Page 135 of Ransom

"Just like that. He's safe, you know? Comfortable." She rolls her eyes. "God, you look like you're gonna punch something. Relax. It's not some great love story. I thought maybe it could be. I hoped, anyway. I thought it would be nice to not be alone. But he doesn't love me. And even though I tried, I don't love him. We just... fit each other's lives."

"That sounds lonely." The words come out rougher than I intended, my chest aching at the thought of her settling for something so empty. All these years, I'd pictured her happy, surrounded by people who cherished her the way I had. The way I still did. Instead, she'd been here, making do with comfortable when she deserved extraordinary. My throat feels tight, and I have to look away from her so she doesn't see all of that written on my face. I’m such a fucking screw up. I did that to her.

"Maybe." She studies the bottle. "But lonely is better than heartbroken. And anyway, who needs marriage and kids when I've got Max and a garage full of cars that need fixing? I’ve got people that need me. I have to take care of them. That’s my life."

"You deserve more than that."

"Do I?" She fixes those gray eyes on me. "Because the last time someone promised me more, he disappeared for twenty-five years." Her mouth twists, and she snorts. "And I'm realizing how dumb that sounds. You were a kid making promises you had no business making. We were both too young, and life had other plans for us. It's fucking dumb to hold onto it. I know that. I need to grow the fuck up."

I watch her take another swig from the bottle, my mind racing. I hate that she gave up on those dreams. The ones she used to whisper about when we lay in the bed of her dad's truck, watching stars streak across the sky.

"You don’t have any dreams?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

Blair's face softens. "Doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me."

She traces the rim of the bottle with her finger. "I've got Max to think about. All my dreams are about taking care of him."

"That’s not your dream Blair. It’s a responsibility. One that you’ll be fucking great at. But it’s not your dream.”

She just hums. “You’re annoying. I can’t afford dreams anymore. I have to focus on Max. I’m all he’s got."

That's a fucking reality check. Max is going to need more than just Blair when... if... Maggie doesn't make it. He'll need a whole support system. People to take him to baseball practice, help with homework, teach him to drive.

"You know," I say carefully, "Max is lucky to have you."

Blair's face darkens at my comment. "Everyone keeps saying that." She pushes herself up straighter, anger flashing in her eyes. "You know what's not lucky? Having your mom die when you're six. Having to watch her waste away. Having to..." Her voice breaks. "Having to say goodbye."

"You're right." I take the bottle from her loose grip, setting it on the coffee table. "It's not lucky at all. It's fucking awful. But having you there for him? That's not luck either. That's you choosing to step up, to be there. To love him."

She slumps back against the couch. "I can't be Maggie."

"No one's asking you to be."

"I don't want to be." Her words come out soft, almost guilty. "I love her. God, I love her so much. But I can't... I won't try to replace her."

"That's not what I meant?—"

"And you know what?" She sits up suddenly, nearly toppling over. "I don't want kids. Not mine, not anyone's. Max is different. He's... he's Max. But kids are so much work. So much responsibility." She rubs her face. "I've got the garage, and soon I'll have Max full-time, and that's... that's enough. More than enough. I can't handle more than that."

The conviction in her voice hits me hard. This isn't just drunk rambling—this is something she's thought about. Something she's decided. She told me before, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. Sometimes we lie to ourselves, convince ourselves we don’t want something, when in truth we really really do.

I know all about that.

"Okay," I say softly. "I hear you."

"Do you?" Her grey eyes fix on mine, surprisingly sharp despite the alcohol. "Because I need you to understand. I'm not that seventeen-year-old girl anymore, dreaming about a house full of kids. I've got different dreams now."

"Tell me your dreams then," I say, watching her profile in the dim light. "If you could do anything—what would it be?"

Blair snorts, running her finger along the edge of the couch. "It's not big and exciting like your dreams. No empire building."

"Doesn't have to be big to matter."

She's quiet for a long moment, then shrugs. "I just want to keep the garage running. Maybe hire another mechanic so I can take a break sometimes. There's enough work to keep two people busy year-round." Her voice gets softer. "I've never really traveled. Not properly anyway."

"Where would you go?"

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