Chapter 22
Juliet
Blake doesn’t just kiss me, he claims me. The urgency of his lips against mine, the way his fingers tangle in my hair, his heart racing under my hand pressed against his chest, tells me everything I know. He isn’t walking away.
Despite knowing how messy and complicated my life is because of Edward, he’s choosing me. No, he’s choosing us. He knows Tinsley and me are a package deal, and he’s choosing to stay.
Or at least, I think he is.
When he finally pulls back to look at me, the pain in his tortured blue gaze is so raw and deep that it sucks all the oxygen out of the room. He shifts on the couch, putting distance between us, though it looks like it hurts him to do so.
An ache spreads through my chest, and I brace myself for the worst.
“Our stories aren’t all that different,” he rasps, dropping his head into his hands. “Only I’m not the hero in mine.”
I stare at him, unable to process what he’s saying.
“Where you escaped the monster in your world, I became worse than mine.”
His words don’t make sense. But while I get the sense I should be afraid, I’m not. I’m scared for him, not of him.
Drawing a deep breath, I inch closer and reach for his hand again, needing to anchor him the way he did me when I was rehashing my painful past. He flinches, but then his fingers latch onto mine like he’s clinging to his last hope. His eyes flash up to mine, and the storm in them pulls me under.
“My father didn’t discriminate in his abuse.
Whoever got in his way was fair game. One of my earliest memories is cowering in the corner with Tori’s hands over my eyes as he laid into our mother.
I don’t even know what she did to deserve it, but I’ll never forget the sound of his fist hitting her flesh and her pained whimpers as she tried not to scream. ”
“Blake—”
He squeezes my hand and shakes his head, and I know he just needs me to listen.
“I was eight when he snapped my arm after a teacher called to say I was disruptive in class. Mum told everyone it was a soccer accident.” His jaw clenches. “When Tori got home late from a party at fifteen, he broke her nose. Mum told the hospital I’d accidentally kicked the ball into her face.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, and his grip on my hand tightens.
“When I was twelve, I tried to pull him off her.” His voice hitches, and I can tell from the vacant look in his eyes that he’s caught in the memories of the past. “That’s when he broke my collarbone. Another ‘soccer injury’.”
A hollow laugh escapes him.
“That was the night I quit. I was sick of them using the only thing I loved to cover up what he was doing to us.”
After watching him play on the weekend, seeing the way he moved on instinct and pure, unfiltered talent, it hurts knowing what it must’ve cost him to walk away.
“It didn’t stop him. The excuses continued; the abuse continued. I tried to protect them. I’d mouth off on purpose to draw his attention. If he were going to hurt someone, I’d rather it be me. But I wasn’t always there.”
He shudders.
“I was fourteen, and I’d been given detention for fighting at school. When I got home, I could hear him shouting from the front yard. I didn’t want to go inside. My body hurt. I was tired. But I couldn’t leave them in there with him.”
His leg bounces, and I rest our entwined hands on it to remind him he’s not alone.
He licks his lips, his anguished gaze finding mine.
“There was so much blood. On her face. In her hair. I didn’t know if she was breathing.” His voice breaks, and he bows his head. “He was standing over her, screaming that she was useless. I couldn’t let her die.”
A tear slips down my cheek, my heart aching for the fourteen-year-old kid desperate to save his mother. Guilt washes over me for what I put Everett through at a similar age.
“I don’t remember grabbing the poker from the fireplace.” He drags in a pained breath. “I just wanted him away from her.”
His body shakes.
“I just wanted him to stop.”
My stomach twists.
“You were just a kid,” I whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek.
He sags into me. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”
My chest tightens at the conviction in his tone. “I know.”
“She blamed me.” His voice cracks. “When she got out of the hospital, she couldn’t even look at me.”
“You saved her.”
He shakes his head. “She didn’t see it that way.”
My pulse races. My head spins. This is too much.
“I found her.”
Silence stretches between us.
“She didn’t care enough about us to stay.” His desperate gaze meets mine, and my heart cracks open. “I couldn’t save her.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I was fucked up over it for so long. It messed up my life, and I messed up Tori’s.
” His voice is thick with emotion. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ruined yours and Tinsley’s, but I’m too far gone to walk away.
” He swallows, his eyes dropping to our joined hands.
“Unless you tell me you want nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t blame you. ”
My mind reels, trying to process everything and make sense of my feelings all at once. This is too much. I was prepared to tell him everything that happened in my marriage and deal with his reaction to that, but I wasn’t prepared for him to meet my trauma with his.
What he went through is horrible, and I know it’s been eating him up inside.
Part of me feels selfish for being overwhelmed, while the other part feels a deeper connection from our shared experiences.
We’re both survivors of abuse, but we’re also still dealing with our own scars.
Is it possible to build something steady on foundations that still shake?
His confession doesn’t scare me. I’m not worried about him hurting me or Tinsley. My concern is whether he can handle being in our lives, knowing Edward is still a part of it.
Edward’s not a ghost I can exorcise. He’s not a chapter I can rip out and pretend never existed. He’s Tinsley’s father—Everett’s father—and there’s a high chance Blake will cross his path at some point. I trust him with my heart, but can he control the ghosts of his past?
His instinct will always be to protect, but we don’t need a hero charging into battle for us, trying to balance some invisible scale or seek vengeance for what happened in my marriage.
We need someone who will show up when we need them and give us stability and safety.
I need to know that when he eventually comes face-to-face with my ex-husband, he won’t see the ghost of his father.
He won’t let his rage and trauma define him and get him into trouble that can’t be passed off as a child protecting his mother.
I open my mouth, but I can’t find the words to express the jumble of thoughts swirling through my head.
I want to tell him to stay, that nothing’s changed between us, but that wouldn’t be the truth.
We both need time to absorb everything we shared and not rush into anything.
That’s never worked out for me before, and it’s not just me anymore.
Any decisions I make here affect Tinsley… and Everett.
When I don’t speak, Blake releases a heavy sigh, pulling his hand away and running it through his hair.
“I don’t blame you, pixie. Not after hearing what you went through.
I’ll keep my distance. If Tinsley’s at the house with Everett, I’ll stay with one of our teammates.
” He clears his throat, dragging his eyes up to mine.
“I don’t regret our time together. You’re the best thing to have come into my life. ”
He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead.
My vision blurs with unshed tears. “Blake, I—”
“It’s okay, pixie,” he murmurs. “I understand.”
Only he doesn’t.
I’m not pushing him away; I’m giving us space.
But I don’t know how to put it into words.
I miss his presence when he stands, and I want to reach for him, but I force myself to remain where I am. His footsteps echo through the silence, and when the door closes behind him, my body collapses against the cushions, and I break down, the tears coming fast and heavy.
Bringing my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and bury my head.
When I finally pull myself together, I reach for my phone. It rings twice before the call connects.
“Quinn,” I sob. “I need you.”