I don't bother turning around. I know Blake's there, along with probably half the other people in the house. Instead, I begin playing God Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts. It's almost perfect.
As I sing the second verse, the realization of my feelings for Blake sweeps through me. I've never been sure about God or divine intervention— but looking at Blake, I wonder if it's possible that my past led me here. If I weren't an Interpol agent, I never would've met him; and if I wasn't so fucked up, I wouldn't know how to push through all the pain and hurt . . . but all that makes these feelings stronger.
My voice cracks as I finish the song, and tears escape my eyes. My fingers rest on the keys as strong but gentle hands glide over my shoulders. I sigh, wiping the moisture from my face.
"You sing beautifully," Blake says in a hushed tone.
"Thank you," I mumble.
His lips press against my neck, my blood boiling from his touch. "What's bothering you, baby?"
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and I lean my lips onto his forearm.
"Tomorrow we're all going to stay at a hotel for 24 hours. Vlad's having the windows replaced with bulletproof glass."
His chest rises and falls against my back with his deep breath and I pray he isn't going to argue.
"Okay," he whispers, kissing my hair.
"You're not going to fight me on this?"
"No, baby," he chuckles. "Not tonight."
Pulling his arms from around me, I stand, and walk around the piano bench. I glance up . . . everyone is awake.
Well, this is awkward . . .
I shake my head and bust into a fit of laughter. Amusement shines in Blake's eyes as he reaches out for my hand. I take it, and pick up my glass with the other. Walking into the kitchen, I drain what's left, and slide it onto the counter. Blake drops my hand and goes to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.
"Alright, we have to leave here by 8:00 AM. Shows over, everyone go back to bed," I say playfully.
Several people laugh and I glance up in time to see Shannon reach out and touch the side of Dresden's face. She smiles a wide cheesy grin, her eyes locked on his. As she turns to go, he glances back, meeting my gaze. I lift my eyebrows at him. He looks like a little kid who's been caught stealing cookies. I shake my head, a smile spreading across his face as he shrugs his shoulders and leaves the room.
Wow . . . Dresden and Shannon . . .
Turning back to Blake, I sit at the island, resting my elbows on the counter. I tangle my fingers in my hair, staring down at the granite patterns. The house is back to its strained quietness. Since returning to the apartment, things have spiraled quietly into chaos. I've been trying my best to keep shit together.
Blake grabs my hands and turns me toward him. His eyes are sad and full of longing. I reach up and press my hand against his cheek as he pulls me off the stool and into his arms, pressing my back against the edge of the counter. Footsteps echo through the kitchen as Blake's lips hover over mine.
"Lily, sorry to interrupt," Dresden says.
"What's up?"
His eyes widen a second before the shattering glass reverberates throughout the room. Dresden tackles both Blake and I, knocking us to the ground. He moans and rolls onto his back, blood soaking his shoulder.
"Sniper!" I scream, grabbing Blake and forcing him onto the floor. "Stay down," I growl, sprinting along the wall, to his bedroom. As I pass the window, the glass breaks and a shit storm of bullets fly into the room.
I drop to my stomach and crawl to the closet, grabbing my duffel bag. I turn and make my way to the bed, pulling my guns out from under it. The hail of bullets stops and I jump to my feet and dash back to the kitchen.
Dresden is propped against the fridge and Blake is gone. Both windows are busted out and bullets clink against the walls with deafening force. Blood soaks his arm, down to his elbow and his face has lost its coloring.
"Where's everyone?"
"Vlad grabbed Blake. Put everyone in your office just before the bullets started again," he says half drowned out by the attack.
"Come on, we need to get you in there," I say, slipping my arm under his good one. I haul him into a standing position and wait for the bullets to slow in their succession.
They have to reload sometime.