“For the first time that summer, I saw arguments between them. I think Blake was trying to get Brett some help, but he just wouldn’t listen. And of course, the way it always goes with boys and cars, there was a crash one night. Brett wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. He died instantly.”
She shook her head, her eyes brimming with hurt and sadness.
“Brett was driving, Jessica. That was proved at the inquest. But nobody in the village wanted to believe it. And to this day most people still won’t. You see, Brett was one of us. Brett was the eldest son. The heir to the Carter fortune. A God-damn prince of the Hamptons. And nobody could quite believe he was gone. So of course, it was easy to blame Blake, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks who should never have been there in the first place. The one who, in their minds, must have led Brett down that dark path to his destruction …”
“Wait,” I replied, leaning forward in my seat. “What do you mean ‘wrong side of the tracks’?”
And at this, Elizabeth paused for a moment before shaking her head again, a thin sad smile playing on her lips.
“Oh, my dear,” she said softly. “He hasn’t told you anything, has he?”
§
“Good afternoon, Miss Clark!” Collins said cheerily when he saw me approach, his face breaking out in a genuine smile. “It’s lovely to see you again. Up to the top floor?”
“Thank you, Collins,” I said, comforted by his presence as I stepped into the elevator, my nerves barely at bay.
I gave myself a glance in the polished chrome. I was dressed so differently to the last time I’d ridden this elevator. After the meeting with Elizabeth, I’d dashed home, changing out of the clothes I was wearing: the outfit I’d put on in what seemed like a different lifetime to seduce Josh. I’d been wearing those same clothes all night at the hospital, and every glance in a mirror had reminded me how much I’d screwed up.
There’d been no time to change before meeting Elizabeth, but before meeting Blake, I needed a fresh start. A clean slate.
So that afternoon, after a long shower, I’d found myself standing before the clothing rail that stood in for a closet in my tiny apartment, wondering who I even was anymore.
Who was the girl who owned this dowdy pencil skirt, this flowery vintage dress, and these tight leather pants? Was this really the same person?
And choosing the right outfit to confront Blake in suddenly felt very important.
After what seemed like forever, I’d finally made my decision: a Marni dress in bold black, cream and pink. Fallon had helped me choose it, but the design was so totally me. It was elegant without being stuffy. And furthermore, it had received compliments from Blake in the past.
Just then, the elevator pinged and the doors swished open. I took a deep breath then strode out into the lobby, tracked by the envious green gaze of the girl in the painting as I made my way towards the heavy mahogany door to his apartment.
I only needed to knock once before it opened, almost as if he’d been waiting right there for me. And as usual, when I saw him standing there, dressed in a casual white shirt and his favorite old Levis I felt my heart flash with a whirlwind of emotions: desire, regret, sadness, lust, and ... yes, love, all wrapped up into one.
I didn’t even need to tell him why I’d come, my presence on his doorstep seemed to tell him everything he needed to know.
He nodded, slowly and sadly, then stepped aside to let me pass.
I made my way through to the living room, this room I’d spent so much time planning and designing. I knew every square inch of it off by heart, but standing here now I felt like an imposter.
I took a seat gingerly on the sofa and Blake came to join me, the small distance between us feeling, at that very moment, like a whole ocean.
There was no point in delaying this any longer, I realized. I should just come right out and say it.
“I’ve been to see Elizabeth,” I began. “She told me what happened with Brett. She told me everything, Blake. I know it wasn’t your fault. Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t believe you?”
And as I spoke, Blake’s features flickered between sadness and relief.
“It’s much more complicated than that, Jessica,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I had to bury all that down inside myself for so long, just to survive. So you see, I’d made a pact with myself never to talk about it again. It was just so painful. It still is. And besides …”
I watched his grey eyes begin to well up.
“When a whole fucking town doesn’t believe you, you start to question things yourself.”
“But you did nothing wrong, Blake,” I whispered. “Elizabeth told me what happened.”
“That’s not true,” he cut in, obviously still so angry – angry at himself. “I didn’t do enough. I didn’t help Brett, as much as I could have. He went off the rails, and I didn’t do enough to try and get him back on track.”
“But you know why they didn’t believe you, don’t you?”
And as I spoke, I could hear Elizabeth’s words ringing in my ears: it was easy to blame Blake, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks who should never have been there in the first place ...
“You weren’t born to all this, were you?” I added softly as I gestured around this sumptuous room, with its breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline. “So why did you keep letting me think that you were? All those times I was running my mouth off about your ‘privilege’, about how easy it must have been being Blake Matthews ... I feel like such a damned idiot.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “It’s just second nature. It’s what I’ve been doing with everyone in this world, practically my whole life. To succeed in business, I needed to believe that I was born to this, just as entitled as anyone else. And it’s what people want to hear, too. Nobody wants to know my past, not really. They want to believe that I’m just like them, and so I let them. A few people know the truth — Elizabeth O’Connor and Brett’s parents, the Carters, of course. But these days we all pretend. We’re all very good at pretending …”
I reached out to take his hand, half convinced he might pull it from my grip. But instead, he let me take it in both hands, turning towards me.
“You know what?” he said, quietly. “I don’t think I’ve told anyone the whole story.”
“So why don’t you start with me?” I said tenderly.
He took a deep breath, then began.
§
“Well, I am from New York. That’s not a lie. This place is in my blood, and I could never change that. But I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, in the Upper East Side. I was born and raised ... if you could even call it that, in Queens. I never knew my father; he didn’t stick around long enough for that. There were men, of course. My mother’s boyfriends. If I was lucky, they ignored me. And if I wasn’t, then regular beatings made sure that I kept out of the way.
“My mother tried her best, I have to believe that. But things were difficult for her. A single mother, trying to hold it together back then? No family of her own to help her out? Well, over the years, she slid further and further into addiction. First it was just booze and pills, something to numb the pain. I can understand that. But then things got worse.
“I had a sister, Jenny. She looked after me as best she could. She was older than me. And I don’t blame her for taking off like she did. She was sixteen, life was unbearable, and even I could see the way that Mom’s latest boyfriend was looking at her. She promised she’d come back for me once she got settled somewhere. But she never came back. I never heard from her again.
“So after Jenny left, it was just me. I was seven years old, Jessica. But there was some place warm, where I could stay all day. So, I practically moved in to the library. It was wonderful to escape into books. You know that as well as I do. And while I was there, I could forget everything at home. The hunger. The cold. The fear. The screaming and crying, as my mother’s latest boyfriend walked out on her, as they
always did, sooner rather than later. I was good at school, and I put all my energy into that. I’d go to school, then the library ‘til it closed, then walk around the park until I was exhausted enough to sleep through the incessant noise at home.
“I don’t know what would have happened to me without Mr Matthews. He was my sixth grade teacher. First, he noticed I was smart. Then, he noticed I was hungry. I was always the first into the classroom, and he began to bring me breakfast. And we talked. About school, and about my future. He told me about college. You know? I hadn’t even heard about Harvard.
“And years later, when I actually found myself there, I realized that everyone else at that place had been practically born swaddled in the school colors. So, you see why I’ve had to hide all this?”
I nodded, shifting closer on the couch, softly brushing the tears from his cheeks with my thumb.
“One day,” he continued, “along with my breakfast, Mr Matthews brought me something else. It was a practice test paper. He told it to me straight. ‘Blake,’ he said, ‘you’re a smart kid. That much is clear. You deserve to go to college, to an ivy league college, if you want. But that’s just not going to happen if you stay here. I’ve been in touch with some schools, some good schools, the ones that prepare you for college. I’ve told them just how smart you are, and they think you might be scholarship material.’
“So, I sat the paper. And that’s how I got into Dalton on a full scholarship. Man, it was a different world. I was struggling to keep up. The scholarship paid for my uniform, so I looked the same as the other kids, at least. But what with the lack of sleep and food at home, it was getting increasingly hard to concentrate on my studies.
“I kept in touch with Mr Matthews – he said I should come round any time I wanted, let him know how I was getting on. Well, I started going round more and more, spending less and less time at home. Without either of us ever having to say a word, I’d moved in with him. And though we never really talked about it, when I was eighteen I took his name. He felt like a father to me ...”
“Oh, Blake, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, reeling from all this new information. It was so far from what I’d imagined, and so sad, that I couldn’t help but cry myself. But still, I held back my tears as much as I was able; I needed to be here for him.
“I might have been wearing the same uniform as the other kids,” he said, “but I wasn’t the same, and they could smell it. The kinder ones ignored me, then there were those who made the snide remarks. I tried to keep myself to myself, if only not to give anyone any fresh ammunition to hurt me with. But Brett was different from the start. If he could sense my poverty, he never mentioned it. He just treated me like any regular kid, the same as him. I was lucky to have Brett on my side. He was popular. And it meant that from then on, people mostly left me alone.
“We spent all our time together. Every day at school. And then in the holidays, he took me with him. Harvard became our dream: we were going to go there together. And so, I reached a kind of normality. I lived with Mr Matthews during the week, where things were quiet, calm and peaceful. And during weekends and holidays, I became one of the Carters. I could see where Brett got it from: they were all just as kind, warm and welcoming as him.
“I went round to visit my mother at least once a week. Some days, she was pleased to see me. Some days, she cried, said sorry, begged me to come home. And some days? She just looked straight through me, as if I wasn’t there.
“As I got closer to the Carters, I saw what it was like to be in a real family. I loved spending time with them. Their jokes, their long relaxed dinners, their family stories, their easy ways ... But Brett? I guess he was just too trusting. He saw the best in everyone, and some people took advantage of that. He began hanging around with a bad crowd. I tried to get him away from them, but he just wouldn’t listen.
“He was drinking all the time, and taking drugs as well. Cocaine mostly. He was high the night he died. That was proved at the inquest. But the Carters managed to keep that out of the public eye, and I don’t blame them for it.
“That night, we’d been hanging out with Brett’s new crowd. Yes, I was there. I tried as much as I could to be with Brett, to keep an eye on him. But things started to turn dark. After the cocaine, they were out looking for trouble. I don’t know what they wanted to do exactly. It might have been something stupid, like smash up a storefront. So I begged Brett to come home with me. He wanted to stay out, but eventually he relented. I suppose he just wanted to stop me pestering him.
“He insisted on driving. And I’ll never forgive myself for not taking the wheel that night. But Brett could be so God-damn stubborn. He kept telling me, over and over again, that he was sober. And it just seemed safer to get him out of there, away from those kids. I was worried they’d get caught by the police, and he’d wind up with a criminal record, and then our dream of Harvard would be over. If I’d just let him stay that night, he’d probably still be alive today ...”
At this he let out a short, sad laugh, shaking his head.
“And from what I know now, a little criminal record wouldn’t stand between a family like the Carters and the Harvard admissions board.”
He pushed himself up from the couch, taking a moment to stare out through the large picture window at the sprawling Manhattan skyline, before turning to face me once more.
“The Carters stood by me. They made it clear that they didn’t blame me in any way. They’re good people, Jessica. They said they’d come to think of me almost as a son, that they wanted me to live the life that Brett and I had dreamed of. They paid my way through Harvard. And when I started in business, Brett’s father was the first person I went to for advice. He was also my first investor. We’re still close, but as you know by now, I’d always found it too difficult to return to Southampton, to dredge up those painful old memories once again.
“I’ve told you before, Jessica. You make me feel like new things are possible in my life, and when I heard Elizabeth talking to you about her summerhouse, I realized that I desperately wanted to see the place afresh. I loved it there, and I wanted you to experience it with me. I tried to leave my past where it should be – behind me. I wanted to focus on the future, our future, together, with you. I was wrong to think I could have done that without being totally honest about who I am, and where I came from. I’m sorry if I deceived you, Jessica. It wasn’t my intention.”
I was left speechless for a moment. It was so far from what I’d imagined his upbringing to have been. I saw him in a whole new light. And if I thought I loved him before, it was nothing compared to the way I felt for him in that moment: my feelings so intense they were like a kind of pain.
I knew I should say something to break the silence, but almost no words would come.
“Oh Blake,” was all I could manage. Just a simple whisper, my heart breaking, my eyes welling up as I took him in my arms.
“So there you have it,” he said quietly as I hugged him. “My sister, Jenny, left when I was just a kid. I’ve spent thousands on private investigators over the years, but there’s never been so much as a trace of her. I was sixteen when Brett died. And I wasn’t quite twenty when I lost Mr Matthews to cancer. As for my mother? Well, I tried to help her as much as I could. I paid her rent, and I sent her to rehab, over and over again. But her liver finally packed in, just a few days shy of my twenty-fifth birthday.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” I murmured, my head resting against his shoulder, my arms wrapped around him from behind.
“So you see,” he continued, looking out onto the glimmering city below us, “I lost everyone I ever loved, far too young. You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to see why I have to build walls around me, to stop people getting too close. But I think it’s time to stop now. I thought I was making myself stronger, but I realize now that there was always a part of me running away.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As I picked out my outfit — a plain black ensemble of skinny 7 For All Mankind je
ans and a black satin Valentino blouse, with matching black Stella McCartney underwear beneath — I felt that familiar mixture of nervousness and excitement, putting on these sexy, stylish clothes, all the while knowing that soon enough I would be peeling them straight off again.
Because it was here once more: the last Friday of the month.
I pulled up my jeans, buttoned my blouse, then stepped back to check myself out in the mirror that now hung from the wall next to my bed. I was looking good, and if I’m honest, so was my apartment. Taking a look around, I nodded with satisfaction, happy that I had made the best possible use of the space that I could.
As I was zipping up my boots, I heard the sharp sound of the buzzer to my apartment, a noise so shrill and loud it never failed to make me jump out of my skin.
But who could that be?
I approached the intercom somewhat cautiously, wondering what kind of excuse I might have to think up, if whoever-it-was wanted to visit for a while.
“Hello?” I said, speaking into the receiver.
“I was just passing by,” the familiar voice said, “and I thought you could use a ride?”
I felt a smile flicker across my lips.
“Down in just a minute,” I replied breathlessly.
Stepping out onto the wet, windswept city street just a few moments later, I saw Blake’s sleek black town car. And as I approached it, his driver Nathaniel stepped out, nodding politely before opening the passenger door for me. I felt myself blush as I met his eye — after all, I’d seen a lot more of him at Blake’s parties, not to mention the time I …
“Good evening, Miss Clark,” he said in his usual polite tone, interrupting my thoughts, the very picture of professionalism and good manners, no indication that I was anything other than another anonymous passenger.
“Good evening, Nathaniel,” I replied, trying to match his cool, businesslike tone, trying to pretend I didn’t know exactly what he looked like beneath that crisp, tailored uniform.
Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy Page 37