Page 91 of Ransom

Blair's my everything.

"He did. And I'm grateful for it. Because he was right, Blair. We were playing a dangerous game, and I didn't understand that then. Not like I do now. I wasn't a man yet. And as mature as I thought I was, I had a lot of growing up to do."

"You were more mature than most of the guys at school. And I was young for my age. We matched." She's not wrong. Blair was older, but she lacked the experience and maturity of the rest ofher peers. She spent more time with her dad than other girls. I think her only true friend was Maggie. She was innocent in a way seventeen-year-olds aren't now.

"I know. If I were a few years older, or you were a few years younger, our lives would look very different right now."

Her exhale is as heavy and exhausted as I feel. "Do you think about it? What might have been?"

"I used to. It's pretty easy to imagine. Prom, working at the garage. I would have proposed to you. You would have cried and?—"

She snorts and mutters, "Not likely."

"Shut up. This is my dream. You would have cried, and I would have slid a teeny tiny engagement ring on your finger. We would have gotten married in the square with everyone there. Then we would’ve had a big barbecue." If I close my eyes, I can picture the party. Blair in a white dress, shoulders bare, little tendrils of hair curling around her face as we danced. There is so much we never did together. So much we missed. We never fucking danced. "There would have been babies, I think. A little girl that looked like you, with the most beautiful grey eyes. And a little boy that looked like me, and watched over his sister."

"It's a nice dream."

"Yeah, it is."

She sighs and leans her head back against the rough bark. "I don't know what to say or think about any of this."

Thankfully, I have a fuck of a lot to say. "For years, I told myself I was making it up. That what we had wasn't as special as I remembered. That I was a fucking kid romanticizing a teenage romance. And I tried so hard to forget you. There were other women..." I run a hand through my hair. "But they were just... physical. Nothing real. Nothing that touched my heart."

"So you're saying you've been pining for me for twenty-five years?" Her skepticism cuts deep.

"Pining? Really? Have you gotten into those historical romance movies?" She glares at me, but there's a hint of a smile in her eyes. It's enough to keep me going. "I had my family. My brothers sure as fuck kept me busy. Building something with them felt like enough.At least I told myself it was." I take a step closer, and thankfully she doesn't move. "But then they started finding partners. Real love. I watched how it changed them. How it made them better men."

"And suddenly you remembered me?"

"No, Baby. You are always there. In the back of my mind. In my dreams. Every time I pick up a fucking wrench, I think of you. Every time I make my morning coffee, I think about you. Every time I crawl into fucking bed, I think about you." My hands are shaking. "For a long time, I was just really good at ignoring it. I shut that shit down. And when my family needed me more, it was easier. They're a lot. A lot of energy. A lot of drama. So it worked for a while."

Blair uncrosses her arms, confusion replacing the disbelief in her eyes. "Ransom..."

"I know this sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But I've never stopped loving you, Blair. Not for a single day."

30

BLAIR

My head spins, each revelation hitting like a physical blow. Love? I press my back against the rough bark of the old oak tree, needing its solid presence to stay upright. Everything is coming at me too fast.

"He didn't trust me." The words scratch my throat. "My own father thought I'd—" I can't finish the sentence.

Ransom takes a step closer. "Blair, it wasn't about trust. He was trying to protect you."

"By assuming I'd hurt you?" My voice cracks. "By thinking I was some kind of—" I wrap my arms around myself, feeling dirty, wrong.

"Stop." Ransom moves closer but keeps enough distance that I don't feel crowded. "You were the most important thing in his life. He panicked."

"And you—" I look up at him, searching his face. "You say you love me? After all this time? That's impossible."

"Why?" His brown eyes hold mine, steady and sure.

"Because you don't know me anymore. Twenty-five years, Ransom. We're different people."

He takes another step. "I know you still fix cars like you're solving puzzles. I know you fold the corners of pages in books instead of using bookmarks. I know you'd do anything for the people you care about—look at what you're doing for Maggie and Max."

"Those are just facts. Details." I push off from the tree, needing to move. "That's not knowing someone."

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