Page 20 of Hot Shot
Can I live with him around and not have him? I don’t know.
Everything in me has always believed we could fix what he broke if only we had the chance, but with the revelations he’s hinted, at I’m no longer so sure.
Whatever happens, Mom is right.
If we can’t fix us and I can’t work with him afterward, then I’ll have no choice.
I’ll have to let him go for good this time.
Branton
When I finally ventured inside this morning to find no sign of Blake and her door firmly shut, I was disappointed.
Relieved.
I knew, if I wanted to make things right, tell her the details of my life since I cut her out of it, I had to give us both some space. A breather. For now.
Well, mainly me but I’m sure she appreciates not having to deal with me for a while.
After putting together an omelet and leaving half in the oven with a note on the counter for Blake, I packed a bag with water and a couple of protein bars and set out on a four-hour hike.
Once I broke free of the trees bordering the back of the property, I stuck to the shoreline, walked for two hours, my mind running over everything that had happened in the last day, before I turned around and headed back to the house. The same thoughts swirling in my head.
I’d like to say the walk did me good—cleared my mind—but other than getting in some physical exercise, I’m still left with a head full of confusion and a heartache so sharp if I hadn’t already lived with the pain for the last few years, I’d think I was having a heart attack.
As I move through the trees, getting closer to the house, anxiety tightens my chest, squeezes my lungs. There’s a thread of excitement too. So many mixed emotions at the thought of seeing Blake again.
Of not seeing her.
The closer I get, the quicker my steps and heart rate, the pulse pounding in my ears masking every other sound. It’s not until I’m about fifty feet deep in the trees at the back of the house that I realize I can hear music. A thumping beat that mimics my heart.
I know neither of my neighbors are close enough for the sound to travel this far and I’ve never heard more than the occasional door or axe hitting wood from either of them anyway.
It has to be Blake.
And relief washes over me so fast I stumble.
She didn’t leave.
I had hoped my return might go unnoticed, the fleeting thought of slipping inside and going directly to my room without bumping into her had crossed my mind, not that I want to avoid her. Although she sure as shit probably wants to avoid me.
And while I want to give her space, I’m more than thankful she’s still here. I didn’t know what to expect when I got back to the house, but I need to be honest with myself—and her—finding her gone wouldn’t have surprised me.
I’d hate it but I know, once again, it would be me that pushed her away.
Then again, I should know better.
It’s Blake.
She isn’t one to back away from a challenge or when she thinks I’m being an idiot and need some sense talked into me. The numerous unanswered phone calls over the last few years are proof of that.
In spite of the depressing thoughts I’ve lived with all day, that last one brings a smile to my face.
How different would my life be, would things have gone, if I’d answered just one of her calls? If I’d let her tell me all the ways I was fucking up?
I’m not sure what it says about me that I got off—hell, still get off—on Blake Watts giving me a lecture on the ways I’m being dumb. Anyone else giving me a stern talking to—calling me on my bullshit—always gets my back up, but Blake?
Hell, no.
