Chapter 32
After just two hours, I hear the door open, and I don’t even have to look to know it’s Calvin. Only the two of us have access to this room. The air changes the moment he enters, charged with an unspoken understanding.
“Hi,” he greets softly, his voice a low rumble as he moves closer to me.
I get up slowly, my heart racing, and drop to my knees in front of him. “Hi, Sir. Where would you like me?” My voice is a sultry whisper, laden with need.
“Blair?”
“Peach, just Peach,” I reply, the words tasting raw. “I was thinking we could play. I want to be punished, Sir.” I need it. I need him to tie me to the St. Andrew’s cross, to take the flogger in his hands, to make me feel something other than the storm of confusion and pain swirling inside of me.
I feel his hand rest gently on top of my head, and I close my eyes, savoring the tenderness of the touch even though my insides scream for the opposite.
“On your feet, Peach,” he says.
But I shake my head, not because I want to defy him, but because I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. I want to lose myself in him, in the pain, in the control. I just want him to take over, to erase everything that’s not him.
“You know I’m not in the habit of saying shit twice,” he says, his voice hardening. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Even though part of me wants to disobey, to provoke him into the punishment I’m craving, my body betrays me. I stand up, my knees shaking, but I keep my eyes fixed on the floor. I can’t bear to look at him. Not right now.
“Did you know?” I ask in a barely-there whisper, trembling with something unnamable.
“No.”
“Then there is nothing to talk about.” I feel my tears slipping silently down my cheeks, but I don’t move. I don’t want to face any of this.
I feel him walk away, but it’s only for a few seconds before he returns in front of me. His hands grasp my chin, gently yet firmly, lifting my face until our eyes meet. The weight of his gaze is heavy, and I feel my pulse quicken.
Quietly, he dresses me. Each movement is delicate, like I’m something precious and the smallest wrong move might break me entirely.
“Walk with me,” he says. Despite the gentleness of his voice, the command is clear. And it’s what I need right now. I don’t want to think, don’t want to make decisions. I need him to lead, to take control.
He takes my hand, and together, we leave my sanctuary.
“Where are we going?” I ask quietly. My voice barely holds together, but I already know I’m not in the mood for whatever this is. I just want to disappear.
Calvin doesn’t answer. We stop in the living room, and the sight waiting for me knocks the air from my lungs. Abigail. My mom. My dad. All sitting on the couch like some kind of intervention I never agreed to.
Disappointment settles heavily in my chest. The last thing I want right now is to face them. I glance up at Calvin, silently begging for an out, for a look, a word, anything that says we can leave.
When it doesn’t come, I turn away, ready to walk back to the room, to anywhere that isn’t here.
“Honey, please. Let’s talk,” my mom says, her voice trembling with something that sounds too much like hope.
I don’t answer. I just keep walking.
“Blair,” Calvin’s voice rings out, and my steps falter. Damn his dominant tone. It always gets to me, always makes me want to obey.
“Sit… please,” he commands, and despite everything, I find myself turning around. I walk back to the couch, sitting down without protest.
“I’ll let you talk. I’ll be in my office,” he announces.
“No, I want you here,” I say, almost pleading. I need him to stay. His presence is the only thing that grounds me, the only thing that can pull me from the chaos swirling in my mind.
He sits beside me, his presence radiating calm strength. He doesn’t need to speak or do anything more than sit there, and yet it’s enough to center me.
The room is suffocating with tension, each of us lost in our own turmoil. Abigail’s face is flushed with tears, her eyes wide and regretful.
“I don’t know where to begin,” she says softly, and her words just hang in the air.
I can’t hold it in anymore. The anger that’s been boiling inside me spills out in a way I can’t control. “Oh, I don’t know, how about we start with why I’ve been lied to for twenty years?” I demand, my voice filled with all the pain I’ve been carrying.
My dad sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry we lied to you, but we were only trying to protect you and Abigail. She’s our kid, and as her parents, we did everything we could to shield both of you,” he explains, his voice strained like he’s pleading for me to understand.
“And we did what we thought was best for you at the time,” my mom chokes out. “I was happy to raise you like you were my child.”
But my heart twists with a bitter truth. “But I’m not, am I? I’m hers!” I yell, my eyes locking with Abigail’s. “Were you planning on ever telling me?”
Abigail flinches, tears streaming down her face, and my anger spikes. “For that, I take full responsibility. I asked Mom and Dad not to tell you,” she admits. “Blair, I am so sorry.”
“Who is my dad? Does he know about me? Does he not want to know me? I need all these questions answered.” The floodgates are open now, and the questions keep pouring out of me, faster than I can catch them.
Abigail hesitates for a moment, her shoulders tense, before speaking: “His name is Ryan Foster. We went to middle school and freshman year of high school together until his family moved away. By the time I found out I was pregnant, he was gone. I was too embarrassed and heartbroken to reach out to him. But he’s a good man, and a few months ago, we reconnected.
When I told him about you, he wanted nothing more than to be in your life.
I asked him for time, but he’s been waiting to meet you.
” Her voice is soft, but I hear the guilt in every word, and for a second, I almost feel sorry for her.
But I can’t focus on her pain. I can’t even think about her guilt right now. I have to know the truth. “So, he knows? Where is he?” My voice cracks, and the anger inside me is boiling over, far too hot to contain.
Abigail looks at me, a shadow of uncertainty crossing her face. “He’s downstairs. And if you’re ready, he’s eager to meet you. But before you do, there’s something you need to know about him.”
A flash of panic rushes through me. Does he have another family? Did he abandon me for someone else? Is he even who he says he is? My mind races, creating a thousand terrifying scenarios.
“He… um, he…” She trails off.
“What? He what?” I ask.
“How about I show you a picture of him?” Abigail says. She fumbles with her phone, and I brace myself, heart pounding in my chest like a war drum.
She steps closer, cautious.
I take the phone from her stiff fingers, my own trembling as I look down at the screen. A man stares back at me, striking, warm-eyed, with a smile that feels like it should mean something. He looks nothing like the man I expected to be my father. But the resemblance is there, he looks like… me.
She clears her throat, like she’s about to break the world apart again. “He’s biracial,” she says, voice hoarse. “Half white, half Indian.”
“My… my dad is Indian?”
Abigail nods, her eyes brimming with regret. “He’s a good man, Blair. A really good man.”
But I can’t hear her through the thunder of my own rage. I feel it building in me like a storm, pressing against my ribs, sharp and poisonous.
“Are you telling me there’s a whole side of me I’ve never known?” My voice is low, shaking. “A whole culture? A whole identity you just decided wasn’t worth telling me about?”
Abigail’s face crumples, but I can’t stop. I won’t.
“You kept an entire history from me. A language. A heritage. A name. What if I had come out a few shades darker? Would that have been enough for you to tell me the truth? Or would you have let me keep walking around thinking I was some pale version of white picket fence perfection? What the fuck, Abby?”
Her sob is sharp, cutting through the air like glass. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what!?” I yell, not recognizing the rage in me.
Abigail and I haven’t always seen eye to eye.
She’s done things I don’t agree with, but this…
is too much. “Just admit it, you weren’t trying to protect me, you were trying to protect yourself.
” My voice is raw, blistering. “From shame. From judgment. From whatever the fuck you thought would happen if people knew you had a baby at fourteen. And you know what? I get that. I get it. But I deserved to know. I deserved to grow up knowing all of who I am.”
It’s silent. Then, my… God, what do I even call her now? My grandmother says gently, “Maybe we should take a moment. Think before we say something we can’t take back.”
But I’m already past the point of no return.
“You said he’s downstairs?”
Abigail looks at me, startled. “Yes, but…”
“Tell him to come up,” I say, steadily even though my hands are shaking. “I want to meet him.”
My world is shattering, but I still have the presence of mind to feel Calvin beside me, solid and silent, like a lighthouse during a hurricane. He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t speak. He just silently supports me, lets me handle it, and I appreciate it more than he knows.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?” my mom asks, worry in every line of her face. Her voice is gentle, cautious, as if she’s trying not to spook a wild animal.
I nod. “I’m sure. I want to meet him. I’m done being kept in the dark about my own life.”
She steps closer, brushing a kiss across my forehead with trembling lips. “Just… please don’t shut us out,” she whispers. “We’re still your family, Blair. That hasn’t changed.”
My dad speaks next. “We love you. We will always love you.”
I don’t say a word. I can’t. The silence stretches between us until they quietly turn and leave. The elevator doors close behind them with a quiet ding.