45. Blakely
FORTY-FIVE
Blakely
I wake up later than normal on Tuesday morning, and while I feel more rested than I have in years, my brain automatically goes into flight-or-fight mode, racing around the room like I have somewhere to be.
Every still second is a second wasted.
It isn’t until I’m halfway through my fasted cardio that I remember I don’t actually have somewhere to be. But instead of freedom, I feel the sting of sadness wrapping itself around me. The only reprieve I get is knowing that because I haven’t told Sierra of my freed-up schedule, I have the day to just… be .
I don’t know the last time I’ve ever spent a morning doing absolutely nothing. The thought shoots an uncomfortable tingle down my spine, but I ignore it. My stomach tightens around nothing, the emptiness of fasted cardio always bringing me a sense of accomplishment, and I grasp onto the fiery burn, hoping it will propel me through the rest of my day.
Or at least until the next workout.
I jump off the spin bike the second I hit one thousand calories and rush my way back up to my room, where I left my phone, unable to stem the urge that’s pushing at my back, telling me to man up and just read Jackson’s messages.
Unlocking my screen, my breaths still coming in sharp gusts from exercise, I open the string of texts.
Jackson:
Sorry I missed your call. You still heading over?
Jackson:
Hello?
Jackson:
Blake, are you okay? I’m starting to get worried.
Jackson:
Good morning. Please call me.
Nothing after that.
My chest sparks with regret, shame flaring because I couldn’t keep it together when I saw him with that girl. That instead of handling it like an adult, I spiraled into the mess that I try so hard to hide from the world.
The part that I hate about myself the most.
At the first sign of something not going my way, I fall apart at the seams. I don’t want to be this way. I’m sick of feeling like a malfunction. A broken doll that’s patched together to try and fool the world.
Blowing out a deep breath, I text back.
Me:
Hi. I’m sorry. I was a mess last night and I should have responded sooner. Can we talk today?
I don’t expect an immediate response, but before I can even set my phone down, three bubbles pop up on the screen. My heart jumps.
Jackson:
A friend from back home showed up in town so I’m taking today off to spend some time. Do you want to meet her?
The first thing I feel is relief. Every crazy scenario that looped through my brain all night disappears like they never even existed because he didn’t hide her from me. He’s being honest and open. But then, as the words sink into my brain, my insides tighten like a drawstring, wrangling like a noose around my throat.
A friend from back home .
Chewing my bottom lip, my fingers tremble as I type a reply.
Me:
Who is it?
The three bubbles pop up and then stop over and over, and each time they do, my stomach screws tighter until it feels like it might crack from the pressure.
Jackson:
Lee.
Jackson:
I really want you to meet her.
I lay down my phone, my chest lighting up so quickly my face turns hot, my heart hurling itself against my rib cage.
Deep breath. One. Two. Three.
Me:
Does she know about us?
Jackson:
No, but I’d like her to.
My mind races, wanting to meet this girl but not sure I’ll be able to control myself. I want to slap her for hurting him. I want to throttle her for showing up and taking away the small amount of time that we get.
But leaving them alone together while I sit and wonder where they are and what they’re doing feels like the worst type of purgatory.
So it really comes down to picking which version of hell I want to sink into.
Me:
I’d like to meet her. Can we do it somewhere private? Why don’t you two come here?
Jackson:
Is your dad going to be there?
Me:
No, he left town this morning.
Jackson:
We’ll be there.
Jackson:
I love you.
Anxiety twirls like a ballerina in the center of my stomach as I write him back.
I love him too. I just hope he doesn’t remember how much he loves her .
Jackson texted around two that they were on their way, and my insides have been raging in protest ever since. I thought about calling Kayla just to have someone to vent to, but she hasn’t been anywhere near supportive of Jackson and my relationship, and I cower at the idea, not wanting to deal with having to defend him again .
Besides, telling her about Jackson and Alina feels like a breach of his trust.
The intercom buzzes in the kitchen and I spring up from my spot where I’ve been staring into the security cameras, waiting impatiently for them to arrive.
My stomach squeezes as I open the gate and let them in.
One. Two. Three .
I prepared some snacks, things that I know will fit into my daily count and that will hopefully keep Alina from judging me too harshly. I’m already on edge from meeting her in the first place, and new people always have something to say about the way I eat.
Walking to the front door, I swing it open just as they land on the top step, Jackson’s car parked in the circle drive behind them.
I paste on a big smile, the one I use for the cameras, and Jackson walks up and grabs me around the waist, pressing a tender kiss on my lips. A little bit of tension seeps out when he does.
He pulls back, his eyes looking so deeply in mine I feel like they’re trying to draw out my soul. “Hi, princess.”
“Hi yourself.” I smile. My heart swells at his attention, but my nerves are stinging me with every motion, reminding me there’s a lot to feel nervous about.
Jackson steps back, running his hand down my arm until our fingers tangle together, turning so that he’s standing next to me and facing his friend.
My gaze follows his and I hold my breath as I take her in. She’s gorgeous and when she smiles, my chest tightens with envy.
Her baby blues land on me, a shade of curiosity crossing her features, her head tilting the slightest amount. It would be unnoticeable to the average person, but I’ve been trained since birth to learn how to read people, to know what they’re thinking before they’ve even finished the thought, and I can tell she’s sizing me up. Making sure I meet her standards. That I’m worthy enough for a man like Jackson.
Spoiler alert: I’m not.
Slowly, a smile spreads across her face. “You look familiar,” she says.
My stomach cramps.
“Do I?” Keeping my smile in place causes so much strain it pulls the muscles in my cheeks.
“Yeah, I don’t know…somethin’ about you.” She glances behind me, her eyes widening as she takes in the expansive foyer and the ornate chandelier hanging above our heads. “Dang, this place is massive. You ever get lost when you’re tryin’ to get around?”
Her thick accent paired with her unfiltered words catch me off guard, not used to people who aren’t polished and proper, especially during introductions, and whether I like it or not, a tiny sliver in the center of my chest warms.
The corners of my lips twitch. “Not since I was a kid. Come in, please.”
I move to the side, tugging Jackson’s hand to make more room, and Alina walks in, whistling as she peers down the hallways.
She spins back around, her hands in her back pockets as she glares at Jackson. “Teeth, I think you and introductions are a lost cause. You’re terrible at ’em.”
He chuckles, squeezing my fingers and gesturing toward her. “Blakely, this is my best friend, Alina, but you can call her Lee. Lee, this is Blakely.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” It’s the nicest thing I can muster, my insides split down the middle, raging between wanting to be mean because she broke Jackson’s heart and wanting to be nice because she clearly means a lot to him.
And I’m instantly jealous of the way they are with each other.
There’s an obvious comfort to them. One that only exists when you’ve known each other for years, and a niggle of doubt worms its way into my brain, wondering if there was more to the story of them than Jackson wanted me to believe.
Her smile widens, her golden hair shining underneath the lights. “I’ll be honest, I can’t say the same, but I’m just dyin’ to get to know you.”
Surprise pushes into my stomach, stealing my breath away.
She wants to get to know me?
Is this some kind of trick?
Keeping the grin in place, my free hand clenches at my side, confusion spinning my brain in circles, trying to figure out if she’s being genuine or if she’s putting on a show. I’m not used to dealing with someone outside of Hollywood, and years of learning to think the worst of people have whittled my ability to trust a stranger down until it’s barely a nub.
Jackson clears his throat when I don’t respond right away, pulling me into him and kissing the side of my head. Satisfaction buzzes through me at the fact that he’s not afraid to touch me in front of her.
I watch Alina closely, looking for a sign—something that shows me she’s bothered by his affection. But her eyes soften as they take us in, a peaceful look covering her face, and if I didn’t know any better, I could swear she is close to tears.
“Let’s go sit down somewhere,” Jackson says.
“Yeah, I set out some food if you guys are hungry.” I move forward, walking briskly into the kitchen, my mind jumbled and my heart palpitating. I’ve only known her for two minutes, but she’s already so different from the image I had in my head.
As we reach the kitchen, I take a deep breath, telling myself that I’m going to be mature about this.
I’m going to give her a chance.
Because I love Jackson, and Jackson loves her.
And I’ll just have to find some way to be okay with that.