48. Blair
48
BLAIR
I grip the steering wheel tighter as my truck rumbles down Main Street toward McKenna's. The memory of Sunday night keeps replaying in my head—Ransom's sleek black helicopter waiting on the hospital roof like something out of a movie, its blades slicing through the Chicago night.
Max had pressed his face against the window the whole flight, pointing at the twinkling lights below while Maggie dozed against my shoulder. As soon as she was released from the hospital, all she wanted was to go home. I can't blame her. She wants to be somewhere familiar. She wants Max back in his routine. And so that evening we followed a tight-lipped Ransom to the roof.
Maybe I was a little tight-lipped too. I wanted to spend more time with Ransom, and with his family. It was really nice having them all around. They all cared so much for me and Max. They all asked about Maggie. It felt good.
And he was too quiet before we left. I fucked things up and I didn’t get a chance to fix it before he flew us home.
"That was totally awesome!" Max had shouted as we touched down in the high school football field, his eyes wide with excitement.
Ransom helped Maggie down, his hand steady under her elbow. Then he carried our bags to Mr. Johnson's truck without being asked. The thoughtfulness of it all made my chest ache.
"You sure you don't want to stay?" I'd asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. The football field lights cast harsh shadows across his face.
"Got an early meeting tomorrow. There are some things at the office I need to take care of." He'd shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Besides, you three need time to settle back in."
I didn't argue, even though part of me wanted to. Wanted to tell him to skip the meeting, to stay, to... what? Choose me. It was a foolish thought. Of course he had to go. He's responsible for God knows how many employees. He can't just up and leave all that.
So instead of asking him to stay, I'd pressed a kiss to his cheek, then watched him climb back into that sleek helicopter, Max waving frantically beside me until it disappeared into the night sky. The roar of the rotors faded, leaving us in the empty silence of a small-town Sunday night.
My truck hits a pothole, jolting me back to the present. That's the problem with Ransom Kyle—he swoops in with grand gestures and private helicopters, then vanishes back to his real life in Chicago. Meanwhile my real life is dealing with check engine lights and transmission fluid leaks, and trying to figure out how to help Maggie fight a battle she might not want to win.
But he was right. We needed time to settle in. Max took Monday off school, and he and Maggie stayed home and cuddled all day. But he went Tuesday, and yesterday, if a little reluctantly. I think he’s worried about Maggie dying while he’s at school. I wish I could tell him not to worry, but we both know that I can’t. It’s not like he’s freaking out over some imaginary monster in his closet. His mom is sick. She is dying.
There’s no denying that.
Thankfully, this morning, he seemed more like himself. He needs the distraction of school and his friend. He needs the break.
I turn into the garage parking lot, killing the engine. The "McKenna's Auto" sign creaks in the morning breeze—the same sign my grandpa hung sixty years ago. This is my real life. It's a good life. It is. I shouldn't want more. I don't need more.
But I do. I want the man with the chocolate eyes and the silver streaks at the temple. The man that looks at me like I'm the only person he wants to look at for the rest of his life.
And holy crap, admitting that is terrifying.
I slam the truck door and get almost to the shop when I freeze mid-step. Like I just conjured him up, Ransom's leaning against the garage wall, a coffee cup steaming in his hand. He's wearing faded blue coveralls with Brash Auto emblazoned across the chest, and that smile—God, that smile makes my knees weak. He's got that look on his face, the one that's just for me. The one I'm starting to believe means forever.
My keys jangle as they slip through my fingers, hitting the gravel with a soft clink. "What are you—" I clear my throat, trying to sound normal. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to work." He takes a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. The morning sun catches the silver threading through his dark hair.
"Work?" The word comes out higher than I intended. I bend down to snatch my keys, using the moment to compose myself. "You have a multi-million dollar company to run."
"I got everything handled over the last few days. Then I passed off anything important." He pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us. "I figured you could use an extra pair of hands around here. Especially since Matt's away."
He looks so good. Where the hell did he get those coveralls? Would it be wrong to kiss him? To apologize for having my head up my ass that night in his apartment? The day kind of came at me, and I said some stuff I wish I hadn't. I planned to wait up for him, to apologize, but I crashed. Then the next morning Maggie called, and it was all a rush of activity. We never got to talk.
Wait. What did he say? "Matt's not away."
He just grins. "Maybe you should check your messages."
Patting my pockets, I pull out my phone and yeah, there it is. "Got plans with my sister. Your guy will cover for me."
"Wait. You can't just—" I don't know how to finish that. You can't just maneuver your way into my life. Send my employee away. Show up without notice. Make me hope. He actually sent Matt away. This isn't casual or spur of the moment. My heart rhythm picks up, but I can’t quite decide if it’s excitement or nerves.
Who am I kidding? It’s both.
"Can't just what? Work on cars?" His eyebrow quirks up. "Pretty sure your dad taught me everything I know about engines. Unless you think I've gotten rusty?"
My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. I can't think of a single reason to say no that doesn't sound ridiculous. Not when he's standing there in those coveralls, looking at me like that. Why do I want to say no again?
It's habit.
I've been so busy thinking about what everyone else wants and needs, I didn't let myself think about me. But I want him here. I want him, period.
Ransom steps closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. My breath catches as his chest nearly brushes mine. The playful glint in his eyes fades, replaced by something deeper, more intense.
His hand comes up, fingers brushing my cheek with a gentleness that makes my knees weak. Electric shocks race through my body at that simple touch. His calloused thumb traces my jawline, and I can't help but lean into his palm. I missed him so much I ache with it. It’s so much worse than it was before. All those feelings from years ago have come rushing back in the last week, but they’ve gotten bigger, more intense.
They are very, very real. And I don’t want them to go away. I don’t want him to go away, ever.
I see the same emotion reflected in his eyes, pupils blown wide. His breath comes faster, chest rising and falling rapidly. Just this—just his hand on my face—and we're both shaking like teenagers.
"Matt's gone for the week," he says, voice rough. "I'm filling in."
"What are you doing, Ransom?" The words come out barely above a whisper.
His thumb strokes my cheek again. "Spending time with my girl."
"I'm not your girl." Shut up you stupid cow. Just say yes and buy some handcuffs, so you can stay attached to him forever.
"You've always been my girl." His forehead touches mine, and my eyes flutter closed at the contact, then open again at the sincerity in his soft words. "Since the first moment I saw you in that garage, in those baggy jeans, looking right through me, you've been mine."
My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. Twenty-five years of wanting, of missing, of trying to forget—all of it crashes over me in waves.
My self control, my emotions are held together with old gnarly duct tape at this point, and I don’t know if I can handle anymore. I’m so damn happy he’s here. And I’m sad he’ll have to leave at some point. And I’m so overwhelmed by all of the feelings, I’m not sure what to do.
He seems to sense that, and gives me a small smile, rubbing his thumb along my temple.
"Put me to work, Baby."
I watch from the corner of my eye as Ransom slides under the Ford, his movements fluid and practiced. All morning, he's followed my lead without complaint—changing oil, rotating tires, whatever mundane task I've thrown his way.
"Hand me that 3/8 socket?" His voice echoes from beneath the car.
I pass it to his outstretched hand, our fingers brushing. "Since when does a corporate CEO know their way around a socket set this well?"
A low chuckle drifts up. "You thought I'd gone soft, didn't you?"
"Maybe." I lean against the workbench, crossing my arms. Yeah, he'd worked with Matt last week, but Matt was in charge; that was obvious. Though that should have been a hint that Ransom's not the man I remember. He hated taking direction from anyone but my dad. Did he just mellow out? Is it part of his strategy? Because he definitely has one, and I'm realizing I'm okay with that. If he wants to work on me, to make me fall in love with him, then that's just fine. He doesn't need to know I'm already there.
I've forgiven him. It's done. But having him work to get me back soothes a little part of me that was still holding the hurt from when we broke up.
He rolls out from under the car, grease streaked across his forearm. "It's my business, Blair. Can't sell what you don't understand." He wipes his hands on a shop rag. "I worked the floor for years before we made it big. Still do, sometimes, just for fun."
"Fun?"
"Yeah, fun. Me and my brothers like to fuck around on our own vehicles now and again."
"All of you?"
"Some more than others. Nick's got a real talent for diagnostics. Jonas prefers the business end. But yeah, we all get in there." He stands, stretching his back. "Back when we started, we all chipped in. We had to."
"Because you couldn't afford to pay anyone?"
"Partly. But mostly because if I kept them busy in the garage, I kept them out of trouble. I used Robert's strategy. I kept them so busy that all they had the energy for was work, eating, and sleeping." He grins. "Well, mostly. I had to hunt every one of them down at least once a week."
"I can't imagine it. It sounds tiring." Max is so much work. I know when he gets older, the work will change. It'll be hormones and relationship drama. I'm not ready.
"It was sometimes. But it was good for me. I needed the distraction. I needed something to focus on that wasn't losing you." His words hit me like a punch to the sternum, the casual honesty of them stealing my breath. My chest aches with the echo of that old pain, the endless nights I'd spent trying not to think about him.
I nod toward the newer Ford, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. "You've picked up some new tricks since Dad taught you."
"Had to keep up with the technology." His eyes meet mine. "But the fundamentals—those came from Robert. Everything good in my life started in this garage."
“Mine too.”
The weight of everything that was between us, and everything that’s tugging us together now is thick in the air between us. Would it be wrong to lock up now and just focus on us? I want to, so damn bad. But I have a business to run, and customers coming to pick up their vehicles. Responsibility sucks sometimes. So instead of licking up the column of his throat like I want to, I step back and point toward the next car waiting. "Well, Mr. CEO, think you can handle replacing those brake pads?"
I pull the heavy garage door down, the metal rattling in its track. My hands shake as I fumble with the padlock. All day, I've felt Ransom's eyes on me. Watching. Wanting. The air between us has grown thick. The good kind of thick. The anticipatory kind, like something big is coming. Something you've been waiting and wanting for a long time.
It's scary as fuck.
But I’m not going to run.
Never again.
"Let me help with that." His voice comes low and rough behind me.
"I've got it." The lock clicks into place. I step back, careful not to brush against him. I’m going to combust, and I don’t know what I want. My head’s a jumble. So I do what any mature, forty-three year old woman would do, and fuck with him. "I should get going. Max will be wondering where I am."
His lips quirk, and a he grins. Fuck he’s hot. "Max is probably out hunting frogs. Maggie will be there when he gets home."
He is not wrong. "Right. Well, I should still?—"
His hand catches my wrist as I turn to leave. "Blair."
"Don't." The word comes out breathless. "Please." You idiot. Don't, please? Really? You know you want him to throw you on the hood of that car and fuck you into oblivion. So shut the hell up, woman!
Thankfully, instead of letting go, he pulls me back against his chest, one arm wrapping around my waist. His breath fans hot against my neck. "I've been trying so hard to keep my hands off you."
My head falls back against his shoulder. "Ransom..."
"Do you know what it's been like?" His lips brush my ear. "Watching you bend over engines? You’re a fucking tease, McKenna. The very best kind. And your ass is fucking incredible. I had to jerk off in the bathroom at lunch just to make it through the day."
"Woah," I squeak. Shit. How smooth . My body knows exactly what it wants, melting right into him. Words going. Want. Need.
Yes.
"I know." His grip tightens. "Christ, Blair, I know. I've been telling myself that all day. I had a fucking plan. I was going to take my fucking time and let you get to know me again. But I can't—" He presses his face into my neck. "Tell me to let you go."
My mind races with all the reasons this is a bad idea. Max needs stability. Maggie needs me focused. Responsibilities and shit. But God help me, I'm tired of being responsible. Tired of putting everyone else first.
I deserve happy too.
"I don't want you to let me go." The admission tears from my throat. "For once, I just want..." I turn in his arms, meeting his darkened gaze. "I want something for myself."
His forehead presses against mine, our breaths mingling. "Tell me again."
"I want you." The words come easier this time. "Just you. I don’t want to dredge up the past anymore, or worry about what comes next and all the ways this could be complicated. I just want you."
A growl rumbles in his chest as his hands slide up my back. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear that. But Blair, just so we're clear. I'm ready for all the complications."
His words echo in my head—ready for all the complications—and something inside, something dark and painful, breaks loose. I've spent so long building walls, convincing myself that simple was better. That the uncomplicated relationship with Adam was what I needed. No expectations, no messy feelings, just... easy.
But standing here in Ransom's arms, I realize how much I've been lying to myself. Adam was safe. Comfortable. Like wearing an old sweater that doesn't quite fit anymore but you keep it anyway because it's familiar.
"I don't want simple anymore," I whisper against Ransom's lips. "God help me, I want the mess. I want the complications too."
His hands tighten on my waist. "Blair?—"
"No, let me finish." I pull back enough to see his face, needing him to understand. "I tried so hard to keep things uncomplicated with Adam because I was afraid. Afraid of feeling too much, of wanting too much. But that's not living, is it? That's just... existing."
"You deserve more than just existing." His thumb traces my cheekbone, sending shivers down my spine. “You deserve the fucking world.”
"I know that now." And I do. For the first time in years, I feel truly awake. Alive. "Everything about us is complicated—Max, Maggie, your life in Chicago, my life here. It should terrify me."
"Does it?"
"No." The realization hits me like a thunderbolt. "That's what scares me. That I'm not scared at all. Not about us." Maybe it's the reality of losing Maggie that put everything in perspective. I've been a hypocrite. I've been raging at her for not being willing to hope. For not fighting. And yet I have this man walk back into my life, the man I've loved since I was seventeen, and I'm not going to even try?
Fuck that. I'm braver than that. And we deserve better. Both of us do.
"I'm done running," I tell him, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling his lips to mine.