked after work."
"And then?"
"Then I got tired of being alone." She shrugs. "Everyone else was getting married, having kids. Even Maggie had Max. And there I was, just... existing. So one night, I kissed him."
My hands clench into fists. Why the fuck am I doing this to myself? I should change the subject, or haul her to bed. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. He's safe, you know? Comfortable." She rolls her eyes. "God, you look like you're gonna punch something. Relax. It's not some great love story. I thought maybe it could be. I hoped, anyway. I thought it would be nice to not be alone. But he doesn't love me. And even though I tried, I don't love him. We just... fit each other's lives."
"That sounds lonely." The words come out rougher than I intended, my chest aching at the thought of her settling for something so empty. All these years, I'd pictured her happy, surrounded by people who cherished her the way I had. The way I still did. Instead, she'd been here, making do with comfortable when she deserved extraordinary. My throat feels tight, and I have to look away from her so she doesn't see all of that written on my face. I’m such a fucking screw up. I did that to her.
"Maybe." She studies the bottle. "But lonely is better than heartbroken. And anyway, who needs marriage and kids when I've got Max and a garage full of cars that need fixing? I’ve got people that need me. I have to take care of them. That’s my life."
"You deserve more than that."
"Do I?" She fixes those gray eyes on me. "Because the last time someone promised me more, he disappeared for twenty-five years." Her mouth twists, and she snorts. "And I'm realizing how dumb that sounds. You were a kid making promises you had no business making. We were both too young, and life had other plans for us. It's fucking dumb to hold onto it. I know that. I need to grow the fuck up."
I watch her take another swig from the bottle, my mind racing. I hate that she gave up on those dreams. The ones she used to whisper about when we lay in the bed of her dad's truck, watching stars streak across the sky.
"You don’t have any dreams?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Blair's face softens. "Doesn't matter now."
"It matters to me."
She traces the rim of the bottle with her finger. "I've got Max to think about. All my dreams are about taking care of him."
"That’s not your dream Blair. It’s a responsibility. One that you’ll be fucking great at. But it’s not your dream.”
She just hums. “You’re annoying. I can’t afford dreams anymore. I have to focus on Max. I’m all he’s got."
That's a fucking reality check. Max is going to need more than just Blair when... if... Maggie doesn't make it. He'll need a whole support system. People to take him to baseball practice, help with homework, teach him to drive.
"You know," I say carefully, "Max is lucky to have you."
Blair's face darkens at my comment. "Everyone keeps saying that." She pushes herself up straighter, anger flashing in her eyes. "You know what's not lucky? Having your mom die when you're six. Having to watch her waste away. Having to..." Her voice breaks. "Having to say goodbye."
"You're right." I take the bottle from her loose grip, setting it on the coffee table. "It's not lucky at all. It's fucking awful. But having you there for him? That's not luck either. That's you choosing to step up, to be there. To love him."
She slumps back against the couch. "I can't be Maggie."
"No one's asking you to be."
"I don't want to be." Her words come out soft, almost guilty. "I love her. God, I love her so much. But I can't... I won't try to replace her."
"That's not what I meant?—"
"And you know what?" She sits up suddenly, nearly toppling over. "I don't want kids. Not mine, not anyone's. Max is different. He's... he's Max. But kids are so much work. So much responsibility." She rubs her face. "I've got the garage, and soon I'll have Max full-time, and that's... that's enough. More than enough. I can't handle more than that."
The conviction in her voice hits me hard. This isn't just drunk rambling—this is something she's thought about. Something she's decided. She told me before, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. Sometimes we lie to ourselves, convince ourselves we don’t want something, when in truth we really really do.
I know all about that.
"Okay," I say softly. "I hear you."
"Do you?" Her grey eyes fix on mine, surprisingly sharp despite the alcohol. "Because I need you to understand. I'm not that seventeen-year-old girl anymore, dreaming about a house full of kids. I've got different dreams now."
"Tell me your dreams then," I say, watching her profile in the dim light. "If you could do anything—what would it be?"
Blair snorts, running her finger along the edge of the couch. "It's not big and exciting like your dreams. No empire building."
"Doesn't have to be big to matter."
She's quiet for a long moment, then shrugs. "I just want to keep the garage running. Maybe hire another mechanic so I can take a break sometimes. There's enough work to keep two people busy year-round." Her voice gets softer. "I've never really traveled. Not properly anyway."
"Where would you go?"
"Not everywhere." She shifts, tucking her legs under her. "I don't want to rush around trying to see everything like those tourists with their checklists. That's Maggie's idea of a good time. I'd just... pick a place. Stay there for a while. Really get to know it."
The image forms in my mind—Blair in some small Italian town, covered in grease from helping a local fix their ancient Fiat. "Like where?"
"I don't know. Maybe Ireland? Find some tiny village where everyone knows everyone else. And just wander around. Learn how they do things." A small smile plays at her lips. "Or just hop in some van and drive around this country. I could dip my toes in the ocean. I’ve never been to the beach."
I want to give her everything she's describing. I could make it happen with one phone call. But would she let me?
"You've probably been everywhere," she says, her words still carrying that slight slur. "Seen it all already."
I laugh, remembering some of our more memorable trips. "Yeah, I've traveled. But not like what you're talking about. My trips usually involved chasing after one of my idiots."
She snort giggles. "Idiots." Then yawns. "What do you mean?"
"Like the time Colton decided to go 'find himself' in Amsterdam. Ended up in jail because he thought it'd be fun to swim in one of the canals. Naked." I shake my head at the memory. "Or when Kade got lost in Tokyo because he followed a cat down an alley and couldn't find his way back to the hotel."
Blair's eyebrows shoot up. "Seriously?"
"Oh yeah. And don't get me started on Nick in Rio. That one involved a stolen chicken, three angry shopkeepers, and somehow a parade float." I run a hand through my hair. "Most of my traveling has been damage control. Running after them, bailing them out, making sure they don't start international incidents."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It was. Still is." I look at her. "Your way sounds better. Actually experiencing a place instead of just racing through it, putting out fires."
"Metaphorical fires," she mumbles, then giggles. "Not real ones. That's Adam's job."
Adam the fucking hero firefighter. The mention of his name stings, but I push past it. "The point is, I've never really traveled like that. Never just... existed somewhere new. It sounds peaceful."
She sighs, and with a dreamy smile, admits, "I sometimes look at rocking chairs. The handmade ones with the beautiful hand carvings."
My lips twitch as I watch her. Blair McKenna, the toughest woman I know, dreams of rocking chairs. The alcohol's made her soft around the edges, revealing pieces of herself she usually keeps locked away.
"What kind of carvings?" I ask.
"Leaves. And vines." Her fingers trace patterns in the air. "There's this guy up in Wisconsin who makes them. Each one's different. I saw them online." She yawns, stretching like a cat. "Sometimes I picture sitting on my own porch, watching the sunset. Maybe having a beer. Listening to the crickets."
The image hits me hard—Blair in a carved rocking chair, grey eyes watching the sky turn pink over Badger Falls. Max doing homework on the porch steps. Neighbors on either side doing the same.
It's perfect. And it's another nail in my coffin.
Because that life she wants? It's there. Not in Chicago. Not in my penthouse with its view of Lake Michigan. She wants quiet evenings and small-town sunsets. A life where everyone knows your name and brings you sandwiches when you fix their cars. She wants the life she has.
"Your porch needs work," I say, thinking of the sagging boards I noticed at Maggie's house.
"Mmhmm." Her eyes are getting heavy. "Been meaning to fix it. Just haven't had time."
I could build her a whole new porch. Hell, I could buy her a mansion with wraparound porches on every floor. But that's not what she wants. She wants her life there, just with a few small improvements: a rocking chair, maybe that second mechanic she mentioned.
The truth settles over me like a blanket—if I want Blair, I have to want Badger Falls too. There's no separating the two.
Blair's head droops against my hip, her breathing evening out as she drifts off. The empty bottle sits on the coffee table, a silent witness to her raw confessions.
My mind races, organizing problems like I would a business deal. Priority one: Maggie. Everything hinges on her situation. I pull out my phone, careful not to disturb Blair, and start making notes.
We need more opinions: different doctors, experimental treatments, anything that could help. Money isn't an issue—I could fly in specialists from anywhere in the world. But Maggie's already made her choice to stop treatment. Would pushing her to try more just rob her of peaceful final moments with Max?
Max. My chest tightens thinking about that kid. If Maggie doesn't make it, he'll need both Blair and me. I thought I was done raising kids after getting my brothers settled, but life has other plans. And honestly? The thought of helping raise Max doesn't scare me like it should.
Blair mumbles something in her sleep, pressing closer. Her words about not wanting kids echo my feelings. If Blair wanted a baby, I’d get on board fast, but I’m relieved she doesn’t. But being there for Max is different. And I’ll step up and do whatever I need to, to support both of them.
Unless... My fingers tap against my phone. What if we could help Maggie? Really help her? I've got connections, resources. Maybe there's some treatment she hasn't tried, some specialist who could turn things around. Then Blair wouldn't have to become an instant parent. We could figure out what we want together and build something at our own pace.
I slide my arms under Blair, taking a deep breath before lifting her solid frame from the couch. She was never a small woman, but she's packed on more muscle since the last time I carried her. But thankfully, I'm a fuck of a lot stronger too. The weight of her against my chest feels so fucking right. My back strains as I adjust her position. It's a lot harder to do this when she's dead weight. Back then, holding her in my arms, threatening to toss her off the dock into the lake, she clung to me. It was the best feeling in the world back then. It made me feel like a man. Like I was invincible.
"Mm?" Her grey eyes flutter open briefly as I navigate through the doorway to my bedroom.
"Go back to sleep, baby."
Her head lolls against my shoulder, breath warm against my neck. "You got strong," she murmurs, then drifts off again. I ease her onto the bed, careful not to jostle her too much.
"You smell different," she mumbles as I pull the covers over her. "Expensive. It's good." Her fingers catch my shirt briefly before falling away.
My heart clenches at her words, so honest in her half-asleep state. I brush a strand of hair from her face, remembering all the times I'd imagined her here, in my bed. But not like this—drunk and hurting over her best friend's illness.
She burrows into my pillow, already deep in sleep again. Even now, she takes up space unapologetically, sprawled across the mattress like she owns it. Like she belongs here.
I'm never going to be able to sleep in this bed without her. And if I can't convince her to take a chance on me, I'm in for a lot of sleepless nights.
Hard pass. She's it for me. I know that in my core. And it doesn't matter how long it takes to prove it to her, I will.
Because when something matters this much, I don't fucking quit.
Two possible futures stretch before me: one where I help Blair raise Max in that small town, and one where Maggie beats this thing and Blair and I get a fresh start. Both have their challenges. Both would mean massive changes to my life in Chicago.
I'm one hundred percent on board with either one. Whatever path Blair's life takes, I'll be right there next to her.
But there’s nothing I can do about any of that right now. So I give in and do what I’ve been thinking about all night. Climb into my bed and pull the woman I love with everything in me, into my arms. She makes a low sound, and presses her hips closer to me, brushing against my hard cock. I don’t know if I’ll get a second of sleep with her this close to me, but I don’t give a shit.
I’m not ever letting her go.