Page 136 of Ransom

"Not everywhere." She shifts, tucking her legs under her. "I don't want to rush around trying to see everything like those tourists with their checklists. That's Maggie's idea of a good time. I'd just... pick a place. Stay there for a while. Really get to know it."

The image forms in my mind—Blair in some small Italian town, covered in grease from helping a local fix their ancient Fiat. "Like where?"

"I don't know. Maybe Ireland? Find some tiny village where everyone knows everyone else. And just wander around. Learn how they do things." A small smile plays at her lips. "Or just hop in some van and drive around this country. I could dip my toes in the ocean. I’ve never been to the beach."

I want to give her everything she's describing. I could make it happen with one phone call. But would she let me?

"You've probably been everywhere," she says, her words still carrying that slight slur. "Seen it all already."

I laugh, remembering some of our more memorable trips. "Yeah, I've traveled. But not like what you're talking about. My trips usually involved chasing after one of my idiots."

She snort giggles. "Idiots." Then yawns. "What do you mean?"

"Like the time Colton decided to go 'find himself' in Amsterdam. Ended up in jail because he thought it'd be fun to swim in one of the canals. Naked." I shake my head at the memory. "Or when Kade got lost in Tokyo because he followed a cat down an alley and couldn't find his way back to the hotel."

Blair's eyebrows shoot up. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. And don't get me started on Nick in Rio. That one involved a stolen chicken, three angry shopkeepers, and somehow a parade float." I run a hand through my hair. "Most of my traveling has been damage control. Running after them, bailing them out, making sure they don't start international incidents."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It was. Still is." I look at her. "Your way sounds better. Actually experiencing a place instead of just racing through it, putting out fires."

"Metaphorical fires," she mumbles, then giggles. "Not real ones. That's Adam's job."

Adam the fucking hero firefighter. The mention of his name stings, but I push past it. "The point is, I've never really traveled like that. Never just... existed somewhere new. It sounds peaceful."

She sighs, and with a dreamy smile, admits, "I sometimes look at rocking chairs. The handmade ones with the beautiful hand carvings."

My lips twitch as I watch her. Blair McKenna, the toughest woman I know, dreams of rocking chairs. The alcohol's made her soft around the edges, revealing pieces of herself she usually keeps locked away.

"What kind of carvings?" I ask.

"Leaves. And vines." Her fingers trace patterns in the air. "There's this guy up in Wisconsin who makes them. Each one's different. I saw them online." She yawns, stretching like a cat. "Sometimes I picture sitting on my own porch, watching the sunset. Maybe having a beer. Listening to the crickets."

The image hits me hard—Blair in a carved rocking chair, grey eyes watching the sky turn pink over Badger Falls. Max doinghomework on the porch steps. Neighbors on either side doing the same.

It's perfect. And it's another nail in my coffin.

Because that life she wants? It's there. Not in Chicago. Not in my penthouse with its view of Lake Michigan. She wants quiet evenings and small-town sunsets. A life where everyone knows your name and brings you sandwiches when you fix their cars. She wants the life she has.

"Your porch needs work," I say, thinking of the sagging boards I noticed at Maggie's house.

"Mmhmm." Her eyes are getting heavy. "Been meaning to fix it. Just haven't had time."

I could build her a whole new porch. Hell, I could buy her a mansion with wraparound porches on every floor. But that's not what she wants. She wants her life there, just with a few small improvements: a rocking chair, maybe that second mechanic she mentioned.

The truth settles over me like a blanket—if I want Blair, I have to want Badger Falls too. There's no separating the two.

Blair's head droops against my hip, her breathing evening out as she drifts off. The empty bottle sits on the coffee table, a silent witness to her raw confessions.

My mind races, organizing problems like I would a business deal. Priority one: Maggie. Everything hinges on her situation. I pull out my phone, careful not to disturb Blair, and start making notes.

We need more opinions: different doctors, experimental treatments, anything that could help. Money isn't an issue—I could fly in specialists from anywhere in the world. But Maggie's already made her choice to stop treatment. Would pushing her to try more just rob her of peaceful final moments with Max?

Max. My chest tightens thinking about that kid. If Maggie doesn't make it, he'll need both Blair and me. I thought I wasdone raising kids after getting my brothers settled, but life has other plans. And honestly? The thought of helping raise Max doesn't scare me like it should.

Blair mumbles something in her sleep, pressing closer. Her words about not wanting kids echo my feelings. If Blair wanted a baby, I’d get on board fast, but I’m relieved she doesn’t. But being there for Max is different. And I’ll step up and do whatever I need to, to support both of them.

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