Page 37 of Ransom

"No, you listen," she cuts me off, yanking her arm out of my hand and jabbing the fist holding the line into my chest. "I don't want your money. I don't want anything from you. What I want is for you to get in your overpriced car and drive out of my life. Again."

The venom in her words makes me flinch, but I stand my ground. "I'm trying to help you, to fulfill a promise I made to?—"

"To my father?" Blair laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I hate to break it to you, but he's dead. Whatever you promised him, he'll never know if you break it."

I want to explain, to make her understand, but I can see the walls she's built around herself. They're impenetrable, and I'm the reason they exist.

"Blair, it's?—"

"Just stop," she says, and for a moment, I hear a crack in her voice. It's gone in an instant, replaced by cold determination. "Let's get your car out so you can leave."

Without waiting for a response, Blair drops to her knees and hooks up the cable to the bumper, then stalks back to her truck.

She wants me gone so fucking bad.

I've been putting this off for a year, but now that I'm here, the harder she pushes to get me to leave, the more I want to plant my feet and out-stubborn her. I'm man enough to admit a bit of it is ego. But most of it is just her.

I fucking missed her. It feels like I've been living in a bunker for half my life, and someone just opened the door to the fresh air and sunshine. I crave it. I need it.

I step out of the way as Blair starts the winch. Her movements are precise, efficient, born from years of practice. She used to go with her dad on calls. So did I. Both of us learned how to do this stuff when we were teenagers.

The car groans as it's pulled from the ditch, mud splattering everywhere. Blair doesn't even flinch, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Once my vehicle is back on solid ground, she retracts the line, her muscles flexing beneath her work shirt.

She turns to face me, arms crossed, that damn wrench still clutched in her hand like a warning. "Start it up," she commands, her voice flat.

I move toward the driver's side, my steps slow and deliberate. Part of me hopes the engine won't turn over, but I know better. This car costs more than some people's houses; a little mud isn't going to stop it.

The engine purrs to life, smooth as silk. I glance at Blair, hoping for... I don't know what. A reaction. Anything.

Her eyes are closed, head tilted slightly. It's such a familiar pose that for a moment, I'm transported back in time. Robert used to do the exact same thing, listening intently to the engine's song. He could diagnose problems just by the subtle changes in pitch and rhythm. Looks like Blair inherited more than just his stubbornness.

When she opens her eyes, there's a flicker of something – approval, maybe? – before it's swallowed by her mask of indifference.

"You're fine to drive back to the city," she says, her tone clipped. "Take it into the shop..." She pauses, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "What am I saying? I'm sure you know what to do. You've got yourself a fucking empire, don't you?"

The jab stings, but I can't deny the truth in her words. An empire is exactly what I have. I may not have realized how bigwe would get or how powerful, but I planned for us to have something real. Something solid.

It's not something I will ever apologize for.

"I owe that to your dad," I say softly. "He's the one that taught me about cars."

Something flashes across Blair's face – curiosity, maybe? For a moment, I think she might ask for more, might give me an opening to explain how I got from this town to the life I have now. But just as quickly, the shutters come down. She turns away, heading back to her truck without another word.

Panic rises in my chest. I can't let her leave, not like this. Not again. "Blair!" I call out, my voice more desperate than I'd like. She pauses but doesn't turn around. "Are you happy?"

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with all the things we've left unsaid. Blair's shoulders tense, and for a long moment, I think she might ignore me completely. I wouldn't blame her. Her life is none of my business. I know that. But I can'tnotask.

Finally, she half-turns, her profile silhouetted against the setting sun. "What does it matter to you?" she asks, her voice low and dangerous. I did this. I created this hate and this rage. But I never expected her to still be so filled with rage. I thought time would have blunted it.

Apparently not.

I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "It matters," I say simply. "It always mattered."You always mattered. You still do.

Blair laughs, but it's a hollow sound. "Could have fucking fooled me."

"I never stopped caring," I insist, taking a step towards her. "I know I fucked up, Blair. I know I hurt you. But everything I did... it was for the best."

She whirls to face me, her eyes blazing. "Best for who? You left me! You promised we'd always be together, and then you just… changed your mind. Like you wanted a different flavor of ice cream. Just boom, we're done."

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