"I can't tell you," I say brokenly. "You shouldn't have to bear the weight of everything involving my fucked up past."
He gives me an incredulous look. "You can't be serious," he mutters, shaking his head. "Blake, your past is my past, your present is my present, and your future is my future. I bear the weight of everything that happens in your life. How can you not see that?"
"I do, Cole. I do see it, which is why I know you shouldn't have to deal with more," I whisper, tearing my gaze from his.
He gives me a soft kiss on the lips before carrying me to the bathroom and setting me down on top of the counter. He turns around and sets up the tub, which we've only used once since we moved here. I'm not really into soaking, but I am too exhausted to argue. Once it's filled, he puts his hand in to test the water, lifts me up and sets me in before undressing himself and sliding in behind me.
He begins to massage my shoulders, his soothing touch melting away my anxiety. When he stops, I close my eyes and lean my back onto his chest, letting him wrap his arms around me.
"Baby, you have to wake up," Cole whispers in my ear. I let out a surprised gasp as my eyes flutter open. "Hey, it's fine, I just don't want you to turn into a prune."
I smile and turn my body to look at him, making water swish out of the tub. "Thank you. I needed this." He smiles back and winks at me before climbing out and fetching our towels.
Once we're both dressed for bed, he takes hold of my hand and walks me back to our bed. I look at our intertwined fingers and squeeze them. Ever since I've been back, Cole has a newfound thing for holding my hand. It's cute and makes me smile every time he does it. He knows how to make me feel loved and protected.
"Sleep. We'll finish our talk tomorrow," he murmurs before placing a kiss on my lips.
"I love you," I whisper against his lips.
"I love you more. To the moon and back," he replies before kissing me once more.
I fall into a dreamless slumber and wake up the next morning to the smell of greasy bacon. I put my hand over my mouth and run to the bathroom before leaning over and emptying out everything in my system. I flush and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand when I'm done and get up slowly. When I turn around I find Cole watching me intently, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. He shakes his head at me before walking back out of the bathroom.
"You're not going to give me a kiss good morning?" I ask with a smile as I watch him walk back to the kitchen.
"Why don't you get dressed and meet me in the kitchen when you're done," he says without turning around. My eyebrows shoot up at his clipped tone and his attitude. I should probably let it go and do as I'm told, but it's clear that he's pissed off and I don't understand why. I stomp to where he is and pull his arm back so he can stop walking and look at me, but he snatches his arm from me and pins me with narrowed eyes.
"Go get dressed!" he says loudly.
I gape at him for a second. "What is wrong with you?" I ask, shuffling behind him when he continues walking.
I decide to wait for his answer on this side of the counter to leave some space between us when he goes into the kitchen.
He huffs out a breath as he places our breakfast on the plates in front of him. "Go get dressed, Blake. I'll have the food and coffee on the table by the time you come back out."
"Are you going to tell me why you're mad at me?" I ask a little quieter.
The only thing audible in the room as he glares at me is the clattering of the utensils when he tosses them on top of the ceramic plates. My eyes roam down his shapely arms and fixate on the movement in his forearms that flex and un-flex as he grips the countertop.
"What's wrong?" I ask again.
"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbles under his breath before turning and slapping the cabinet behind him, making me jump. "Go get dressed so we can talk," he says for the millionth time, through clenched teeth.
I sigh, slumping my shoulders but remaining unmoved. I refuse to leave until I get an answer.
He turns back around and tilts his head. "Let's see, Blake, you went out, got drunk and wouldn't answer my phone calls. You didn't let Aubry answer his phone calls, you didn't let anybody else know where you went. You called a guy who participated in your kidnapping, NOT for the first time, I might add. You didn't want to come home with me, you attacked me because you thought...fine, I'll let that one slide. You wouldn't tell me what you had to talk to that asshole about." He puts his arm up when I open my mouth to say something. "Let me finish. Mainly I'm stuck on the fact that you communicate with this guy regularly and don't even tell me about it."
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat, but end up gasping for air instead. I know I messed up, but hearing him say all of those things and seeing how angry and hurt he is because of me leaves me at a loss for words. I can only stare at him as he looks at me expectantly. I bite down on my trembling lip, and suddenly, it's all too much. I turn back into our room, grabbing some clothes and heading straight into the shower. I leave the door unlocked, expecting him to barge in at any minute, but he never does. When I finish dressing, I go back to the kitchen and find that he's no longer there. When I notice his keys are missing, my heart starts pounding rapidly and I sprint to the spare bedroom, the balcony, the guest bathroom, and it hits me that he just left. He left my breakfast and coffee on top of the table like he said he would, but he's gone. He didn't even leave me a note.
I scramble out of the apartment, bumping into Spencer right outside the door.
"Where is Cole?" I ask hurriedly.
"He said he was going out," Spencer replies.
"Did he say when he would be back? Is Bruce with him?" I ask, jumbling my words together.
"Bruce followed him out, but Cole left in a rush. He looked..." Spencer trails off and looks at his feet, which doesn't help slow down my heart at all. Spencer and Bruce are very professional yet no bullshit guys and they never look away from anybody, so it's obvious he doesn't want to get dragged into this.
"He looked pissed," I say, finishing his sentence. Spencer's brown eyes shoot back up to mine and he nods slowly. My mouth drops open when I turn around and notice a hole in the wall right outside of our door. I take a sharp intake of breath and look at Spencer for confirmation, which he gives me by nodding gravely.
I half-heartedly eat my chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, tossing most of it aside because of my complete lack of appetite. I pace around for an hour before I call Cole's cell phone and get no answer. I call Aubry and get no answer from him either, which makes me even antsier. Next I call Aimee, but she says she hasn't heard from Cole and last spoke to Aubry earlier in the morning before she left the house. After hanging up with her, I growl in frustration and decide to sit on the balcony and wait for him to come back. Another couple of hours passes, and I've called Aubry, Cole and Bruce a total of thirty times. I'm jittery and chewing on my fingers at this point, and decide to call Greg.
"'Sup, Cowboy?" he says as he answers the phone.
"Have you talked to Cole or Aubry today?" I ask desperately.
"No, why? Did something happen?" he asks in an edgy voice.
"No. I don't know," I reply before I begin to hyperventilate.
"Holy shit. What happened? Are you okay? What the fuck happened?"
"I'm not okay," I whisper. "I messed up, Greg. I messed up bad."
I tell Greg what happened last night and this morning, grateful that unlike Becky, he listens without interrupting my story. When I'm done, I sniffle and wipe my nose with the sleeve of my shirt.
"Damn, Cowboy...you really fucked up," Greg says with a whistle.
"I don't know what to do. I was going to talk to him today and tell him everything, but I didn't even get a chance and then he left and now he's not answering and...oh my God. I think I lost him. I really lost him this time, Gregory. He's not coming back," I whimper before I start wailing and gasping for air again.
"No, Shorty, you haven't lost him. You'll never
lose him. Never. You just need to talk to him. Imagine how he must feel, put yourself in his shoes. Yes, you fucked up, but you're not going to lose him. Trust me on that. He's too whipped to see anybody but you, Baby Girl," he says softly.
"Thank you, G. I love you. Tell Becks I'll call her tomorrow."
"Love you too."
I turn into the garage of our apartment and park the car, sighing and leaning my head back on the headrest as I savor the quiet moment. I look at my rearview and see Bruce pull up behind me, and I take another minute, closing my eyes and breathing heavily. The best thing I did today was go to a Cubs game with Aubry. Not that I got my mind off any of this shit, but at least I had a couple of beers and chilled out for a while. I know Blake must've been beside herself because she called us a hundred times, and part of me did feel bad for not answering for her. It wasn't until Greg called to tell me that he spoke to her that I realized how worried she was, but by then the game was tied in the eighth inning, and I wasn't going to leave to console her. I did enough of that last night. Hell, I've done enough of that my entire life, and I'll do it for the rest of it, but sometimes it seems like nothing I do is enough.
To add fuel to the fire, I woke up and started making breakfast for her when her phone started chirping. I checked it, expecting it to be Aubry checking in, and was unpleasantly surprised to see Dean's name staring back at me. Not once, not twice, but ten fucking times. Text messages and calls back and forth between the two of them. I can take a lot from Blake, but that shit is too much. And then I try to get her to talk to me and she refuses? Fuck that.
She didn't even reply when I told her how I felt. She just turned around and left me reeling. I thought we were done putting each other through hell, but apparently Blake has other plans. I shake my head in disbelief before getting out of my car and heading to our place. She's probably asleep by now. After the game, Aubry and I went to a sports bar and had dinner and talked more shit, anything to keep me from coming home early. The more I think about it, the more disgusted I am with myself, because in hindsight, I did want her to worry.
I step in, quietly closing the door behind me. I see her standing in the doorway to our room. Her hair is wild, her face blotched red and her gray eyes have that dead look in them that makes my heart stop beating. She's just staring at me as she chews nervously down on her lip. This. This right here is the kind of shit that makes me hate myself. This right here is what makes me crumble and fall at her feet every single time.
"Hey," I say quietly.
"Hey," she barely whispers in return, casting her eyes down.
I take and let out a harsh breath. "I'm sorry."
She nods slowly and shifts on her feet, her hair curtaining over her face so that I can no longer see her expression.
"I had to get out. I needed a break from all this shit. I'm sorry I made you worry," I explain, even though I don't have to. But this is what she does to me, she makes me fucking crazy when she shuts me out and I desperately need her to let me in. Some of my friends that haven't been around us have given me shit over this because they don't understand our relationship. They say it's not normal, not healthy, and I get it, but we can't change our past. We're just two broken people in love trying to heal each other, and despite everything, we don't want to be with anybody else. We've tried countless times and it's never worked, so I don't care what I look like to anybody else. When it comes to Blake, nobody else matters.
Her eyes are sad when she lifts them to meet mine again, which is still better than emotionless. "It's okay. I pushed you away like I always do. I don't blame you for leaving, and I don't blame you if you don't want to stay with me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't just talk to you when you asked me to. I'm sorry that I've been so weak lately. I'm sorry that you're the one that has to deal with my paranoia and my attitude and my tears and my secrets and…just everything. I'm sorry about everything. I don't want you to hurt with me, because of me, and I know that's impossible if you stay, so I get it," she says with a slight shrug.
My heart is stuck my throat, and I can't even form a coherent reply to that. Instead I walk up to her, watching her as she takes a shaky step back. When I reach her, I place a kiss on her forehead and run the back of my hand slowly down her face before tilting her chin up to look at me.
"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper. "Ever. But you need to stop pushing me away. Your pain is mine, let me carry it with you, for you—I don't care as long as you're with me. I thought we covered this last night and a hundred times before? I want to be with you forever. Forever, Blake. You are everything to me. Now, can I give you that kiss I should've given you this morning?"
Her eyes twinkle as she blinks rapidly. "You're not leaving me?" she asks in a hoarse whisper.
I duck my head and give her a quick kiss. "Never," I murmur before lightly sucking on her bottom lip.
She wraps her arms around my neck and clings on to me. "Please don't leave me like that again. I'm sorry I pushed you away, but please don't leave like that. I thought I lost you for good."
I squeeze her as I stand up straight and carry her to the couch, folding her in my lap as I take a seat.
She kisses me softly before pulling back and cupping my face in her small, cold hands. "I need to tell you something."
I nod and tighten my hold on her. "Tell me everything."
She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she says regretfully and I instantly tense, expecting the worst. "Dean told me that your dad...your dad knew where we were all along," she continues in a shaky voice. "He said he heard Benny talking to someone about me." She shudders at the mention of Benny and I clench my fists.
"Dean says my dad knew where I was when I was kidnapped and he didn't say anything, didn't report it, didn't go get me? And you believe him?" I ask incredulously. She nods slowly with wide eyes. "When I met him, he was just as shocked as everybody else about the entire thing. He didn't even know you were alive."
She tilts her head and searches my eyes for a couple of seconds. "Who put the money into your bank account?"
I blink at her in surprise. "Mark."
"Did you ask Mark?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. "Did you ask him about the farm? Who gave you the farm?"
My heart constricts. "Blake, that's enough!" I say, placing her on the seat beside me so I can stand up. I pace around the room with my hands behind my head as if I've just run a marathon, which is exactly how I feel.
"It's not true. It just can't be true," I state quietly.
"I'm sorry," she says softly. "That's why I didn't wanna tell you."
I take a couple of deep breaths and think about the account I had set up when I was a teenager, the farm that was signed over to me. Now I wish I had paid more attention to details, but I thought hiring a private investigator meant I didn't have to do that shit. Blake comes up from behind me and wraps her arms around me as I stare into the beautiful Chicago skyline. I sigh and lean my body forward, placing my forehead against the cold glass door, and close my eyes. What am I supposed to do with this information? Is it true? Were my birth parents faking their shock to see me alive when I showed up at their house? Did Mark know that they were in on it? Did he know that my parents were going to charity events and climbing up the social ladder, while fake mourning the son they knew was alive and forced to live with a complete stranger at the age of four? Who does that to a four-year-old? What kind of parents do that? A shudder runs through me and Blake tightens her hold on me.
"I'm here, it's okay," Blake coos as she kisses my back. She lets go and steps in front of me, looking at me with pain and sadness in her eyes as she begins to wipe the tears I hadn't realized were falling from my eyes. Funny how the tables turn, and the thought that her pain is this deep, this bad, and most likely worse than I can ever imagine, makes my heart shatter for her. I stand upright and pull her body against mine, breathing her in as we cling to each other like we're the only thing that matters in this world...and to each other, we are.
"What else di
d Dean say?" I ask, his name losing some of its poisonous taste in my mouth.
She shakes her head under me. "That was all he told me. You got there before he was able to say anything else. He just...he said Benny's been pretty absent lately and he's worried about me."
My heart stops beating at the mention of that heartless bastard. "What about Alex?" I whisper.
"He's...I don't know. I don't know. Dean says I shouldn't worry about him. Something about him talking to Liam...my...uh...my dad."
I pull away from her and cup her face in my hands. "How was that? Seeing him?"
She takes a staggered breath before pursing her lips. "Weird. I recognized him, I guess from the pictures. I felt oddly...comfortable with him. His smell, his-" her voice breaks before she clears her throat, "his voice. I don't know, it was just too much for me, not expecting to see him and then he's there. I couldn't."
We move back to the couch and continue holding each other in silence, mulling over the million questions we have no answers to. Blake unfolds herself from my lap and gets up, pulling her hair into a ponytail.
"You know what? We're getting to the bottom of this. Tonight we're getting to the bottom of this!" she says, determined, looking at the kitchen before turning her gaze toward me. "Get up. We're going to see Mark."
I raise an eyebrow as I look at my watch. "Blake, maybe this time you should call him? You don't know if he's home, it's nine o'clock on a Saturday night."
She narrows her eyes before walking away and picking up her phone on the way to our room. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out to see a text from Connor.
Connor: Dude, ur girl is fucking crazy. She wants 2 go 2 my grandfather's house. Just called me. WTF?
My eyes widen as I read his message. "BLAKE! YOU CALLED CONNOR TO TAKE YOU TO BRIAN'S HOUSE?"
"YES! I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS ANYMORE, COLE! I'M SICK OF SECRETS, I'M SICK OF QUESTIONS, I'M SICK OF NOT KNOWING WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!" she shouts from our bedroom.
I take a deep breath as I type my reply to Connor.
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