by Piper Malone
“N-no,” Caleb pauses, movement on the other end of the phone distracting him, “hold on.” I hear him shooing something, or someone. Reagan.
“I’ll talk to her, man,” I offer. “Maybe she can help me figure this out.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “He can hear you, gorgeous girl. Can you give me a few minutes?”
“She’s stubborn, Blake!” Reagan calls from across the room. “All right! All right!” she hollers before I hear a door close.
“Okay, she’s gone,” Caleb confirms. “What’s the deal? You really didn’t tell her you were leaving?”
“No,” I huff. “Look, I’m an ass, I know, but I thought she’d be okay with some space. I didn’t know we were going to be here longer than anticipated.” I look around the hotel room I’ve occupied for two weeks. We walked into an epic clusterfuck of piss-poor management and a community knee-deep in fear.
The initial explosion was bad. Subsequent fires and the fact that we now have toxic chemical receptacles with leaks elevates this situation to a completely new level. Windy days have picked up embers and spread them around the campus. The majority of the town was evacuated. We’ve worked for days to try to keep the damage contained but everything in this plant is flammable – plastics, chemicals, paper. The surrounding environment is going to need a serious overhaul too. Everything is burned. The acrid scent of burning plastic hangs in the air. It’s one of those smells that you know is bad news, like it’s just looking for something to infect and kill.
“You haven’t talked to her at all?”
“She texted me yesterday and asked if we were over…” I cannot finish the sentence. The thought of Kat ending us after all this time makes me want to destroy this shitty hotel room. The furniture is plywood, it wouldn’t put up much of a fight.
“Well, I’m guessing you guys are still together because Reagan would have said something, right?”
“I told her we need to talk when I get back.” She needs to decide what she wants, none of this works if she doesn’t realize she has the power to make decisions in this relationship.
“Dude, there is nothing worse than we need to talk. What’s your plan for that conversation?”
“I had a plan and it fell apart, man. Now I have no idea what to do.” The plan was Cartier and a “yes.” I didn’t think about Plan B. “What if I got her wasted and we flew to Vegas?”
Caleb’s knowing chuckle is all I need to hear. “We’ve been waiting on that call for a while.”
“I’m just worried about her ability to trust me.” Caleb, Reagan, and I might be fine with Plan B, but Kat is the wild card.
“Well, I think she’s working it out. Kat knows there is a line to tow. I honestly don’t think she’d keep quiet if she was done with you.” Caleb pauses, thinking about his next words. “For what it’s worth, you guys are a good pair.”
Somehow, the picture of Kat I keep with me when I go into fires finds my hands. Her beautiful face shining with the brightest of smiles. I’m not sure if anyone else can see her charisma, her spark, but to me, it’s clear as day.
“I just hope she figures that out.”
“She came over here and I ripped her a new one,” he issues unapologetically. “She took it, man. For a minute, I thought she might deck me, but she just yelled. Then she fell apart.”
She cried in front of Caleb? “Tell me everything you said to her.” My irritation with his confession bleeding in.
“I called her out. She would have done the same thing to me, Blake. I gave her a taste of her own medicine and she choked on it. I already got the riot act from Reagan so I don’t need to hear it from you, too. She needed a gut check and no one else was willing to dish it out.”
“What did she do?” My fingers brush over the picture as I try to remember the feel of her skin under my hands.
“She said she needed to think about it.”
I don’t get why women need to think all the fucking time. Make a decision, yes or no. All this contemplation is like chasing a drunk dog, you think you’re on the right path and then it darts in another direction and stumbles over itself. Then, there’s my other issue.
“It pisses me off that she’s talking to Ax.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he agrees. “If it’s any consolation, I talked to him too. He’s got no interest and she doesn’t either. As far as I can tell, they’re friends.”
“If she decides to be with him, I’m going to kill him.”
“I’ll stand behind you but I don’t think you have to worry about them. He knows your claim on her. He might be a bastard in some places but he wouldn’t try to bed her with you in the picture.”
“What if she decided to bed him?” The question makes my gut churn, bile splashing against the back of my throat.
“Again, I don’t think that would happen. She wouldn’t have taken my shit or almost passed out at the press conference if she was sleeping with Ax. They were in the same room and there wasn’t an ounce of sexual tension between them. But, if I’m wrong, you have my permission to kill them.”
Caleb’s ability to be a firm and powerful leader for our little family is never one I have questioned. His willingness to defend his brood by any means possible, even when it involves murder, is par for the course.
“I’m glad you wear the judge and executioner hat, man. It’s too much for me to handle.”
“Do you want her, Blake?” I’m used to Caleb’s direct questions but this one is different. It’s a check to make sure I’m in line with what I want.
“Yes.” There’s no other answer I would consider.
“Then tell her. Be honest. I wasn’t honest with Reagan and I almost left this world without her knowing how much I love her. She fought and pushed the limits to make sure I was safe. She sacrificed until I got my head out of my ass.” He inhales deeply, before continuing, “You need to help Kat get her head out of her ass.”
I think about his words, silence across the phone line for a few minutes until I can form the words. “Will you follow us to Vegas?”
“We’re ready when you are.”
We issue our good-byes and I confirm I’ll text when I’m heading home.
They are ready for us. I’m ready for us.
Now I have to work on Kat.
Chapter 33
Kat
Work is insane. The promotional blitz for the calendar has started. Advance orders are pouring in. I’ve talked to the papers, local news stations, and did a couple of spots for local radio stations. Greg has been a joyful hamster in a wheel, bringing me coffee and chattering about how he and Ruby are getting along. He told me they are going LARPing this weekend, whatever the fuck that is. I told him to have a good time and use a condom.
Blake and I have sent brief text messages, simple hellos and goodnights. The occasional one or two sentences are enough to keep an erratic beat pumping in my mostly broken heart. It’s been difficult to be patient. I worry about his safety and how he’ll react to me once he’s home.
I’m afraid of the conversation that awaits us. The where-do-we-go-from-here conversation is a mood killer, for sure. In any case, I need to start getting comfortable with being around him since, as Reagan said, we’re all connected now.
I keep getting together with Reagan to restore some level of normalcy to my life. We talk. She always finds a covert way to bring up the Dom/sub dynamic in conversation. I felt like a fool when she revealed the relationship could be anything the couple chooses. It was like hearing Blake all over again. This is us. She reminded me you can get your burger any way you want, why not your sex. It’s a great analogy, if you aren’t waiting for the knockout punch to your already battered relationship. I don’t think I could entertain a D/s relationship with anyone but Blake. But the more time that passes, the more I think I need to be alone. No Blake. No one-night stands. No relationships. My heart hurts too badly right now.
Little by little, I’ve put things away. His T-shirts are packed in a box with
the sheets that were on the bed the first night he blindfolded me. It might be weird or dramatic, but I need to look around my apartment and not have the physical reminders of him. I threw away the sash I wore on STUDZ night and thought about how I’ll always be a bridesmaid. I took his house key off my keychain. I found myself looking at it and remembering how good it felt when he gave it to me. The more I turned it over in my hand, the worse I felt, knowing I might never feel that joy again.
I still struggle with worrying about him. My only relief is that there wouldn’t have been children at the site. But he could be breathing in chemicals or suffer a burn or not be eating or sleeping well. Of course, if he was lonely he didn’t reach out to me. I need to take that as a hint.
I thought about sending him a care package and actually looked up how to make cupcakes from scratch. Suddenly I was on Pinterest and double-fudge-brownie-bomb snack cakes looked like something I should try to make. I invested my time in figuring out how to make frosting from scratch, which sucked me into a fantasy about using icing to cover every inch of his anatomy.
Then the reality of our pending conversation sinks in. It could all be for nothing. The worry, the fears, the lonely ache could be for a man who has decided he’s done with my antics…again. I should have known this record was going to repeat itself.
I picked a lousy time to throw out my last three cigarettes.
“Hey, Kat,” Greg’s chipper voice snaps me out of my ruminations. “It’s quitting time.”
I give him a tight smile, the reminder of what quitting actually means hitting too close to my bruised heart. “Have a good time this weekend.”
He sends me a goofy salute before heading toward the door.
I shut everything down, grateful I don’t have to look at work projects or emails over the weekend. I just have to wait and wonder and prepare for the inevitable.
After lunch I left my phone in my purse, the distraction of checking it every five minutes interfered with my ability to get anything done. Four hours later, the lock screen is packed with Reagan’s messages:
4:10 PM: Incoming. He’s leaving now.
2:47 PM: He’ll be home today!
1:15 PM: Blake just texted us, he might be leaving today.
I check the clock to calculate his drive time. It’s 4:25 now, so he’ll be home in about an hour given traffic. An hour to obsess won’t be too terrible. I’ve been living this hell for a few weeks, what’s another sixty minutes.
An incoming message makes the phone vibrate in my hand.
I’m home
Blake’s message sends chills down my neck. He’s home and fast. Either he drove like a bat out of hell or he sent Caleb and Reagan down a rabbit hole. Did he want to see me before letting anyone know he was back in town? My nerves jump as I tap out the response.
When do you want to talk?
His quick response does nothing to quiet my fears.
Sooner rather than later. I’m getting in the shower. Let yourself in.
I grab my coat and run out of the office. The time it takes to get home, dig the key out of the relationship burial box, and go to Blake’s place isn’t long, but it’s brutal. I imagine the conversation and pray I can handle the words. The pounding in my chest makes me feel unsteady, scared to hear the words I’ve always been dealt during a break up. Will the list of reasons outlining why I’m not a good girlfriend hurt more when they come from Blake?
In his apartment, the shadows cast from the waning sunlight make the entire living room look eerie. It’s silent with the exception of the distant hum of the shower running.
Only the hall light is on, drawing me toward his bedroom. Blake’s clothes are strewn across the floor as he systematically stripped down on his way to wash up. I grab his shirt and inhale. His masculine scent is tainted with the generic soap he’s been using, but it’s him. The worn cotton caresses my cheek as I nuzzle the shirt, reveling in the closeness. I’ve missed him so much that his beaten T-shirt has become a cherished prize. And if it’s the last time, I might never have this opportunity again.
I know it’s not right, it might be a little strange, but I ball up the shirt and stuff it in my bag. I’m not ready to let go of him even if he decides to cut the ties. He won’t miss it.
Not wanting to disrupt his shower, I start scooping up his discarded clothing. His socks, boxer briefs, and sweatshirt are all scattered around his bed. Everything is picked up with ease with the exception of his jeans, heavy with the weight of his possessions. I dig into the front pockets, pulling out his keys and phone. His back pocket holds his wallet. Once everything is on his dresser, I crumple the denim and feel something stiff in the opposite back pocket. I dip my fingers in and find a folded picture.
Against the white backing of the photo My doll is scrawled in Blake’s handwriting. The picture opens in my hands, an image of me at Reagan and Caleb’s wedding revealing itself. It’s a candid shot. I’m laughing, looking carefree and happy. This can’t be a picture from the professional photographer; we haven’t seen any of the proofs yet.
This is his picture from that night. Before our one dance and after Blake’s endless pursuit.
The edges of the photograph are worn, the paper a little soft from frequent handling. Looking down at the image, I catch a whiff of smoke and sweat. Pulling the picture closer, I confirm my suspicion. The photo smells like Blake and his job.
I blink past my blurring vision, tears rushing forward with the realization that he carries a piece of me with him through raging infernos and chemical spills and finding lost children. I inhale, trying to calm the violent pounding of my heart.
He keeps me with him?
The emotion, powerful and consuming, threatens to level me. Racing thoughts pulse through my brain, spurning tears. I threw a fit. I pushed him away. I fought with his best friend. I wasn’t honest. I’ve avoided him so he wouldn’t see my hurt. The pieces I’ve locked away. The shame of being too scared to face my fears. It’s all damage I’ve done…to us.
Pain erupts in my chest, oppressive and unbearable. I heave a breath, trying to regain control of the emotional frenzy.
I have to make this right. You must pull yourself together.
After a quick glance in the mirror, and a few useless attempts, I realize there is no way to fix the makeup landslide on my face. Smeared eyeliner frames my swollen eyes and confesses the sob-fest I was hoping to keep to myself. I cannot care about how I look, I need to focus on how I feel.
I walk to the bathroom on numb legs, knocking tentatively. “Blake?” I call with a shaky voice.
“Yeah, doll?” I hear him pull the curtain back. “Come in. Are you all right?”
When he sees me, his head poking out of the shower stall, steam billowing around him, his eyes bug out a little. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I, uh…” I don’t know what to say or where to start. I need him to guide me. “Tell me what this is?” I hold up the picture, the image shaking in my hand.
He closes his eyes, inhales deeply and drops his chin to his chest. Blake exhales, his head rocking back and forth. When he looks at me, sad resignation lines his face. “It’s the picture of you I carry around.”
My heart gallops, heat pushing across my cheeks. “Can you tell me why?” I ask.
He grips his wet hair, tilting his gaze upward. Blake groans, closes his eyes as the water pelts his chest. “Do we have to talk about this right now? I’m beat.”
I hear him, but I don’t. I can see his exhaustion, but I need to know. “Do you love me?” The sound of the words gives me pause. Did that really just come out of my mouth?
Blake stares at me for a moment, possibly stunned from my question. Or maybe I killed him. His head rocks from side to side, and exaggerated breath leaving his lungs. “I don’t believe you, Kat,” he mutters, his eyes rolling shut, large hands scrubbing his face. A primal growl erupts from Blake, his hands balled into tight fists before coming to resting on his hips. His deep blue eyes pierce mi
ne, holding me in place. “Yeah, Kat. I love you.”
I nod, numb from the realization that his words are everything I have feared and all I have ever wanted.
“Okay.” The rush of possibilities racing through my head makes it difficult to concentrate. There is so much I need to do. “I-I’m glad you’re home safe. I’ll be back.”
“What?” He pulls the shower curtain wide, exposing the taught, water-slick body I’ve been missing for weeks. “I tell you I love you and you’re going to leave? What the hell is happening?”
The question registers but too many answers hover on the tip of my tongue. I start to form an answer he’ll understand, but a shimmer of light reflecting off his body distracts me. Ribbons of water slide down the cut lines of his abdomen following the deep ridge leading to the thick length of his penis. Even flaccid, it’s gorgeous. The water cascading down the smooth line of his cock, then hugging the ridge of his plump mushroom head makes me thirsty for a drink from his masculine fountain.
“Stop looking at my cock, Kat!”
Blake’s anger snaps me back to the task at hand. “I know and I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have to take care of something.” I glance at my watch, the timing should be perfect but I need to make sure I’m not leaving him hanging. “Do you need me, Blake? Like last time?”
His anger subsides, his posture relaxing as he considers the offer. “No, Kat. I just wanted to see you. Maybe have you spend the night. I’m just really exhausted.” He gives me a kind look. “Thank you for thinking of me but this was a different circumstance. I’m fine. Just in need of sleep.”
I believe him. “Okay, I understand.” Maybe letting him rest would be best. “Can I ask you one more thing?”
He nods, looking spent and wrung out.
“Are we over? Did we break up?”
Blake looks at me with weary eyes. “That decision is up to you, doll. I won’t force you into something you don’t want.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He reaches out, grabbing my hand. “You can stay. I don’t need you to leave.”