Chapter 11
Blaire
Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake dying of thirst. Not surprising considering how many times Thatcher and I went at it since we returned from the Cupid’s Crawl. We took a break only long enough to eat a quick take-out meal, going until we both passed out from sheer exhaustion.
I’m sore in all the best ways, but still thirsty as hell.
I tug on Thatcher’s T-shirt and slip out of his room to grab a glass of water.
I’m still shocked at the turn of events. Twenty-four hours ago, I was wallowing in self-pity with Cheetos in my hair. Now, life suddenly feels not only brighter, but better. Like I was always supposed to end up here somehow.
I’m sipping on a glass of water in the kitchen when I notice two sealed Valentine’s on the counter. We were so hot and bothered for each other after the event that neither one of us paid any attention to the Valentines.
I decide now is as good a time as any to open the one Thatcher wrote me. If it’s really good, I might wake him up by sucking on his cock.
I tear open the envelope, smiling at the miniature highland cow on the front next to the words You moooove me, Valentine.
I flip the Valentine over, and my heart stops.
It’s always been you. I’ve been in love with you since I was 12.
What the fuck?
I read it again, digesting the words. Words that any other woman might find sweet, but I only see red.
Thatcher’s been in love with me for twenty years and he just now decided to say something?
I spent the better part of two decades thinking he barely tolerated me.
Anger courses through my veins as I march back to the bedroom.
I push open the door, flip on the light, march to the bed, and throw the Valentine at the half-asleep man.
“What the fuck, Thatcher?”
It takes him a moment to wake up, but when he finally sits up, he takes the card in hand. He stares at the words he wrote, as though mulling them over.
“You’ve been in love with me since you were twelve, but you were going to let me think you hated me and marry Spencer? What the fuck, Thatcher? Why didn’t you say anything. I nearly went through with it. If I’d known—”
“If you’d known what, Blaire?” Thatcher challenges, his voice much calmer than mine. But it’s laced with just as much venom. “If you’d known how I felt, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that. I’ve known that for twenty years.
I wanted to be your first kiss, remember?
When you went on that kick to get your first kiss, and I asked you if it could be me, not only did you laugh in my face, you made me watch you give your first kiss away to Tommy Benson instead.
Didn’t exactly think you felt the same. And why would I have told you not to marry Spencer?
You have a tendency of choosing assholes over me, so it didn’t seem that out of character. ”
His words are as effective as a slap.
“You know what? I’m leaving,” I declare, gathering my discarded clothes. “And this time, I’m not coming back to Caribou Creek, ever again.”