Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Blair
I’ve had a lot of lows recently.
Being plucked from my life and shut away from the world—with only an inconveniently gorgeous asshole for company—was abrupt and brutal.
I’ve had to face that the people I thought were my friends really weren’t, and that in twenty-four years of life, the only thing I’d succeeded at was humiliating my family.
God, I can’t even count the number of times I’ve curled up under the blankets in my bed, sobbing my eyes out because I was so embarrassed, or lonely, or just plain sad.
Even with all that, no matter how embarrassed, or lonely, or sad I got, I never thought of leaving Thornhurst. Not one single time did I consider fleeing right through the front gate, consequences be damned.
Until now.
It seems the look of pity on Damien Mallory’s face is the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, the final indignity I couldn’t weather, and now… I have to get out.
In the back of my mind, I know I’m not behaving logically, that I’ll live to regret this, but I don’t care.
Nothing my father or the world can throw at me would possibly feel worse than having to look that man in the eye again.
That intelligent, handsome, perfect asshole who really, truly hates me, but not as much as I hate myself.
The thought of it alone is enough to puncture a hole right through me as I storm down the long drive, my breath burning in my lungs and tears blurring at the edges of my vision.
It’s so cold that the wind burns the skin of my exposed hands and cheeks.
I make no effort to pull down the sleeves of my coat or wrap my scarf higher on my neck, too intent on my newly formed resolution, and keeping my gaze glued to the high black gates in the distance.
He won’t come looking for me. I’m sure of it. Undoubtedly, whenever Mallory realizes I’ve gone—probably tomorrow morning when I’m nowhere to be found for our run—he’ll sound the alarm to my father and issue final confirmation that I really am as stupid as everyone thinks I am.
The thought fills me with a sick swoop of vindictive pleasure.
It’s easier to sink into it, to confirm what they all believe, rather than work my ass off to prove them wrong. Why bother with being a well-adjusted human being? Who gives a shit? I’ll be a dumb, irresponsible liability for the rest of my life, and what better time to accept it than right now?
Whether from the cold or the rush of adrenaline, my hand is shaking as I reach the security panel beside the gate and stare into the camera thing that Mallory put in.
Part of me is expecting it not to work, to find I really have been locked in, but the mechanism grinds to life at once, opening onto the country lane which I’ve only ever seen from the back of a car.
I don’t hesitate, marching out onto the road, and turn left, heading in the direction of the nearby village.
Brisk, ocean air nips at my face as I finally relent and shove my cold-reddened hands into my pockets, my boots crunching on the gravel and loose debris resting along the bank of the asphalt.
Now is about the time I should be trying to think of a plan.
Some of the rush that propelled me from Thornhurst is fading, leaving behind a deep, sorrowful ache that seeps further into my nervous system with each step, taking me farther and farther from the security of my prison.
Already part of me regrets leaving, but I don’t stop or turn back.
I won’t. Not knowing who I’d have to face if I did.
God, the way he looked at me…
Impatiently, I swipe at the hot tear that manages to escape down the side of my cheek and feel my bottom lip tremble.
There’s no way I have cell phone service out here, but when I get to the village, I’ll get in contact with Summer.
She’s the only friend I have, and I refuse to be a burden to her, but maybe she’ll let me crash on the couch in her apartment for a few days, at least until I can figure out what my father’s next move is going to be.
Yet another man who holds my entire life in his hands. It must be so gratifying for them to have that kind of power, to toss it this way or that, sending it up in the air and catching it when they see fit, while letting it crash into pieces on the floor at others.
I know it’s my own fault.
I know I’m a disappointing mess.
I know I deserve whatever is coming to me, leaving like this, but at least it will be my choice. Not theirs.
The weight of my conflicting emotions is so heavy, I think it might make my knees buckle, but I carry on anyway.
I have no idea how much time has passed since I left Thornhurst, but my entire body aches, and my toes are going numb with cold as the trees begin to thin along the side of the road.
Finally, they give way entirely, and I pause at the edge of a rocky outcrop.
The ocean wind nips at my exposed skin as I stand there, allowing my breathing to even, and watching as the sea crashes onto the rocks below.
Maybe some self-sabotaging madness runs in the Porter blood. Who else but a prideful fool would see such a place and decide to make it their home?
“Blair!”
The sound of my name is almost drowned out by the wind, the crashing waves, and my own thundering heartbeat, but I know I’m not imagining it and whip around automatically.
I hadn’t heard a thing, but the estate’s green work truck has pulled off onto the curb a little way down the road.
Through the windshield, my eyes lock with those of the unmistakable figure sitting in the driver’s seat.
The very last person I wanted to see right now.
As we stare at each other, a thing I can’t name seems to pass over the distance between us, and, too late, I realize how red my eyes must be. I turn away anyway, my throat tight.
Listening for it now, I hear the sound of Mallory’s boots crunching over rocky soil, moving toward me, and then stop. “Get in the truck, Blair.”
His tone surprises me. It isn’t angry, or frustrated, or any of the other negative emotions I’ve managed to bring out in him thus far.
I let out a hard, miserable laugh, my chest aching so badly the poor thing could split open, and it would be a relief. “I left,” I point out unnecessarily, still watching the waves. “That means you don’t have to deal with me anymore. Congratulations.”
Another hesitant step, and when he speaks again, Mallory’s voice is a low, raspy plea. “I’m not telling, Blair. I’m asking. Please come home.”
I allow my head to fall to the side, as my spiraling mind catches on the last word, the word that fills me with a deep yearning. Home. “It’s not,” I tell him weakly. “My home, I mean. Thornhurst isn’t my home.”
My heart leaps in surprise as a jacketed elbow brushes mine, and I look up, meeting Satan’s dark eyes. We both look away and stand in silence for a long time, staring out at the gray, churning waves.
“Where is?” he asks at last.
That is a surprisingly loaded question, but for once, I don’t think he means to wound me. Lifting a shoulder, I smile grimly. “Here and there. Wyngate, if we’re going by where I spent the most time.”
The man at my side considers this solemnly. “I don’t think time spent is what makes a place home.”
“What does, then?”
He doesn’t seem to have an answer for that, and when I chance a peek over at him, I see a tired sorrow in his familiar features, as if this conversation has reminded him of a very old wound.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. We stand side by side, silently watching the waves crash over the rocks far below, lost in our respective thoughts. Until Mallory voices the conclusion I really hoped he would never make.
“You’re dyslexic,” he says. It isn’t a question, and he isn’t asking.
The word alone makes me want to start crying all over again.
Until now, I’ve been strong. I kept it together when I was in his presence and refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing he had an effect on me. Even if he hurt me with his harsh accusations and assumptions, I held my head high and threw them right back at him.
Apparently, providing this man with final confirmation of just how right he was about me has eliminated whatever remained of my pride.
“Yes,” I spit, glaring at him. “And before you ask, no, I can’t help it.”
Mallory rubs the stubble on his jaw, lowering his inky eyes to meet mine. “I know you can’t help it. Why didn’t you tell me?” He winces almost as he’s finished asking the question, as though he’s answered it himself.
I let out a hard laugh. “What a lovely idea. Here, Mr. Shark, let me cut my foot open and stick it in open water for you.”
“I’m not...” He trails off, his lips curving unhappily.
Unable to stand the silence long enough to let him find his words, I steel myself. “Look, you’ve made it really clear what you think of me, and my—my thing doesn’t change the fact I’m a stupid, useless brat, does it? I don’t want your pity.”
“I don’t pity you. I’m just…” Again, words seem to fail him.
My hands ball into fists at my sides, a flicker of irritation momentarily dispelling my self-pity. “You’re just what?” I demand incredulously, and even raised, my voice is almost carried off by the wind. “Say what you have to say, so we can get this over with.”
Mallory doesn’t seem capable of responding right away. For a long time, he just looks at me, his entire body stiff with tension. When he manages it, though, nothing could have prepared me for what he says.
“I’m sorry.” He really sounds it, too, and all the air goes out of me as we look at one another, apparently both rocked by those two simple words.
It takes an inordinate effort to swallow past the mass lodged in my throat, and I turn away again. “You’re sorry,” I echo, because I’m still half expecting him to mean something else, something that isn’t expressing actual regret for the way he treated me.
“Yes,” he confirms, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Nobody told me, and if they had, I wouldn’t have handled things the way I did. I wouldn’t have said those things to you.”
A selection of those things comes immediately to mind.
His not knowing isn’t a surprise to me. I’d guessed as much, considering my parents have done everything they possibly could to forget or dismiss my diagnosis.
In a way, I don’t blame them. They did all they were taught to; they threw money at the problem and expected it to be taken care of.
No amount of special tutoring or school aids could help me, though.
Not when my problems went so much deeper than the inability to read.
“Come home. Back to Thornhurst, I mean.” Mallory’s voice is unbearably gentle, like he’s coaxing a wild animal into taking food from his hand.
It’s not a tone he’s ever employed with me before, and I don’t know how to respond to it.
Fighting fire with fire is the only dynamic I know with this man, and if it’s extinguished… What should I say? How do I act?
I think of him smiling at that woman in the salon.
I think of him laughing with the electrician and clapping him on the shoulder.
I think of the fact that he has never once smiled or laughed with me.
“Nothing has changed,” I retort bitterly, pulling my coat closer, as I lower my gaze from the sea to my boots. “You were right about me. Everything you said was right. Being dyslexic doesn’t absolve me from being a spoiled, entitled little brat, does it?”
“No,” he concedes gruffly. “But it adds context, and as the saying goes, you reap what you sow. I have to assume that the way I treated you from the start set the standard for the way you would behave in response. If I had been kinder, if I had listened, and treated you as the person you are rather than what I assumed you’d be, maybe we wouldn’t be here now. ”
My eyes burn, and even though he’s the one being vulnerable, somehow it opens me up, too. “Maybe,” I admit quietly, still not looking at him.
Mallory sighs. “I can see now that my judgement was clouded. My own experience with generational wealth isn’t positive. My father’s family has money—old money—and the things it does to people...”
I look over and see he’s shaking his head, expression creased in resentment and disgust. He hasn’t ever spoken about his personal life to me, and this fragment of information sends a dull jolt of surprise through me, a distraction from the miserable self-loathing.
I want to ask more, but I’m afraid to shatter whatever fragile understanding has settled over us, so instead, I wait.
At last, Mallory shifts his gaze from the sea to my face, and something warm spreads through my chest at what I see there.
“It wasn’t fair for me to treat you according to my own assumptions and prejudices, and I’m sorry for it, Blair.
Truly sorry. If you come back with me, you have my word that we’ll find a new way to do things. A better way.”