Chapter 13
Blake
The door slams shut behind David, leaving me alone with Ethan and Bandit in the dimly lit bar, the echo of the door closing reverberating through the quiet space even when it finally fades away. David’s gone again. He’s gone, and in even worse shape than before.
Ethan steps forward, his eyes fixed on me, the movement breaking through my worry, pulling me from the thoughts that continue to spiral. “What’s going on?”
My first instinct is to brush him off, waving a hand dismissively even as I pull out my cell and fire off a text to David, telling him to call me urgently. Phone away, a smile pushed into place. “It’s nothing. Just… family stuff. I’ll lock up and we can go.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “No, it’s not nothing. That guy shows up here, unstable as hell, tries to break into the bar—”
“I don’t think he was trying to break in. I think he was looking for me.”
Ethan just stares at me, arms still folded, not buying what I’m selling. At his feet, Bandit looks at me too, head cocked to one side, ears pricked, both of them remaining silent, waiting. I sigh, the secrets I’ve kept buried for so long clawing their way back into the light.
For so long I’ve been Blake Summerton, daughter of Trudy and Charlotte, the cool chick . I know how the others talk about me, how the boys all supposedly want me, the girls wanting to be like me.
I think it’s bullshit, personally, but it’s suited me to have a reputation like that, one where people find me a little unavailable, where my business remains my business, no one probing or trying to get under my skin. Keeping things fun and friendly.
Standing in the bar, staring at Ethan, it hits me that I’ve been Blake Summerton for longer than I was ever Blake Taylor. I’m twenty-nine in a few months. Twelve years a Taylor, and almost seventeen a Summerton.
It’s been so long since I’ve had to confront my past. The memories I’ve locked away, the identity I’ve left behind. But now, it’s come to an unavoidable collision point, the past crashing spectacularly into the here and now.
And who would have ever guessed it was Ethan Carter who was here for it all, unearthing things meant to stay hidden, digging in places no one was supposed to dig. I glance at him, his gaze unwavering, and the pressure builds.
“Look, I—” The words catch in my throat.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me with those intense gray eyes, urging me silently to continue.
“You’re not going to let this go?”
“No.”
“Fine.” I sink onto one of the bar stools, staring at a half-empty bottle of bourbon against the back wall, resigned to telling him the truth. Well, part of the truth. No one needs all the dark and awful details. “I don’t usually talk about this, but… I used to be in foster care before I was adopted.”
The words are out there now, seeping around the room, uncontainable as the oil seeping over our beautiful coastline. Danny knew some of what I’d been through, and my parents, to a lesser extent. But Ethan is honestly the very last person I’d have expected to talk to about this.
My gaze flicks to him, and his expression doesn’t change, no hint of the usual pity people tend to show when they hear those words. Instead, his expression stays steady, attentive, the gray of his eyes boring into mine, offering a quiet promise of support.
It’s that lack of pity that spurs me to keep talking. The way he’s simply listening, without judgment. It makes me feel… safe . Safe to expose those parts of me that no one usually sees.
“I was in a lot of different homes when I was a kid.” A swallow, the way those simple words can’t even go close to encapsulating the complexity of moving from place to place, figuring out the world owed me nothing, and that there were only my own two feet to stand on.
“And that’s where you met David?”
“That’s right. I met him in the last home I was placed in, when I was nine. The woman, my foster mother, Sylvia, she was awful. Actually, awful is too kind. She was cold, manipulative. She acted like she cared when there was a caseworker over or a bio parent having a visitation, but it was all a front.”
“Sounds rough.”
“I was twelve when I finally got adopted by my moms, but David stayed with her until he aged out of foster care.”
“Aged out?”
“He turned eighteen—legally an adult.” A heavy stone settles on my chest, the same stone that always settles there when I think about the fate I narrowly escaped. “Tens of thousands of kids age out of foster care every year, and they’re often left with no place to live, no permanent family, no support.”
I pause, searching Ethan’s face, but there’s only quiet attention. “Anyway, he stayed with her for another five years or so after I left. And he was hurt by her in that time.”
The words taste bitter in my mouth, and there’s an intense need for retribution tightening the knot in my stomach. I want so badly to find a way to help David and punish Sylvia for what she did to him. I just don’t know how.
“So why is he here now?”
“He wants me to present evidence against her, but... I don’t remember ever being hurt by her. At least, not in the way he’s talking about.”
Ethan’s eyes darken with understanding. “And now he’s back, wanting you to remember something you can’t.”
“Yeah.” A lump forms in my throat. “He’s struggled with homelessness and addiction in the past, and I think he could be using again.”
Ethan moves closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to deal with this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”
I shake my head, pulling away slightly. David is never going to trust Ethan, especially not when he’s like this, paranoid and angry with the world. Besides, I do need to deal with this alone. Leaning on others is never a good idea. “No. I have to handle this myself.”
“I’m here for you,” he insists. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”
Sitting up suddenly, a new worry races through my mind. “You have to swear to me. You have to keep the fact David was here, and what he wants, a secret. It can’t get back to my moms.”
He looks taken aback, his brow furrowing. “Your moms would want to help you.”
“No,” I say firmly. “They’ve got enough on their plates. I can’t add to their stress. Please? Promise me.”
I can’t burden Mom or Mama Charlotte with this. Mom especially doesn’t need my problems added to her own—she needs to know that I’m handling things, that everything is okay.
I straighten up, meeting Ethan’s gaze with as much resolve as I can muster. “Promise me. This is important to me.”
He hesitates, clearly torn. “Alright. I promise.”
“Thank you.”
Part of me wants to believe him when he says I don’t need to deal with this situation alone, but the fear of pushing Mom away, of being too much for her to handle, is too strong. So the walls around my heart stay firmly in place. It’s better this way, safer.
Ethan’s brow is still furrowed, and he keeps glancing at the door David just walked out of. “If you’re not going to tell your parents, you should at least consider going to the police. Just in case things get out of control. David seems like a pretty unstable guy. It might be a good thing if the sheriff is keeping an eye out for him.”
I shake my head. “He’s harmless. He’s just hurting right now. But he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or anyone else.”
Ethan’s eyes search mine, trying to gauge the truth of my words. “I get why you don’t want everyone involved in your business,” he says finally, his voice softer. “I hate people knowing my business, too. I prefer to handle things myself.”
Some of the tension releases in my shoulders. “Exactly. It’s just easier that way. I don’t need Mom worrying about me. And I definitely don’t need the whole town talking about it.”
He leans back against the bar. “Yeah, I get that. But just because you can handle things on your own doesn’t mean you have to. I’m here for you, okay?”
His words hang in the air between us, lingering. “I appreciate that. Really, I do. But David’s my responsibility. I’ll figure it out.”
He doesn’t push further, just gives me a long, measured look. “Alright. But promise me you’ll be careful. If things start to get out of hand, you’ll let me know. I can help.”
I smile, the first real one I’ve managed since we got to the bar. “I promise. And thanks. For everything.”
Ethan’s expression shifts, and he reaches out, his gentle fingers brushing my cheek, feather-soft. “Anytime. I’m here for you. Just remember that.”
And long after he drives me home, after I climb into bed alone, that touch lingers.