21. Confession in the Cabin
The mustiness of the room hits me the moment I push the door open. It’s a slightly stale smell, but I inhale deeply, tension draining off my shoulders. The room is shrouded in darkness, but I navigate easily, slipping past the couch to flick the lights on.
Blake’s cabin comes alive around me. It looks exactly like it did six weeks ago when we left to go back to the city. Seeing it again takes me back to my failed wedding night, how I felt seeing this place for the first time. I was so out of my element and uncomfortable.
Today, I can’t think of anywhere else that feels more like home.
I let my overnight bag fall to the floor. My guitar is hanging from my shoulder, and I place it gently on the table before settling on the couch. It feels almost weird to be here without Blake, even though it’s comforting in a strange sort of way.
He wasn’t able to come with me. As much as I will miss him, being alone will allow me to focus on what I came here to do.
Kevin looked at me like I was crazy when I told him I wanted a weekend away to start working on the new album.
“I think you should do it in a studio,” he said. “You know, like your fellow musicians?”
But I insisted. Most of my past songs were written under a lot of pressure, with my dad hovering and lyricists in the background. Yeah, I wrote most of the lyrics, but they were always just a fantasy.
This album is going to represent the true me. I want that more than anything. Since this spot is where I really started to figure myself out, there’s nowhere better to work on it than here.
I bend over, reaching for my notepad and a pen. Poising the pen over the blank sheet, I wonder what to write about first. My father’s betrayal? Coming into my own for the first time in my life?
My faux relationship?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. As always, thinking about it takes me back to the hockey game less than two weeks ago. When Blake stepped between Ben and me and told him to back off. How he smiled when his teammates gathered around me.
In those moments, the line between what is fake and what is real was the blurriest it had ever been.
I recall Kevin’s words, “Blake isn’t a relationship sort of guy . . . no matter what it seems like.”
I can’t tell if this is still true. After the most amazing sex of my life—it gets better with him every single time—he’d flown out for his next couple of games. We’ve kept up with our usual flirty texts. I’ve also watched his post-match interviews, where reporters insist on asking him about me. He is always cordial, responding to their questions politely, saying the right things.
It feels as if we are for real. It seems more genuine than my relationship with Ben, and that went on for a full seven years. I find myself texting Blake way more than I ever did with Ben, and he occupies my thoughts much more than Ben ever did. Also, I definitely feel more things now.
I open my eyes, drawing harsh breaths. It’s hard to admit it, especially here. Blake has made fun of me countless times for daring to think of romance as a real concept. Enjoying a good romp doesn’t mean that he’s changed his mind.
I look down on the empty page, suddenly recalling what a lyricist said to me once: “What do you feel? Put it in writing.”
I grip my pen harder. Truth is, I can’t figure out what to do with my emotions tonight. It might take a couple of weeks, maybe even months.
But I can turn them into an amazing song.
My hand flies across the page:
Colors:
Had my life in shades of black and white,
Black studios, white walls, day and night,
Back and forth, from home to the studio light,
Trapped between the walls, in an endless flight,
Moving on without a stop, caught in this plight,
But you walked in with colors, oh so bright.
Your smile’s a pink sunrise, soft and warm,
Your touch, a yellow glow, a gentle storm,
In your care, purple hues, a love transform,
Red shadows when you’re gone, a heart torn,
Colors in my world, a new form,
Do you see them, in this love we’ve sworn?
I read it again,satisfied with the first draft. The last two lines are a little needy and might raise a few brows from people who are certain Blake is in love with me already. I wonder whether to delete them, but I decide against it. If I want to be as honest as possible, I can start by saying what I feel for a change.
I write two more verses before I flip the page and start another song titled “Betrayal,” this one about my father. I’m about halfway done when I hear a faint rustle outside.
“Hello?” I say, heart jumping to my throat. The cabin is out in the middle of nowhere. Which means that I’m totally defenseless if someone barges in here.
My mind starts to spin as the rustling grows louder. Who could it be? Someone who saw the lights and wanted to check in on Blake? The possibility’s quite slim, seeing as Blake never had a single visitor while we were here. What if it is someone else who saw the car parked outside and thought he found easy prey to rob?
The movement is nearer still. This time, I also hear footsteps coming closer, stopping at the door. I wait for a knock, but then the sound of the lock being opened reaches me, and a sliver of realization hits me.
“Faye?”
I blink. Blake is standing in front of me. He looks tired, sweat matting his hair to his forehead, his shoulders slumped and his eyes dull. But it’s him, all six-foot-three inches of him, looking as close to a Greek god as he did the first time I saw him.
“Faye?” he says again. He shrugs his bag onto the floor. Then he opens his arms wide. It feels natural to run across the room and sink into him. His sweatshirt is damp with sweat, but a hug has never felt so good.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” he mutters against my hair. “I drove here from the complex because I wanted to see you.”
“I started working on a song.” I nod at my notepad.
Blake grunts. “Good.” He pulls himself away from the hug. “I’ve got to take a shower, but then I’ll be back.”
I watch as he strides away, my relief giving way to a stronger sense of elation. I’d been okay with spending time here alone, but I have to admit that I prefer being here with him.
I finish the song about my father just as Blake comes strolling back into the room, freshly showered with a clean pair of sweatpants. He settles beside me on the couch.
“Tough,” he says, staring down at the lyrics about my father. “Quite a departure from writing about roses in eyes and whispers in gold.”
I grin. For once, he’s actually teasing and not mocking. “Yeah.”
“Your fans are going to be shaken.”
Worry rises up my gut. “Do you think they’re going to hate it?”
Blake stares at me strangely. I melt under his gaze. He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from my face. “I think they’re going to fall in love when they meet the real you.”
My heart bangs in my chest. Every nerve in my brain is on full alert, waiting for him to add something else to that statement. Like, as did I.
But Blake looks away and reaches for the remote. Quelling my disappointment, I look down on my notepad and flip the page again. With Blake being so near, it’s hard to figure out what to write next.
He turns to me again. “You going to write about Ben, too?”
Is it my imagination, or does he sound almost . . . pissed? Is he jealous?
Is this a real relationship?
“Yeah . . . maybe.” The real answer’s no, but it doesn’t hurt to poke a little.
Blake’s lips thin. “Why was he at the game, anyway?” His tone is casual enough, but I can detect just enough interest underneath his words.
I shrug. “He said something about my dad. You know, all of his threats. He was trying to warn me about it.”
“You didn’t tell him your dad already took the time to give you a heads up?”
Yeah, that’s definitely jealousy.
“Yeah, I did. But Ben said he only told me because he was hoping I’d fire Kevin and hire him back. When I told Ben I’ve got my dad under control, he?—”
“Started to talk about how he wanted you to get back together?” His lips are practically non-existent.
“Well . . . yeah.”
Blake’s shoulders are stiff. I’m torn between reassuring him and backing away. But then he turns to me with a glint in his eye. “Be sure to add a hint of his desperation to your song.”
I’m partly relieved, but also disappointed.
Looks like I’m not going to get any clearer on Blake’s feelings tonight.
He starts to flip the channel, settling on E! A familiar pit in my stomach forms as I see the reporters. But this time, they’re talking about a fashion trend.
“You don’t need to worry about them.” Blake obviously caught something on my face. “Or your dad. I don’t care how many worms he’s got underground on Reddit or wherever. The internet is going to love you, especially after you give them a great album.”
A surge of gratitude wells up inside me. Without thinking, I move closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. We’ve barely had any non-sexual physical contact before, and I’m surprised at how normal it feels. Blake moves even closer, placing his arm around me.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. “I hated having anyone in this cabin . . . until I met you.”
My heart is beating fast in my chest. Does he mean . . .?
I don’t quite finish my thought before Blake’s lips are on me, softer than they’ve ever been, but every bit as passionate. I yield instantly, my arms going up so he can pull my shirt over my head. I’m wearing one of my sexiest bras tonight, and I take a second to be grateful about that before Blake unhooks it and sends it flying off to the other end of the room.
“Fuck,” he says again. His mouth finds my nipple, and he starts to suck, causing me to arch my back and moan loudly. “Didn’t even realize how much I missed you.”
My arms push against his chest, desperate to touch every bit of his skin. Soon, I’m tugging at his sweatshirt and running my fingers down the hard muscles of his chest. Blake’s arms grip me and pull me closer, still sucking my nipple, switching from one breast to the other.
“I want to prolong this,” he gasps. “But I’m desperate to feel you.” His dick is straining against his pants with such force it looks like it’s about to tear the fabric open. I let my fingers go lower, pulling down his waistband and letting his cock spring free. Even after all this time, I feel muted awe as I stare at it.
I’m straining to get closer, to suck it, but Blake has other plans. Shoving pillows aside, he sets me gently on the couch, ridding me of my jeans. I’m completely naked before him. This has happened many times before, but there’s a gentleness to his look that’s new.
He starts to kiss me then, from my neck down to my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach. He’s tender, meticulous, and his touch feels so damn good, I’m squirming before he even gets to my belly button. He continues his slow progress, running his tongue down the small tuft of hair between my legs.
“Blake,” I hear myself moan. “Please.”
I don’t know what the hell I’m begging him to do, but I sure hope it doesn’t involve stopping.
Blake takes my pulsing clitoris into his mouth. A tremor runs through me. Automatically, my legs attempt to snap shut, hiding my most sensitive flesh from his touch.
He looks up at me, a smile in his eyes. “You’re going to have to trust me, sweetie. I want to show you the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever dreamed of.”
I hesitate. Sex with Ben never involved oral play, and so far, it hasn’t happened with Blake. I don’t even know anything about it, except that it involves an awful lot of surrender. But when I look down at his blue eyes, I start to relax.
Blake’s right. I can trust him. I’ve always been able to.
He parts my legs and delves in face first. His tongue draws a line down my labia, both taking away and adding to my moistness. His fingers work on my clit as he continues to lick me, prodding his tongue deeper with every stroke.
I close my eyes as pleasure breaks out from me in uncontrollable spasms. Blake keeps at it, slipping a finger inside me and sliding it in and out. Tears start in my eyes as he pushes me closer to the edge. I’m a quavering mess in seconds, trembling all over as my first oral orgasm hits me.
Blake was right. I’ve only ever dreamed of this sort of pleasure.
Or maybe not, I think, as Blake rids himself of his pants and positions himself above me. Even though I’m desperate to have him in me, a part of my brain fires with warning. We’ve never had sex missionary style, ever. It feels too close, too intimate. Less . . . lust-driven.
But Blake doesn’t seem to notice. He pushes himself inside me with one full stroke, and I hear myself scream with pleasure, all of my thoughts disappearing into oblivion. Raising my legs, I wrap them around his waist, urging him to drive into me deeper.
And he does. Over and over, until I can’t even remember my own name.
“Fuck, Faye,” he screams, giving me his longest and slowest stroke yet. “What the hell have you done to me?”
He drives himself into me one final time before he collapses on me, in the throes of his own climax. I hold on to him, my hands coming around his neck too. His weight threatens to flatten me into the couch, but it’s also oddly comforting.
In the silence interrupted by our heavy breathing, I let my thoughts linger on everything Blake said.
I drove here from the complex unable to bear the thought I wouldn’t be seeing you for the next few days.
I hated having anyone in this cabin, until I met you.
What the hell have you done to me?
My breathing is getting deeper and shallower as I settle on the conclusion that scares me to my very core.
He has feelings for me.
I close my eyes, my heart pounding. It’s almost impossible to even imagine it. Blake spent days telling me of his views about romance.
But I can’t deny what’s in front of me.
Especially because I’m falling in love with him.
My heart feels like it’s collapsing on itself, but even with that, a sense of relief creeps in. Admitting what I’ve known for weeks now makes me calmer than I’ve felt in a while. I’m in love with Blake, and there’s no use pretending otherwise. No use pretending everything depends on what he feels for me.
I watch as he pulls on his sweatpants, wondering about the exact moment I started falling. During our weeks of non-stop texting? When he came back for me at the hotel? Or even sooner, the day we met? I remember how firmly he’d gripped me as we fell to the ground, how even then, I knew he was different from anyone I’d ever met.
I pull up my own clothes, still feeling that sensation of my heart caving in. I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.
The fear of not knowing how he feels does not descend on me. Not yet, anyway, because I’m becoming a new, better person. The kind who’s not afraid to feel things for fear that it might offend someone else.
“As much as I’d like us to settle in for a night of . . . similar pursuits.” Blake is smirking as he bends to pick up my notebook, which was dislodged from the couch along with the pillows. “I think you’ve got to get back to writing, and . . .”
He suddenly stops talking. His face hardens as he looks down at the page.
“What?” My lyrics about my father’s betrayal can’t be that bad.
Blake says nothing.
A second later, it hits me. Blake is staring down at the first page of the book. He’s not looking at my lyrics about my father.
He’s looking at the song I wrote about him.
My heart sears with pain. I’m unbelievably embarrassed, but then, there’s another emotion tickling around in my subconscious.
Hope.
One way or another, I’m finally going to know tonight.
He stares at the page fully, absorbing every word. I try hard not to think about the emotionless expression on his face. Finally, he looks back at me.
“Thought you said you were done writing love songs.” His voice is flat, disinterested.
Why is my mouth suddenly dry? “Yeah.” I swing to my feet. “I’m done writing just love songs. This album is supposed to represent how I feel about life in general.”
His blue eyes darken, and he glances at the page. “You do know that if you release songs like this on the album, your fans are going to think you’re talking about me.”
Not the kind of reaction I was hoping for. Still, my sense of dread morphs into calm.
I’ve spent most of my life running, avoiding. Skulking in shadows, pretending to be who I’m not.
I don’t know how Blake feels. But I’ve got a chance to tell him about me, and I’m not going to pass on that because of cowardice.
I take a deep breath and gaze up at him. This is about the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, toe-to-toe with running from my wedding.
“Because I am.”
Blake blinks. “What?”
“I feel that way about you.” Suddenly, my heart is ballooning again, and I go with the flow. “I love you, Blake. And I want to write about it.”
Blake just stares. The seconds lengthen between us, until my hope is stretched thin and the tiniest hints of doubt start to poke their way across my mind.
“This . . .” He looks back at the book, before he tosses it to the couch. “This is a fake relationship, Faye. We’re having mind blowing sex, but that’s all there is to it. And if you’re starting to feel otherwise, we’re going to have to make sure we get back on the same page.”
He turns around and marches into the bedroom, banging the door behind him.
I crash onto the couch the moment the door closes. My eyes stare at the floor between my legs, barely able to see the carpet through the blur of my tears.
I did get my answer.
One that makes me feel like a giant fucking idiot who should have just stayed with Ben.