Page 35 of Trusting Blake
“No, Blake. Another time,” she repeats.
But I know there won’t be another time.
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure Blake as I reluctantly take the towel from his mom. I swear Lacey displays a hint of a snooty smile as she stands there next to LeAnne, all lofty and righteous as though LeAnne’s approval is the greatest gift in the world. To be honest, I can’t think of anything worse than sitting down to dinner with them.
“Oh, and Blake,” LeAnne adds nonchalantly as she moves to the faucet and shuts off the water, “send Myles and Barney on their way too. Dinner will be ready soon, and I’ve promised Lacey a nice evening with just the three of us. Like old times!”
Lacey beams, the perfect guest. I wish I wasn’t standing here soaked to the bone and starting to shiver. “Thanks so much for having me over again!” she says. “My mom insists we are to return the favor next week. For dessert she’s going to make her famous fudge pie just for you, Blake.”
“It’s my pleasure.” LeAnne walks back to Lacey and squeezes her shoulder, a gesture that suggests she’s already accepted her as her future daughter-in-law. “Blake, shower, please. Mila, would you mind waiting for your aunt on the porch?”
LeAnne guides Lacey toward the front door, two best buddies, but Blake lingers behind. As always whenever his mom is on the scene, he is disgruntled and fighting back rage by clenching his jaw tight. There’s a flicker of guilt across his face.
“Mila—” he says.
“Now,Blake,” LeAnne orders with a stern glance over her shoulder. “I need you to help in the kitchen!”
“It’s okay,” I mouth, giving Blake permission to accept defeat. This situation is beyond awkward, and it’s best for all of us to finish it now.
“See you around, Mila!” Lacey calls from the porch with a pleasant wave, but her whole demeanor is triumphant. She may be a family friend, but having dinner with Blake and his mom is still personal and intimate. “Now, c’mon, Blake!”
“Coming, Lace,” he says, then dips his shoulders and frowns at me apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he mouths back.
Towel over his shoulder, water dripping from his hair, he follows after his mom and Lacey. The front door slams shut behind them and I hear the twisting of the lock, and all of a sudden, everything is quiet and still. From music and laughter and the splashing of soapy water to. . . nothing. Nothing but this horrible empty feeling in my stomach.
14
Sheri’s van never turns up, but Dad and Ruben’s rental SUV does.
The all-blacked-out Ford Edge crawls down the street in search of the right address, so slow it’s suspicious, and then it abruptly stops outside Blake’s home. The thought of Sheri being called out to pick me up makes me feel guilty, but the idea that Dad or Ruben are here instead has me feeling nauseous. With the windows tinted and the sun reflecting brightly off the windshield, I can’t tell which one of them is driving. And honestly? I’m not sure which one of them is the least awful option.
The engine shuts off, the door swings open, and out steps Ruben.
He’s wearing dress pants and a white shirt, the sleeves neatly folded up to his elbows. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look like his usual self while he’s been here in Fairview. Ruben in his business attire is a force to be reckoned with.
He eyes me haughtily as he approaches. “You look like a drowned rat,” he observes as he lifts his sunglasses. The smell of cigarettes follows him – he has been smoking way more here in Tennessee than he does back home. The stress must be getting to him.
“Thanks, Ruben. That’s the vibe I was aiming for,” I say, sarcasm unmissable in my voice. “Where’s Sheri?”
“I thought I’d do her a favor and come get you myself,” Ruben answers. He tilts his sunglasses back over his eyes and turns his chin toward Blake’s house. “Besides, I’d like to meet LeAnne Avery in person.”
It should be a relief that Ruben isn’t blowing steam at me breaking his absurd rulesagain,but my body remains stiff with tension. Ruben wants to talk to LeAnne. Just great. Their contrasting personalities are a disastrous clash waiting to happen. This won’t go down well.
“She’s busy,” I splutter.
Ruben waves his hand at me, as dismissive as ever. “Be quiet. Busy or not, we have an agreement to make.”
He makes his way to the porch, fiddling with the Rolex on his wrist, and I dash after him. My hair is a damp, straggly mess and my jean shorts chafe against my thighs, but no matter how much I plead with Ruben to just take me home for another parental lecture about my newfound acts of teenage rebellion, he barely pays me any attention and goes ahead and rings the doorbell.
It feels like the longest wait in the world for someone to answer, but at last the door opens. The security latch is still on, and LeAnne glares sternly through the gap, looking thoroughly annoyed when she sees I still haven’t left her property.
“Mayor Avery!” Ruben declares, holding his hands out in a polite manner to show he means no harm. “How great that we can finally meet.”
“And you are?” LeAnne asks in a voice so cold and disinterested I almost want to high-five her for it.
“Ruben Fisher.”
LeAnne instantly slams the door shut, but Ruben blocks it with his foot.
