Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Blaire
A breeze just strong enough to rustle the branches of the massive oak trees in Xavier Park billows around me. The chapel sits on the other side of a lazy street that gives off the impression of being in a cozy village rather than the city of Savannah.
I stroll along a path and take in the space that’s more magical than mundane. People pass by, giving me a welcoming smile or a gentle wave. Others lie on blankets with dogs or lovers while some curl up with books beneath the trees.
My rush to finish my work this morning paid off.
While I was sorting through Yancy’s emails and the new evidence in the Lawson case, I chastised myself for agreeing to this.
My butt should be in a chair, in Chicago, with my face in case files.
But now, as I breathe in the fresh, clean air, my regret diminishes.
It diminishes even more when I remember Holt is on his way.
I grin.
“He’ll be here soon,” I say aloud.
The excitement in my stomach bubbles, and I don’t try to fight it. It’s futile at this point.
Hearing him get ready for work this morning—the soft steps of his feet down the hall, the gravel of his voice answering a call, the clatter of his dishes in the kitchen—made me want to get up too. I fought with myself to stay in bed and not make a fool out of myself.
I escaped the night before and maintained my dignity—mostly.
It was not the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
Especially when I ended Nana’s call and looked up to see him standing in the doorway with that look in his eye.
It was a glimmer of concern, presumably about something to do with his phone call, but also a predatory sheen.
And while I was totally on board for being his prey, I knew that he needed to address work.
I couldn’t be a distraction, so I took myself to the guest room like an adult and locked the door.
For his own good. And mine.
He didn’t come for me—pun sadly intended.
My phone rings in my hand, and I jump. “Hey, Sienna,” I say.
“Hey! How are you?”
“I’m good. What about you?”
“I’m great. Walker is great. Family is good. Now talk to me.”
I can’t help but laugh at the mischief in her voice. A bench sits at the entry of the park, and I make my way to it.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask, playing coy.
“Oh, my gosh, Blaire. Holt. Talk to me about Holt Mason. I know you’re not this dense.”
My cheeks split into a grin. I sit on the bench and feel a warmth spread throughout my body.
As much as I don’t want to admit it—to Sienna or myself, for that matter—being able to talk about this with her is … nice. I’m not sure how much to say or what I should say or if I’ll regret it in a week when I’m back home and Holt is nothing but a memory, but it’s fun for now.
“I’m still in Savannah,” I say.
“Nana told me. I mean, I guessed as much, but she said she talked to you last night and confirmed it.”
My jaw drops. “You didn’t tell Nana about Holt, did you?”
The idea of my grandmother knowing I was sleeping with a man I just met is horrifying. My sweet little Nana would probably burst into flames.
I slink down on the bench and wince.
Sienna sighs. “I know this girl thing is new to you, but the first rule in the Girl Code is no snitching.”
“That’s also the first rule in prison.”
She scoffs. “See? That’s your problem right there. You know more about prison dynamics than you do having a friend.”
“You might be right,” I say, sitting back up. I shove that idea from my brain and focus on the task at hand. “You didn’t tell Nana, right? I need a straightforward confirmation.”
“No, Blaire, I didn’t tell your grandma that you were seeing a well-to-do, wealthy, kind man while you’re on vacation. The horror.”
“Well, thank you. That was nice of you.”
Her laugh is embedded with disbelief. “Okay. Let me guide you through this process.”
“What process?”
“The process of gossip!” She laughs. “This is the point when you tell me all the sordid details from last night. And don’t leave anything out.”
My face flushes at the idea of Holt doing sordid things to me. Lord, how I wanted him to. But my body settles down at the reminder that he didn’t do anything of the sort.
I sigh.
“Why are you so invested in this, anyway?” I return a nod to a woman and her son as they walk by. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
“You’re being serious?”
“I’m always being serious.”
“Good point.” She blows out a breath. “I … I like this side of you. I like getting to know you like this. Sure, we’ve chatted about Walker’s broodiness and Nana’s fried chicken, but that’s on a familial level. I like getting to know you like girls get to know girls. We bond over boys.”
“Huh.”
I get to my feet and mull over her words. We bond over boys. That sounds tragic. That sounds like quicksand under the foundation of a friendship.
“Surely, you’ve had one friend before,” Sienna says. “You can’t have been on this island your whole life, right?”
“I had a sleepover or two growing up.”
“Or two?”
“The girls I went to school with were …”
I struggle to find the words to describe them. I’m afraid she’ll take it personally.
The girls were obsessed with boys. They made fun of me for my grades. Then my glasses. Then my boobs.
“I had one good friend in college. It was short-lived,” I say, feeling myself auto-detach from the topic.
“Okay. That’s a starting point. What happened?”
“Jack.”
His name tastes bitter as it rolls off my tongue. The detachment that started to flow through my veins as I mentioned Lacie fully flows at the mention of my ex.
“Jack? Who is Jack?” Sienna asks.
Would it suffice to tell her I don’t think I ever knew?
My heart tugs as I think of Jack Williamson. Therapy taught me that the sensation in my chest isn’t for him, but for the time we spent together and what it represented to me—something it definitely didn’t represent to him. The pain, though, that’s because of him.
And for me.
I’m hit with a tidal wave of emotions. Guilt, shame, anger—it’s all there and so heavy.
But it’s the sadness that swamps me, coming in like a tsunami and eroding the strength I’ve summoned since then.
It’s a complete and utter devastation for the na?ve young lady I once was who was irretrievably broken in the course of ten months.
The me who lost both of my parents in a tragic accident.
Who became the head of her family despite not having one iota how to do that.
The woman who then lost her boyfriend due to her dejection.
The girl who just needed a friend but lost her best friend too.
Then nearly, her own life.
Tears wet the corner of my eyes. I blink them back.
“Jack was an old boyfriend,” I say. “We broke up, and he took my best friend, my only friend, with him.”
“He sounds like an asshole.”
“He is. Or was,” I say with a shrug. “I like to think that he grew up and did better. That he and Lacie had a good life, and I was worth the trade-off.”
But there could’ve been room in there for me too.
I shake my head. “But it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” Sienna takes a long breath. “It’s not okay that people you thought were friends did that to you.”
“Clearly, I didn’t need them. I did just fine in life without them.”
“It’s not about you needing them. It’s about knowing that you deserve to have good people around you and acknowledging that they didn’t deserve you.”
Her words make me smile.
“I’m going to teach you all about friends,” she says. “I’m your friend. The Douchebag and Douchebag Follower weren’t your friends. Welcome to your first friendship, Blaire.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Is this just to extract things about Holt? Because you don’t have to pretend to be my friend for that.”
“No. That’s just a benefit in this particular instance.” She laughs too. “But I would like you to know I’m available, day or night, to talk. About Holt or anything else.”
The sun shines brightly. My steps into the front of the park feel light. The smile on my face doesn’t feel too bad either.
It must be the salt in the air that gets to me because I find myself talking before I even realize it.
“Nothing has happened with Holt since the first night I got here,” I say. “We almost kissed last night, but Nana called.”
Sienna’s giddiness rolls through the phone.
“I slept in the guest room,” I say, trying to control the bubble of excitement in my belly just from talking about him. “It just felt more … practical.”
“Practical? I would go with saintly, but you’re the intellect. Not me.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want him to think I’m just a piece of ass. Not that he’s ever treated me like that,” I add. “Not even close. But I just want to maintain a little class.”
“Of course. I get it.”
I pick a piece of invisible lint off my shirt. “He’s supposed to be meeting me shortly for a little touristy adventure. I mean, it’s to a church, but that’s more adventurous than I usually get.”
“I love this,” she says, ecstatic. “I so love this. Have fun. Be excited. This is an exciting thing.”
The ball of excitement in my gut that I’ve been trying to control begins to unwind. I can feel it slip through my veins and make my heart beat faster, my palms start to sweat. It is exciting whether I like it or not.
I scrunch up my face and laugh. “I hate that I’m excited about this but …”
“But it’s Holt. I get it. And it’s new for you. It’s vacation. You’re doing what my sister Camilla and I did—well, sort of—in high school and college. It’s normal.”
“I’m just late to the party.”
“You’re just late to the party,” she repeats. “So go have fun. Take all of that man you can while you can.”
I stick my tongue in my cheek. “Pun intended?”
“In every way.” She laughs. “Call me later. Remember, we’re friends now. Okay?”
“Okay, Sienna.”
“Bye, Blaire.”
“Goodbye.”
I end the call and check the time. My spirits are still soaring as I scan the street between the park and the chapel. There is a woman pushing a stroller and a man on the phone but no Holt.
The breeze kicks up again. The moss dangles from the trees and sways in the air. I close my eyes and sway along with it.
I should do this more often. I need to make it a habit to get outside and have non-working human interaction. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.
If I limit it to ten-minute conversations.
I laugh out loud.
Scanning the area, I notice a small ice-cream parlor tucked between two buildings on the other side of the street. I try to figure out if the building closer to me is a bookstore or a museum when my phone goes off again.
I look down.
And frown.
My heartbeat picks up in my chest as I read Holt’s text.
Holt: Got stuck in meetings.
Disappointment hits me full-on. My shoulders slump as I bite my bottom lip and fire a text back.
Me: No worries. I get it.
I wait. And wait. And after four minutes of watching the screen for a reply, I kick myself for still standing on the sidewalk and waiting on a response that clearly isn’t coming.
Dammit.
I suck in a breath and slip my phone into my pocket.
“You can’t blame him,” I tell myself. “He has a lot of work to do, and it’s not like he was planning on you being here this week. His life goes on.”
I eye the ice-cream parlor again.
“And mine too.”
I lift my chin and march across the street.
Dessert over dick.
Every time.