Page 140 of The Illicit Play
“I’m going to my room.” Wily sounds so gutted.
“Up here?”
He must nod, because Satch disappears from sight, no doubt moving to comfort him.
Blake stays where she is, gripping the doorframe, her knuckles turning white… and that’s when I notice her heaving chest. Breaths are punching out of her in shaky bursts as she bends over and lets out a whimper.
“It’s okay. Just breathe.” I lurch forward, rubbing her back as those punchy breaths turn to shaky sobs.
“He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“He’s never going to talk to me again.”
“Yes, he will. He loves you. He’s just hurting. He needs time to process.”
She looks up, her blue eyes wild and bright with tears. “I hurt him.”
I want to shake my head and tell her she didn’t, but I can’t… because that’s not the truth.
All I can give her is a pained frown. “Wehurt him. But we’re going to make it right, okay?”
She shakes her head, standing tall and ducking outfrom under my touch. “How? He hasn’t even heard the worst of it yet.”
“Blake.”
“No,” she whimpers, moving away from me.
I want to reach out and tug her back, but she’s shaking her head, stumbling down the hallway and into her room.
The door slams shut behind her, and as much as I want to demand she let me in to make her feel better, something in my gut is telling me to stay put.
I need to give her some space.
Fuck, we all probably need space right now.
Wily’s not ready for my apology, but while I’m waiting, I may as well construct a good one.
Shit, I’m gonna need help with this.
Heading for the stairwell, I race down it, jumping off the last step and heading for the garage at the back of the house.
I need Zander.
CHAPTER 48
BLAKE
I cry until my eyes are swollen and aching. I’ve run out of tissues, and the floor is covered in balled-up wads of snot and tears. My sweater sleeve is grimy, and my head is pounding.
When there’s a gentle knock at my door, I assume it’s Grady, and I’m not sure if I can handle his comfort. He’ll be so sweet and forgiving… and I don’t deserve it.
“I’m… busy,” I squeak.
My visitor obviously takes that as a cue to open the door, and I glare at the wood until Satch’s head appears. Her sweet face tells me she’s not mad… just sad… and I dip my chin, unable to look at her.
“Hi,” she whispers, easing into my room. “You doing okay?”
