Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Blaire
“That feels good.”
I tidy the papers in front of me into a nice, neat stack and then close the folder.
The Lawson case is a mess of epic proportions.
I’m lucky I brought some of it with me. Fortunately for me, it was the perfect thing to throw myself into after the whole asbestos bomb was dropped in my lap.
But if the asbestos call was a bomb, that makes Holt’s offer to stay with him a nuclear missile.
We let the idea slide during the rest of lunch. Holt didn’t mention his offer again until he paid for my meal and then returned my credit card. I’m not sure if I would’ve brought it up if he hadn’t. Probably not. I’m also unsure if I should take him up on it. Again—probably not.
I get up from the table and stretch my arms overhead.
The clock next to the bed shows that I sat down at the desk five hours ago.
As I look at the folder stuffed full of notes, I’m relieved at what I was able to accomplish despite the crying baby across the hall again.
But, at the same time, I’m not sure how I’m going to find the space to sort through the rest of the evidence and witness statements.
The muscle across the back of my neck tenses as Yancy’s text from a couple of hours ago filters back through my mind.
They’re now saying they expect us to be displaced for five to seven days. Not as bad as originally thought.
“Great,” I mutter to myself.
I walk to the window and peer outside. Groups of people sit on the sand and watch the waves while others kick a ball back and forth. The sky is a brilliant, muted blue. The water shimmers from the sun’s early evening rays.
For the first time in a long time, a heaviness slides into my chest.
Instead of fighting it, I let it sit inside me and burn in its dull yet still piercing way. It’s a pain I know well. It’s an ache I avoid.
I take a deep, shaky breath and close my eyes. The words of the therapist I saw for a few months whisper softly through my brain.
“You have to feel your feelings to heal, Blaire,” she said. “Feel to heal.”
My breathing evens out as I open my eyes again. The weight still sits in the center of my chest—a lump that feels as though it’s tripled in size in seconds. With each bit of growth, it brings back memories, and feelings, that I don’t want to deal with.
The sound of my mother’s laughter. How we would spend all year planning for the long weekends we’d spend in the summer at Lake Michigan and how she’d get so excited about menu planning.
The way my father smelled like engine grease mixed with the Old Spice he’d use to disguise the smell of the cigarettes that he’d hide from my mother. The long talks we’d have while he was under a truck and I was sitting on an overturned bucket. We planned my entire life in the garage.
And then one fucked-up Fourth of July afternoon, everything I’d ever known was gone. It was ripped right out from beneath me with one hysterical call from Lance. Things have never been the same. Things will never be the same either.
I clear my throat as best as I can with a rock resting inside it.
“I have to get my shit together,” I say, turning away from the window.
My brain relies on muscle memory and switches away from all things emotional to all things practical.
“Where the heck am I going to go?”
I perch on the edge of the sofa and consider my options.
Going home is out of the equation. Staying in this room is also impossible.
I could visit my brothers, but that would equate to me getting zero work done because they equate me coming home to acting like children again.
I could stay with Nana or I could get a hotel room in Chicago.
Or I could stay with Holt.
Would it be so awful to stay with him?
I bite my bottom lip and eye the folder on the desk.
He does work a lot, so I’d probably be able to get a lot done. And God knows I need to get a lot done. And would it be that bad to see a little of the city while I’m here?
I grin. It wouldn’t be terrible if I got a little time in his sheets either.
“What did he call it?” I ask aloud. “A multi-night stand? That’s not a bad idea. It’s really no different than dating a guy for a few weeks just to get some action even though you know it’s not going to go anywhere.”
I mull that over. The longer it marinates in my head, the more it makes sense.
And the more I like it.
I grab my phone and call Sienna. She answers on the second ring.
“You’ve called me more since you’ve been out of town than you’ve called me since I’ve known you,” she says with a laugh.
“I’ve called you twice.”
“Exactly.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “How are things back there?”
“Good,” she says sweetly. “Walker and Peck were out late last night working on a tractor in a field somewhere. They’re just dolls this morning, if you get what I’m saying.”
“Oh, I know how they can be.”
“Right. And then they went by Nana’s this morning for breakfast, and guess what they found?”
“I have no idea.”
“A man,” she squeals. “And apparently he’d stayed there all night last night. Your cousin kind of lost his mind a little bit, and Walker just got … well, grumpier. They said seeing him at Sunday dinner was one thing, but this was another. I’m totally loving it, though!”
“Wow,” I say, trying to wrap my mind around that tidbit of information. “Good for her. I’m not sure I’m ready for my grandmother to have sleepovers, but I’m sure I’m dealing with that better than my brothers and Peck.”
“I’m so happy for her. She’s been glowing lately. She deserves to be happy.”
“Absolutely.”
I chew on the edge of my fingernail as I rule out the possibility of staying at Nana’s. Listening to Sienna and Walker going at it is one thing. Potentially hearing Nana and a guy getting down is a whole other world I’m not ready to process.
That leaves two options—Holt’s or a hotel in Chicago.
“Hey, Sienna. I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“How well do you actually know Holt Mason?”
Her giggle is ridiculous. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“I know him pretty well. We grew up around their family. I know his youngest brother, Boone, the best. He’s closer to my age. But all the Masons are really familiar to me.” She smacks her lips together. “May I ask why you’re inquiring about this specific tall, dark, and handsome man?”
I roll my eyes again—this time, at myself. The excitement in her voice has worked its way through the phone and into my veins. I fidget as I try to put together a proper response.
“We had lunch today,” I say. “I’m just curious.”
“Oooh.”
“Sienna.”
She sighs. “Let me love this, Blaire. Please? I’m supposed to love this.”
“There’s nothing to love.”
“But there is. You don’t know how this works, obviously.
” She sighs again for effect. “See—when you call a girlfriend and bring up a hot guy, that means you’re interested or there’s a story there.
It’s your way of bringing the item to the table.
So, my job, as your girlfriend, is to be excited for you.
Or to be ready to throttle him, but I don’t think that’s the direction this conversation is going to go. Is it?”
The end of her question is loaded with innuendo. It’s clear she’s giddy over the idea of something happening between her childhood crush and me. And by the smile spreading across my cheeks, it would be clear to her—if she could see me—that I am a little bit happy too.
“He is hot, isn’t he?” I ask.
She laughs. “Yes. He so is. Now tell me all the things.”
I pace in a circle and attempt to slow down my thoughts. “My building in Chicago has asbestos, and I can’t get back in for a week or so.”
“And …”
“And I could stay with you and Walker.”
“Of course.”
“I was thinking about staying with Nana, but if she’s ….” I wince. “I’m not staying with Nana.”
She pauses, letting the silence work between us before speaking. “No, you’re not. You’re staying with Holt.”
I suck in a quick breath. “Well …”
“Blaire!” she shrieks. “You are? I mean, I was just throwing shit at the wall and hoping something stuck. You’re going to stay with him?”
“I don’t know,” I say, rushed. “I’m not sure. He offered to let me stay with him, and I’m thinking about it. I just don’t know a lot about him and wanted to at least … explore the possibility, I guess.”
She giggles. “Say yes.”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Sienna.”
“Oh, but Blaire—I am,” she says with exaggerated sincerity. “He’s from a great family. Smart. Kind. He’s funny and always smells amazing, and I know he’d show you a good time—in any way you might want to take that.”
She drones on and on about Holt’s virtues, but I stop listening. Mostly because my mind starts imagining what it might be like to actually be in his home.
I pretend to say yes and allow that decision to sit in my stomach. I close my eyes as Sienna veers away from Holt and onto the virtues of getaways and try to see what it feels like to take him up on his offer.
And strangely, it feels good. Fun. Exciting. Those are three things that are a bit foreign to me but tap pleasantly through my veins.
“Are you listening to me?” Sienna asks.
“Yes. I should agree to his proposal. I hear you.”
“Yes, you should. So … are you?”
Am I?
While the idea has nested itself in my psyche, I’m still not positive. Rushed judgments tend to lend themselves to trouble, and I know better. I need to think clearly.
“Maybe. I’m going to think about it for a while first. Good decisions come after a lot of thought.”
“Well, good experiences come from impulsive decisions, so don’t think about it too much.”
“You’re crazy,” I say with a chuckle. “I gotta go, Sienna. Talk to you soon.”
“Don’t overthink this!”
“Goodbye, Sienna.”
“Ugh. Fine. Bye.”
I end the call.