Page 119 of Ransom

My throat tightens. Would I do the same to Max? Would I orchestrate the end of his first love if I thought it would protect him? The answer terrifies me because I'm not sure. Love and protection get so tangled up when it comes to family. Sometimes the line between helping and hurting isn't clear until you've already crossed it.

"The thing is," Becca leans forward, "I've never seen Ransom like this. Two years I've known him, and not once has he shown interest in any woman."

"Maybe he's just private."

"No." Becca shakes her head. "He doesn't date. Period. Then bam, he's here, leaving suddenly—which he never does, by the way—and looking at you like you're an ice cream on a hot day."

My cheeks heat. "You don't know our history."

"You're right; we don't know everything. It's none of our business," Janey says softly. "But we know who he is now."

"We just want him to be happy," Becca adds. "And maybe... maybe you could make him happy. But more importantly, could he make you happy?"

The question hits me hard. Could he? The Ransom I knew at fifteen was passionate, protective, full of dreams. This new Ransom seems... different. Steadier, maybe. More grounded. But those eyes still burn when he looks at me.

"I don't know," I admit. "I barely know who he is anymore."

"But you want to find out," Becca says. It's not a question.

I stare at my hands. "Maybe. Yes. But it's complicated. I have responsibilities here. People who need me."

"Is there a chance, though?" Janey asks. "That you could love him again?"

My heart thuds. The truth slips out before I can stop it. "I'm not sure I ever stopped."

I stand up abruptly, my heart pounding against my ribs. "I should get back to work."

"Blair—" Janey reaches for my arm.

"No, you don't understand." My voice cracks. "Last time I fell for Ransom, he was my entire world. Everything revolved around him—my thoughts, my dreams, my future. When he left..." The pain of that memory still cuts deep. "I couldn't function for months."

Becca's playful expression softens. "You were young then."

"And now I have people depending on me. Real responsibilities." My hands shake as I think of Max's bright smile, of Maggie's increasingly frail form. "I can't just follow my heart."

"Having love in your life doesn't mean neglecting other responsibilities," Janey says quietly.

"Doesn't it?" I wrap my arms around myself. "Ransom lives in Chicago. He has this whole business there. You all are there. And I'm here, where I need to be." The weight of it all settles on my shoulders. "I can't risk losing myself in him again." Max deserves better than that. And Maggie is trusting me to be there for her son.

"Nobody's saying you have to choose," Becca starts.

"But I do. Every day, I have to choose the people here. And that means I can't choose Ransom." The words taste bitter, but they're true. "I can't let myself fall again. The landing would break too many people this time."

"It's not about falling," Janey says gently, putting her hand on my arm. "It's about letting someone in who will lift you up, so you don't fall."

That sounds nice. It also sounds like a fantasy, not real life. "It's not that simple."

"The good things in life never are. But I'm not going to try and convince you to jump in if that's truly not what's right for you. But in my humble opinion, having Ransom in your life, and all that he brings, is pretty amazing."

"I don't need his money."

A small smile tips the corner of her mouth. "The least interesting thing about Ransom Kyle is his money. But you're going to have to spend time with him to figure that out."

"Well, that's mysterious as fuck. What exactly?—"

"You fucktard. Badgers don't have fucking stripes for fuck's sake." Two men are bolting down the sidewalk in front of the shop, the bigger one yelling, his face looking totally panicked.

The other man, leaner but nearly as tall, passes the bigger one and yells back, "I'm not wearing my glasses. You're the dumbass that followed me." Behind them, moving at a speed somewhere between a run and a toddle, is a skunk. I take a few steps down the driveway, lock eyes with the crowd of locals in their lawn chairs—because in a town this small, that bus and everyone in it is better than going to the movies—in the square, and whistle while pointing. They all stand, leave their chairs where they are, and boot it for the other side of the square. I can hear them giggling and gossiping from here.

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