Page 51 of Trusting Blake
I bow my head and brush past him, making my way up the porch steps to Mom. She turns to face me and releases a weary sigh. I’m not sure how much more worry I can put my parents through before she develops permanent wrinkles.
Dad remains rooted to the spot, patiently staring Blake down until Blake finally cracks under the pressure and returns to his truck. He pulls open the door, steps one foot inside, then pauses.
“Please don’t be too hard on Mila. She’s just trying to live her own life. It’s not easy feeling like you’re nothing but the secondary character in someone else’s story.” His eyes travel to mine and he frowns.
“Mila will open the gate to let you out,” is all Dad replies.
Blake nods grudgingly and slides into his truck. Mom and I watch, unspeaking, from the porch as the engine rumbles to life and Blake U-turns back down the dirt road. When he nears the gate, I electronically open it for him and feel an ache in my chest as I watch him disappear, wondering what lies ahead for us.
Dad spins around to look up at Mom and me. “I quite like that kid,” he says.
That tightness gripping my chest suddenly loosens. “What?”
“I like him.” Dad shrugs casually, joining us on the porch.
“What?” Mom echoes, just as surprised as I am.
Dad is unbelievably indifferent, his expression cool and composed. “I imagined him to be more—”
“Like LeAnne?” Mom finishes, and a dark look is exchanged between them. I get the feeling their history with LeAnne was sort of swept under the rug all those years ago, never to be spoken of again. Until recently. . . which means it’s lost none of its sting.
“Yes. Like LeAnne,” Dad says. “He has her boldness, that’s for sure, but he seems like he has his head screwed on. Wasn’t afraid to own his actions and his thoughts. I like a kid who can look me in the eye, unlike that boy you dated last year. Jack, wasn’t it? He shriveled up into a ball of nerves every time I entered the room.”
“So I can keep seeing him?” I ask optimistically, crossing my fingers behind my back.
“No,” Dad answers bluntly. He pats me on the shoulder and gives me the smallest of smiles as he says, “Because you, Mila, are grounded for about the millionth time. And I’ll be enforcing it this time.”
There’s something in his dark eyes, something forgiving and humane, and my heart soars. I can’t see Blake because I’m grounded andnotbecause Dad dislikes him. It feels like a monumental step forward, and I’m pretty sure Mom was already swaying toward throwing in the towel over this battle. They are realizing that I really like him, and that he doesn’t represent his mom. It’s not fair for them to write him off just because of his DNA. He deserves a chance, and the gentleness in Dad’s expression leads me to believe that he might just give him one.
“I can’t believe you went to Memphis,” Mom says as she presses her hands flat on my back and guides me inside the house. “Everett, give us a minute, please.”
Dad nods. “Mila, I’ll put your bag in your room,” he says, then heads off upstairs.
I’m still wondering why no one is yelling at me yet. Have my parents spent the past twenty-four hours going through a reality check? It’s like I have returned home to two totally different people, but so far, I have no complaints.
Mom leads me to the kitchen and gently pushes me into a dining chair. She pulls out the chair opposite, but is too fidgety to bother sitting down. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Mila. . . I was your age once. I know how easy it is to rush into things, and you definitely shouldn’t be taking overnight trips with boys yet, and I just want to make sure—”
My cheeks burn. “Mom, nothing happened. I didn’t have sex with Blake.”
Mom visibly relaxes enough to actually take a seat. “Last night? Or ever?”
“Ever,” I say, my face feeling like it’s on fire as she analyzes my expression for any hint of a lie, but there isn’t one. Just pure mortification at having to spell this out for her.
“Okay.” Mom nervously laughs and twirls a piece of hair around her finger. I guess it’s pretty embarrassing for her too. I notice that she’s wearing her usual immaculate makeup again today, which also makes me wonder if things are maybe improving around here. “But if the moment ever. . . arises. . . just remember you’re only sixteen. You haven’t known this guy all that long, and he’s about to be a senior, and high school seniors can be. . .pushy. Don’t ever do anything you aren’t comfortable with. Maybe don’t do anything, period. I’d feel much better that way.”
“Mom.” I give her a fierce look. “I understand. Please stop already.”
“Okay, okay, I’m done!” Mom holds up her hands, then lets them drop back to her lap as she gazes at me. “You know I’m always here for you, right? I don’t appreciate all this rebellion and attitude, but it’s nice to see you. . . well, be you.”
Ruben enters the room with a theatrical wave aimed at me. “Ah, the teen delinquent returns!”
“Alive and well, as always,” I mutter with a sarcastic smile.
Ruben grunts, then helps himself to a root beer from the refrigerator. He pops the cap and leans back against the countertop, one leg crossed in front of the other. “Hey, Everett, your daughter decided to grace us with her presence,” he says as Dad enters the kitchen, pointing his root beer at me. “I don’t know what more you expect me to do with her at this point.”
“I’m sitting right here, Ruben,” I remind him.
Dad crosses in front of him to get to the refrigerator, pulling out a jug of sweet tea, then fixes him with a sharp look as he shuts the door. “I can see that, Ruben. Marnie and I are handling it.”
