Chapter Sixteen
Blue
My eyes are fixed on my wedding ring where it rests on the side of the sink near the soap dispenser. Suds rinse down the drain as I place the last dish on the drying rack, then slip the ring back onto my finger. The wave of sadness that comes with it makes my chest tighten, but I force it down.
Deep.
I’m still pissed, but… shit. I miss him. Miss how easy things used to be.
The timer over the stove beeps, and I’m hit with a flashback as I search my brother’s chaotic maze of a kitchen for an oven mitt.
It’s a memory from senior year of high school, when West and his brothers saved Scar’s birthday party from being a total disaster.
She didn’t have a ton of friends, and I didn’t have much money, which meant buying her something special was completely out of the question.
Then, in walked the Golden boys.
They brought food, balloons, gifts. And it was on that night, standing in the kitchen of my family’s home on the southside, West asked me on our first official date. Granted, we’d already fallen for one another and were inseparable by that point, but that was the night everything became… real.
That feeling—knowing without a doubt that we were unbreakable—I want it back. Desperately. But that version of us feels so very far away.
I’m violently ripped from the memory by frustration as I open another drawer, still in search of a mitt.
When I pass the window to my left, I catch a glimpse of two black SUVs parked near the curb.
They’ve been there since last night. Right after Pandora’s post gave away my location to my husband who—despite our nasty argument—is still incredibly protective.
Apparently, since he can’t be here with me, he’s at least made sure my security detail is on the premises.
But if I know him as well as I think I do, he’ll only be able to stay away for so long.
I let out a relieved sigh when I finally find what I’m guessing is Hunter’s singular oven mitt. Mere seconds before my pizza becomes too crispy to eat, I pull it out of the oven and place the pan on the stove, knowing I’ll likely spend the next ten minutes hunting down a pizza cutter.
This place is a true bachelor pad, a reflection of the long hours Hunter’s worked since his training began.
He’s pulling another twenty-four-hour shift, and at this point I’m sure the fire station probably feels more like his home than this apartment does.
The work he’s chosen to take on isn’t easy, but I’m so, so proud of him.
He’s taken very little help because he’s determined to rebuild on his own, and I can only respect how far he’s come.
Growing up without him was tough. Our parents failed us in every way imaginable, but seeing how all three of us have beat the odds and landed on our feet, I guess Hunter isn’t the only one I’m proud of.
I rifle through another utensil drawer, and I’m hit with a memory of how Dad used to stumble in at all hours of the night, smelling like he drank every ounce of liquor in the bar.
Then, I think of West coming home last night in almost the same state.
My hands go still, and I force my eyes closed, needing to stop my thoughts in their tracks as I compare the love of my life to the man who hurt me more than anyone or anything.
Ever.
Yes, my father has done a complete one-eighty, but it doesn’t change the fact that, back in the day, during my formative years when I needed him most, he was a raging drunk with a temper that rivaled the devil’s.
I hate this.
Hate that I can’t shake that image of West, but it’s stuck in my brain.
Maybe forever.
I was at that appointment, seated right beside him, so I know the news was devastating. I don’t fault him for feeling hopeless and broken, but if alcohol is how he intends to numb the pain, I can’t handle that.
Not again.
My body’s moving on autopilot as I search another drawer, this time finding the pizza cutter right away, but before I get a chance to use it, a sharp knock at the door startles me.
My steps are perfectly quiet as I creep over to the small foyer and peek through the peephole.
It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since Pandora’s post, and West is already here, proving my theory about him not being able to stay away to be true.
I stare at him, trying to gauge his mood through the door.
He looks disheveled and tortured and… hot.
As if he’s heard my thoughts, he raises the arm not in a sling and pushes his hand through his dark hair.
It settles on his shoulders. The motion makes the hem of his t-shirt’s sleeve tighten around his bicep, drawing my attention to the colorful ink slinking its way up his arm from his wrist.
Still, despite that pull toward him being unshakeable, I don’t want to answer. Maybe even because of that pull. Attraction and chemistry were never our problem. The issue has been respect and communication.
I take one step back from the door, and although the movement was completely silent, West calls out.
“Blue, I know you’re there. Let me in. Please. I just want to talk.”
Seeing him was hard enough, but hearing his voice breaks my will even more.
“I fucked up. I just need to look you in the eyes and try to talk through this,” he adds, and I break a little more.
Next thing I know, my fingers are twisting the deadbolt and slipping the chain off the door. A familiar green stare is fixed on me a moment later, and as I peer up at him, I’m overwhelmed.
By him.
By sadness.
By hurt.
Everything all in one sweeping rush that steals my breath away.
Drawing in a deep breath, I step aside, letting him in despite myself.
I use the few seconds it takes me to lock up to steady my breathing.
But the moment I face him again, I realize it didn’t do me any good.
His gaze is still trained on me, and as he lowers onto the couch, I decide it’ll be best if I remain standing.
“Thanks for letting me in.”
I nod but don’t reply.
All traces of the forced smile he wore a second ago are gone. Instead, his eyes slip toward the floor as he thinks.
“I miss you.”
He continues staring at the carpet after making his feelings known, and the pit in my stomach grows. I’m torn between telling him I feel the same way and holding back for fear of getting sucked right back into our cycle of pretending all is well, only for all hell to break loose days later.
But, at the end of the day, he’s my weakness.
Always has been. Always will be.
“I… miss you, too.”
That shouldn’t have been so hard to say, but with the memory of yesterday still so fresh in my head, it was almost impossible to get those words out.
“West, I—”
“This came in the mail today.”
I hold my thought as he pulls an envelope from his pocket. The second it’s in my hand, the room feels like it’s spinning, so I sit.
It’s from the bank. More specifically, the loan department.
He wasn’t supposed to know about this until I was ready to tell him, but seeing as how the seal’s been broken, I can guess he’s already read it.
Already knows I intend to finish the center without his help.
“If I’d known it wasn’t just a bank statement, I wouldn’t have opened it, but… a loan, Blue?”
He’s trying to mask it, but I don’t miss the frustration in his voice.
“It’s for the center. I did what I had to do,” is the only answer I can give, and when his gaze finally meets mine, I question whether I should’ve just said nothing at all.
His brow gathers, and the muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Did what you had to do?” he shoots back, unable to dull the sharp edges of his words this time. “Why the hell would you do something like this without talking to me?”
“I don’t need your permission, West.”
“Well, I’m glad you feel that way, because I went to the bank after practice and paid the loan in full.”
“You did what?” My head snaps up, and we lock eyes.
“We’re cool making moves without talking shit out with each other first, right? Your words.”
“Un-fucking believable.”
“No, what’s unbelievable is paying interest on money you don’t even need,” he argues. “We’ll keep doing things the way we have been, and—”
“It’s shit like this that made me take out the loan in the first place.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and I’m feeling so many things all at the same time.
Frustrated.
Validated.
Small.
A beat of silence passes between us, giving us both a second to decompress. He takes a breath, and I brace myself.
“Look, we’ve been in a weird place. You know it, I know it. But when have I ever given you reason to think I’m not all in with helping you finish your project, Blue? Hell, at this point, I’m just as emotionally invested as you are.”
I’ve never questioned whether he cares, but I had a decision to make, and I made it. Getting the loan was the only way I could move forward without syphoning off resources that don’t actually belong to me, the fruits of his labor.
I’m deep in thought as the air between us shifts. West reaches toward me, touching my knee. I stare at his hand settled there, the warmth of his palm against me, his thumb smoothing over my skin.
“I know you don’t owe me anything, but… please, tell me why you’d take out a loan after agreeing to let me finance your project.”
I take a breath, feeling gun shy. Talking has done more harm than good with us lately.
His thumb continues to move, focusing on the tiny scar there. I got it when I fell against the curb while learning to ride my bike at age seven. It’s a story West has heard before, because he’s heard all my stories.
Because he’s my person.
I let out another breath and raise my eyes to meet his, holding that thought for comfort.
He is my person.
“I called the bank after we argued about my mother going to the treatment facility.” I pause to gather my thoughts. “You brought up how hard you’ve worked for your money, and… I felt something. Something I’ve never felt before. Not with you, anyway.”
He tilts his head. “What was the feeling?”