Chapter 16 - Blair
Blair
One of my all-time favorite movies is Overboard. The one with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, not the remake—I mean, the remake is fine. But the original is a million times better.
Remember the scene where she’s completely overwhelmed?
He’s convinced her she’s not a socialite but rather the mother of his three wild boys.
She’s washed, scrubbed, and polished his wreck of a house, and then she falls onto the sofa.
The only noise that comes out of her mouth is "bah, bah, bah.
" It's hysterical. Love it. I just never thought it was something that could actually happen.
But holy shit. I'm making noises I don't recognize.
And I can't look at anything but what's in front of me.
"Blair." Grayson flashes a light in front of my face. "Blair." His gray eyes are so interesting, steel blue more than anything, flecks floating around in his irises. I'm entranced.
There's a hand on my arm. I bow my head to look at it and follow the arm up to the face. Zion. His mouth is open, and he looks concerned.
It pulls me out of it, and I blink. "I'm okay?"
"You're okay," Grayson says. "Back up."
I lean back.
"Not you, Blair. I'm talking to the rest of my pod."
That's when I realize the other five of them are standing behind Grayson. "Oh." The tension rolling off them has me wanting to run and hide. It's not something I'm used to. Oh, I've seen guys looking upset before. But not concerned. And not with this intensity.
"Are you sure she's okay? We should take her to a human hospital in Athens," Delmar says.
The room, other than Grayson, turns to scowl at Delmar.
"Out," Grayson says. "Now."
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, it's just Grayson and Zion.
Grayson blinks at Zion.
"I'm staying."
"Please." I'm not even sure why I want him to stay, but I do. I almost miss the others. And that's not like me at all.
"I'm going to message your daughter now." Zion has his block on his knee.
"Oh no. Please don't. Give me some time to get my stomach back."
"Your stomach can move?" Zion's eyes are wide.
"No. Her stomach can't move. Now clam up or I'll kick you out too. I'm giving you some medicine." Grayson holds a metal ball on a handle. He rubs it over my forehead before I can say no.
A second later, I'm woozy, then flushed, which moves into hungry and tipsy?
I'm not sure. I haven't had anything to drink in a long time.
It was too risky when I lived on the farm.
I never knew what mood my ex was going to be in.
Then, after, I wanted to have my wits about me at all times in case I had to grab Marlee and make a run for it.
I'm not against alcohol; it just didn't have any place in my life.
"Grayson?" Zion's tone goes deep.
"I . . . I didn't give her much."
I laugh and stand. Or rather, I try to stand. My legs are like a newborn calf’s. I wobble to the left and then to the right before falling into Zion's lap. "Hello, there." I wrap my arm around Zion's neck, resting my head sideways on his shoulder.
That's when I see the rest of the guys haven't left the room. They're standing near a twelve-foot statue of Poseidon with full beard, crown, and trident. It's made of a dark, shiny metal. It's tall because the beast with the furrowed brow standing next to it isn't as tall.
Sterling thumps over to Grayson. "What in the cod fish did you give her?"
"The smallest dose of sedative we can give. Less than I would give to a newborn podlet," Grayson says.
"This is your apartment?" I lift my head from Zion's shoulder. I don't know. It's not what I pictured. I'm not sure what I pictured, though. "It's like a museum."
"It's my parents' apartment, Blair." Forrest moves around the side of the sofa to look at me, which, I don't know why, seems like such a nice thing. I reach my hand out to him, and he takes it. Forrest holds on to me. He just lets me rest my hand in his, and I close my eyes.
"It's a nice place," I say after I realize I've insulted his childhood home.
"Not for podlets it's not," he scoffs.
"Don't play hide and seek behind the Athena statue," I say in my best mom's voice, then I laugh.
"How did you know there's an Athena statue?" It's Delmar from across the room.
That has me laughing harder.
"Can we move her to our apartment?" Sterling's voice echoes around us.
"No elevator. No glass elevators," I mumble into Zion's shoulder.
"Absolutely, never again." Zion places his hand in the middle of my back, pressing me to his chest.
"Yes, I think we would all be more comfortable in our own flat," Grayson says.
Zion stands and pulls me up with him. He's wearing a gray robe that's open all the way down. The skin on his chest is warm. Deliciously warm.
Why am I so cold? Also, my fingers are tingling. Why? I snuggle into the crook of his neck and sniff in a hint of cedarwood. His cut collarbone has me thinking about other things. My fingers walk up his back to his hairline, and when I inch them into his hair, he lets off a growl.
"Blair."
I don't know what's come over me. I lick up the side of his neck to the soft skin behind his ear. He hisses. But I'm not put off by it. "Is that a no?"
"Cod fish, Blair. It's a not right now. Not right here." He's taking powerful strides across the room.
The velvet sofa and matching half dozen chairs vanish. Along with the sculpture of Poseidon. And one of Athena. "I was right." I point at it, but then I'm mesmerized by Zion's calves going in and out of his robe. "Holy muscles, Batman."
There's a chuckle from behind Zion, and I lift my head. Alexei's smiling, and it makes me feel better. He's wearing a matching robe to Zion's, and I point at him. And then I retract my hand.
Everyone huddles closer. It takes me a second to realize where we are. Another elevator. I'm not scared of elevators. Not like Annabelle was scared of escalators when she was five. No, it’s just that stupid glass one. Not scared. Not scared.
"Blair, come on, Brave One. You've got this," Clark says, his face next to my cheek. It's a tight fit with all of us in the elevator.
"Brave One?" I laugh. "I'm not brave. I almost hyperventilated myself unalive, as they say."
"Unalive?" Forrest asks. He's on the other side of me. I flip my head, and when I do, the elevator car spins.
Zion steps out and into a room the exact opposite of the room upstairs. It's open and lived-in. Oh, it's masculine for sure—dark leather furniture and a couch the size of my first apartment above the gas station in the little farm town I grew up outside of.
Zion pauses next to the sofa but then pivots and takes us through an archway. Down a long hall, art covers the walls. Real paintings, not prints.
I glance up, and Zion and I are leading a parade. A parade of hot males. "Where are you taking me?"
"To the guest room," Forrest replies. He's half a step behind me.
"Not your pod room?"
"No, Grayson has accidentally intoxicated you." Forrest's voice has dropped a tone.
"Oh, that explains a lot." My jaw snaps closed. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that's going to make me sober. Nope, the hallway is still rocking back and forth.
Grayson pulls back the comforter. "Put her on the bed."
"No, I . . . Can I use the washroom?" I catch Forrest's quick nod.
Zion's slow to put me down, and when he does, he holds my hands while I let the room stabilize.
He leads me to the bathroom. It's light pink with cream walls.
And it has me wondering if this was their former mate's room.
But no, he said guest room, right? Annabelle has a massive suite for dressing and her clothes. One that she never uses.
"It's here. Do you want me to help you?" Zion asks.
"No, I'll be okay." In fact, I think whatever Grayson gave me has begun to wear off. I close the door on them all. Because they're all staring at me. Even Sterling's glare is more concern than judgment.
I hold the door shut behind me. There's not an ounce of me that thinks they'd push the door open.
No, I'm more holding myself in. Keeping myself from inviting them in.
I pivot into the bright space. White marble and steel are everywhere.
The bedroom may not be a mermaid's suite, but this bathroom is something out of an architectural magazine, with a large tub that could double as a swimming pool, and a shower big enough for, well, not eight people but certainly more than one.
What are you doing here, Blair Portsmouth?
I laugh because I haven't thought of myself as Blair Portsmouth in a long, long time.
When I'm done sitting on the cold steel toilet, I make my way to the marble sink.
I'm done washing my hands when I catch myself in the mirror.
Sure, I knew my hair had gotten longer. And I've been getting better sleep than, well, since before Marlee was born. Even with my pupils the size of my irises, I look better. No, I look hot. Sure, my skin’s a little pale and blotchy from having a mini psychotic break.
The question is, now, what do I want to do about it?
The mirror forgotten, I'm staring at the door.
The one with the seven sizzling-hot men behind it.
I run my fingers through my hair, and pain shoots up my wrist. The memory of why they brought me here in the first place bubbles to the surface of my brain.
But really, what am I going to do about it?
I take a little longer. Wash my hands again. And splash some water on my face.
There's a knock on the door. Maybe I've taken too long.
"Blair? Are you doing okay?" It's Delmar, I think.
"Of course she's not doing okay. She's injured, and then Grayson poisoned her," Sterling growls. "We're coming in."
"No, we're not," Clark says. His voice is like chocolate. "Come out when you're ready." There's a pause, and then he says, "I can hear her moving around in there. Can't you? Or have you gotten too old?" There's another scraping noise on the floor outside the door.
And it takes me out of my daze. "I'm good. Coming out," I say way louder than I need to.
When I open the door, they're standing in a semicircle again.
It's a lot, but I must have a look on my face that says I'm having issues, because they scatter like pool balls on a table: Grayson and Zion to beside the bed, Sterling in the doorway, and Clark and Alexei to the far side of the room by the curtains.
Forrest and Delmar are the only two who stand their ground.
And it makes me smirk. In a way, they're the two that are the most different from the rest. The youngest and the oldest in the pod.
But now they both have the same intense stare and glint in their eyes, like they're going to protect me no matter what happens.
"Hi," I say and try to act natural. Whatever that is when you're in a bedroom with seven guys who have outright told you that they want you to be their mate.
There's nothing natural about this. "I'm feeling better.
" It's sort of true . . . Wait, that's not what I wanted to say.
Not the plan. "But I think I should lie down. Is that okay?"
"Please." Delmar ushers me across the room and tucks me in.
"Can I please bandage your hand now?" Grayson asks.
"No more giving her anything," Sterling growls, stepping into the room.
"It's gauze. I'm not going to use any more of our tech on her until I understand why she reacted that way," Grayson says over his shoulder.
"I'm doing better. I'm just tired." I smile around the room because it's true. "Would it be okay if I stayed here tonight and just slept?"
Most of the room says "Yes" against Sterling's "No."