Page 161 of Ransom

I can't wait to taste her, to feel her come undone under my touch. So many nights dreaming of her, wishing I could touch her any way I want has me fucking frantic. Then I catch sight of my hands against her pale skin—I'm leaving dark smudges everywhere I touch her. Motor oil and grease from the garage. I burst out laughing, unable to help myself.

I step back from her, and she scowls, reaching for me. "Baby, I want my hands all over you, but first I need to get cleaned up.I’ve got you all dirty." I grab her equally greasy hand, pulling her with me toward the sink. She's grumbling and laughing as I turn on the tap, both of us scrubbing our hands with the industrial soap. Water splashes everywhere as we bump hips, stealing kisses between rinses until our hands are finally clean. Her eyes are bright with laughter and want.

I pull back, my breath ragged, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. Blair's eyes meet mine, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from our kisses. I stop and stare, drinking her in. "God, you're beautiful," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Being with you after all this time... it's fucking incredible."

She smiles, a soft, almost shy curve of her lips. "It's fitting, don't you think? This is where we first connected, after all." She gestures around the garage, the familiar scent of oil and metal surrounding us.

I laugh, a low rumble in my chest. "Fitting or not, I wish we had a bed. I want to worship every inch of you, and this place..." I trail off, my eyes flicking to the hard, cold workbench behind her. Not what I pictured for our first time, but I have a fuck of a lot of fantasies to work out. Blair in this garage, on the hood of a classic car is one of them. There aren’t any classics in here tonight, and I don’t give a fuck.

“Do you know how many times I imagined taking you on the hood of a car? I swear every fucking shift we were together, I dreamed about it. And today? It’s so much worse.”

One eyebrow arches up, and her smile is slow, all woman. All sex. “You think you’re the only one?”

Her phone rings, a shrill, jarring sound that cuts through the moment. She hesitates, her eyes flicking between me and the phone next to us on the workbench. I see the name on the screen - Maggie. She bites her lip, giving me an apologetic look before answering. "Hey, Mags."

I step back, giving her space, but I don’t try and pretend to give her privacy. I want to ask her to hang up and just focus on us. But I'd never do that. I'm never going to make her choose between me and Maggie. It's not fair. I understand responsibility and the pressure on her better than anyone.

As she listens, her face falls, the softness from moments ago replaced by concern. "Yeah, of course. I'll pick something up on the way home." She hangs up, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Everything okay?" I ask, even though I know it's not. Real life is intruding, shattering the moment we just shared.

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Maggie slept most of the day. She needs me to pick up something for dinner." She looks up at me, her eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and resignation.

I reach out, taking her hand. "Let's go," I say, squeezing her fingers gently. "I'm inviting myself to dinner."

She looks at me, surprise flickering in her grey eyes. Then she smiles, a genuine, warm smile that lights up her face. "Okay," she says, her voice soft. "Let's go. But first, where the hell did my shirt go?”

I scrubat a stubborn spot on one of the plates while Blair rinses beside me, our elbows brushing. The domesticity of it all hits me - standing here in Maggie's kitchen, washing dishes after dinner like I belong. Like I've always been here. I want more of this. Just being together in all the simple moments.

A high-pitched squeal breaks through my thoughts, followed by the rapid patter of not-so-tiny feet. Max tears through the kitchen, buck naked and giggling, his wet hair plastered to his forehead.

"Maxwell Jones!" Maggie calls out, her voice breathless but filled with laughter. She appears in the doorway, clutching a towel, her face flushed from the chase. Her steps are unsteady, and she grabs the door frame for support.

Blair drops the dish towel and lunges for Max as he makes another lap around the kitchen island. "Got you!" She scoops him up, his wet body squirming against her chest as he shrieks. "If you flap your hot dog anywhere near me, I'm going to be pissed, Max."

Ah, shit.

I could have told her that's a rookie move. And as any self-respecting six-year-old boy would do, he tries to flip in her arms and slap her with his dick. I turn back to the dishes, gripping the sink, using every muscle in my body to hold it together. If I laugh, they're done for. He'll be doing it at every bath time for the next year.

Maggie slumps against the doorframe, still laughing but clearly winded. The sound catches in her throat, turning into a weak cough. My jaw clenches. This vibrant woman who's chasing her naked kid around the kitchen, who's raising this amazing little boy, who means everything to Blair—she's just giving up.

And it's making me insane.

Blair wraps Max in the towel Maggie's holding, and I watch as she takes over, leading both Max and Maggie toward the bedrooms. "Come on, you little jerk. Time for pajamas."

I turn back to the sink, gripping the edge until my knuckles turn white. The dishes forgotten, all I can think about is Maggie's resignation. How can she accept this? How can she look at that little boy, at Blair, and not want to fight with everything she has?

I understand choice. I understand dignity. But watching her struggle for breath from just playing with her son—it's so wrong.

Wiping my hands, I pull out my phone, staring at the unopened email from Declan. Attached is a comprehensive file detailing every possible treatment option for Maggie: clinical trials, experimental therapies, and recommendations from specialists across the globe. My brothers are fucking thorough. And doctors with months long wait for a consult are happy to work late if it means a sizable donation to their hospitals.

So we donated money all over the globe, and have a file full of hope ready for her.

If she’ll only look.

Blair's footsteps echo down the hallway, and I shove the phone back in my pocket. She looks exhausted, panting as she enters the kitchen.

"Max finally put his dick away?"

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