Page 36 of Ransom

Blair's face is a blank canvas, a look I remember all too well. Years ago, I made the mistake of thinking it meant nothing was going on beneath the surface. But I learned, painfully and thoroughly, that Blair is a volcano of emotion, complex and unpredictable. The urge to reach out and touch her is overwhelming, but I know it would be suicide.

Still might be worth it.

I drink in every detail of her, committing her to memory. Her hair, even longer than I remember, is a wild halo around her head. Her braid never could contain it all, not even when she was young. Grease or mud smudges her cheek, and my hand twitches, desperate to wipe it away. Her hand grips the wrench tightly, and any hope I had that she'd moved on and forgiven me vanishes. I haven't forgotten her. I haven't forgotten anything I said. I replay it in my mind every day. Maybe she has too.

The silence between us stretches, thick with unspoken words and buried emotions. I search for something to say, anything to break this unbearable tension, but my mind is blank. All I can focus on is the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the slight twitch of her jaw as she clenches it.

This trip was supposed to work her out of my system. I'd come here, see that she's not the girl I remember, and I'd be able to move on.

She's not the girl I remember. Not even close.

She was beautiful back then. Now? She's fucking everything. I can't look away from her. I don't want to. And I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing anymore.

"Blair, I—" I start, but she cuts me off with a look so sharp it could slice through steel.

"Don't," she says, her voice low and dangerous. "Just don't, Ransom."

The way she says my name sends a shiver down my spine. It's filled with such venom, such hurt, that I physically recoil. This is not the reunion I had imagined; not that I had any right to expect anything different.

But still, on the drive down here, I couldn't help dreaming about a different welcome. One with smiles and shining eyes. One where she would cup my cheek and bring her lips to mine.

I'm fucking delusional.

I take a step back, mud squelching under my expensive shoes. The contrast between us couldn't be more stark – me in my tailored suit, her in mud-splattered coveralls. Why the fuck didn't I change before I got in the car? I know this town. I know her. At least I did. And showing up looking like a fucking suit was stupid. It's just another barrier between us.

Why the hell does the mud make her even more attractive? She's nothing like the women I've spent time with over the last twenty years. Women with perfect makeup, tight clothes, and bird-like appetites. Forgettable women. And that's harsh, but the truth. They were kind women, good women. Some of them came off the covers of magazines. And still, looking at Blair in all her mud-splattered glory, I couldn't name a single one of them.

I'm so fucking stupid.

"I don't know what the fuck I was thinking," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Maybe I shouldn't have come. But I'm here now, and as you can see, I can't go anywhere."

My car's in the ditch, but that's not why I can't go. I can't move when she's standing there, a living, breathing reminder of everything I've lost, everything I've thrown away. The need to make things right claws at me, even though I know it's impossible.

Blair's eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something – pain, regret, longing – before it's swallowed by the hardness that settles over her features.

Blair moves back to her truck, her steps purposeful and quick. She's clearly itching to get me out of here, to erase any trace of my presence. The realization stings, but I can't blame her.

She grabs the tow line from the front of her truck and I know what's coming. She's going to pull me out so I can disappear from her life again. The thought makes my chest tighten.

As Blair heads toward the bumper, preparing to lay down in the mud, I react without thinking. My hand shoots out, grasping her arm gently but firmly. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I see her stiffen.

"Let me do it," I insist, my voice rougher than I intend. "You don't need to get any dirtier."

Blair's eyes meet mine, a mix of surprise and irritation swirling in their depths. "I'm already covered in mud, Ransom. Your fancy suit will be ruined."

I glance down at the suit that usually feels like armor but now seems ridiculous."It's just a suit." I have dozens like it, and none of them matter even a little bit.

A bitter laugh escapes her. "Must be nice not to worry about money."

Her words hit me like little daggers, launched with pain and fury, but they also present an opportunity I can't ignore. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to say.

"You don't have to worry about money either, Blair," I say carefully, watching her face for any reaction. "You could have five million in your bank account tomorrow. All you need to do is sign the papers."

The change in her is immediate and intense. Her eyes flash with fury, and her whole body goes rigid. For a moment, I think she might actually hit me with that wrench.

"Get away from me," she hisses, her voice low and dangerous.

"Blair, please, just listen?—"

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