Page 40 of Ransom

The mention of Robert's name sends a pang through my chest, but I force a smile. "That was a long time ago."

Mrs. Winston nods enthusiastically. "It certainly was. Those were the good old days." The way she says it, that small sigh makes it clear those good days are no more, but it's hard to tell if it's because the town is dying, or the people are. Maybe it's both.

She seems to shake off her sadness, straightening her thin shoulders and patting at her silver curls. "But the way you left, so suddenly and..." she lets the words die, kind enough not to mention the shitstorm I left in. Clearing her throat, her eyes light up. "Oh, wait until I tell everyone you're back in town! Does Blair know you're here, dear? I'm sure she'd be excited to see you. And of course, you know Robert's gone?" Her expression falls. "Poor dear, she's all alone. Well, not really alone. But Maggie..." she presses her palm to her chest, her eyes growing watery, "well, you know."

No, I don't know.What the fuck's up with Maggie? But I don't plan on asking Mrs. Winston anything about anybody right now. I'm too raw.

And clearly, she doesn't know as much about everything as she thinks she does. If she did, she'd know that Blair is decidedly NOT excited to see me.

"Actually, Mrs. Winston," I say, trying to keep my voice casual, "I'd appreciate it if you could keep my visit quiet for now. I'm here on... personal business."

The woman's face literally falls. "Oh. Well, of course. I value my guests' privacy. I wouldn't think of sharing." I almost laugh at that. Almost.

She hands me a key, an actual physical stick-it-in-the-lock key, all business now. "Room 3, up the stairs and to the left. Breakfast is served from seven to nine. And don't you worry about a thing – your secret is safe with me!"

Fuck. She's going to tell everyone I'm back. Asking her to keep quiet was a mistake. Now she thinks I've got shit to hide, which I guess I do. So I just smile at her, getting a conspiratorial smile back as she shoos me to the stairs. As I climb the creaky steps, I can hear her humming happily to herself.

If I want any chance of reconnecting with people on my own terms, I'm going to have to get ahead of Mrs. Winston's mouth.I'm here for Blair. But there were a lot of other good people in this town. I'm sorry about the way I left and the people I hurt, but Blair's my priority. And it looks like I'm going to have to hit the ground running tomorrow morning.

Time to put planMake things right with Blairinto effect.

Step one…think of a fucking plan.

14

BLAIR

Islam the tow truck door and stomp into the garage, my hands shaking as I fumble with the keys. "Goddammit!" Finally getting the door unlocked, I flick on the lights, slam the door behind me, and grab a wrench, desperate for something to do with my hands.

Ransom. After all these years. My chest tightens just thinking of his name. I start tinkering with an old Chevy, not even sure what I'm doing. My mind keeps replaying the scene on the side of the road. I thought I would handle seeing him again better. I thought I would be more prepared. I thought I would be cool.

I was wrong.

His stupid face, looking at me with those eyes. Like he had any right to be here, to crash back into my life. I want to hate him. I should hate him. But seeing him there, my heart did this stupid little flip. For a split second, I was that girl again, the one who thought he hung the moon.

That stupid, stupid girl.

I throw the wrench across the garage. "Dammit!" I yell into the empty space. My voice echoes back at me, mocking me.

I can't go home. The quiet house will just make me think more. About what could have been. About the life I thought we'd have. About all the broken promises. Plus, Maggie's at home. Sick Maggie. Dying Maggie. No, I'm sure as fuck not going there right now. I'm too raw, and I don't think I can keep my shit together around her.

But I can't stay here either. Every tool, every car reminds me of working alongside Dad. And now Dad's gone, and Ransom's back, and it's all mixed up in my head. It's a big ball of sadness and anger and love and hate. I hate them both for leaving me.

But Dad didn't go by choice.

Ransom did.

I slide down against the wall, my coveralls catching on the rough concrete. My hands smell like oil and metal. It's comforting and familiar. It didn't used to be. Dad was a cop back in the city. He smelled like sweat and coffee when he'd come home. When we moved here, everything changed. The sounds were different; the smells were different. And I didn't like it.

At first.

But the second Dad tugged me over and put a wrench in my hand, everything changed. Fixing things that are broken is what lights me up. With cars, there's always a way. It might be expensive or time-consuming, but I know what I'm doing. I can fix anything.

But I can't fix the way I feel. I can't manage it.

I'm angry. At Ransom, yeah, but also at myself for still caring. I want to scream, to break something. But I'm also tired. So damn tired of carrying this hurt around.

Seeing him brought it all back. The good and the bad. The way he made me laugh. The way he left without a word. The dreams we shared. The trust he shattered.

---