No Damaged Goods

I yelp, jerking my phone away with a wince, and dive for the radio to turn it down.

Blake’s already laughing.

Low and rolling and thunderously sweet, Blake’s laughing just for me.

“You did it again,” he says.

I smile, curling up against the headboard and hugging my knees against my chest.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m glad you were listening and picked up that phone.”

I’m vibrating inside, electric all over. I bite my lip. “Yeah? You…you said you wanted to say something?”

“I do,” he murmurs.

God, even when he’s murmuring it’s like the roar of a mighty river.

I bite my lips, just knowing there must be a couple hundred people or more tuned in for this. But it feels like it’s only us condensed down in our own little world.

Like he’s here for me and nobody else.

I close my eyes to soak him in and let his voice roll over me.

“I’m listening,” I whisper.

It’s still several long seconds before he speaks again. Before he takes a slow, audible breath, shaky enough to tell me he’s nervous.

Oh, God.

This tall, strong, powerful man is nervous…

…because of me.

And I realize why when he says, in no uncertain terms, “Listen, Peace, I’m sorry. And now I’m gonna be real straight…”

I suck in a breath. I don’t know what to say—not at all.

And he’s not done.

“You scare me, woman,” he says. It’s raw, quiet, sweet. “You make me freak because I’ve been hurtin’ for so long I’ve forgot what it’s like not to be in pain, and I got so used to it being that way I told myself it couldn’t be different. But you…you just keep showing me that maybe it can. Maybe I’m wrong. And that scares me because it means accepting I’ve been the only idiot hurting myself all this time, and now I’ve got to make a choice: let go, or keep on sufferin’.”

“Blake…” I whisper, but his voice keeps coming.

“Some guys, when they get freaked, they turn tail and run. But some men, when they get scared…” He sighs heavily. “They lash out first. And I ain’t proud of being one of those dudes. Ain’t proud of giving you cruel words while you tried to help with my pain, and I just held on like a stubborn ass and didn’t want to let it go. Wasn’t right. I’m sure as heck not gonna do it again. That’s my little spiel about how it is with hurting for the good folks of Heart’s Edge…and for you. And just for you, Peace, I want you to know again, I’m sorry.”

If I could breathe, I might be crying.

I hadn’t realized I needed this so much.

Blake, torn open and bared, heart in hand.

Blake, caring that he hurt me.

To care, and to actually apologize like a man, and mean it.

Right here tonight in front of the whole town.

I take a hitched breath, smiling fit to crack. “So you had to tell me that live on the air, huh?”

“Yeah, well. You know.” He laughs faintly. “We were low on callers tonight. Figured it was either give folks some fireworks to keep ’em happy or else blabber away all night about more Fuchsia conspiracies.”

I burst out a startled laugh. “Dick-butt. Uh, can I say that on air?”

“Yeah. And I kinda am.” His voice softens. “But I really am sorry, lady.”

“I know,” I whisper. “And I know you were acting out of fear. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I’m just glad you’re ready to try to let go of old hurts. It won’t be easy, but I know you can do it, Blake.”

“You’ve got that much faith in me, huh?”

“I do.” I’m hugging the phone like it’s his hand, holding it so close to me, scrunched up with my eyes so tightly closed until it’s just me and him in the darkness. “You heard me singing tonight, didn’t you?”

“Sure did.” It comes out of him raw, gritty with something I’d swear was appreciation, and I flush. “Your voice is something else, songbird. Prettiest thing I’ve heard in a good, long while.”

“It’s a song my dad taught me. I don’t know the name, just the sound and the words.” I swallow hard, my throat so tight. “It’s this song about birds, and how they’re made to fly. They’re not made for the earth, just for the sky. The only time a bird comes down is when its wings can’t hold it up anymore. So hey, maybe you and me, broken people like us…maybe we were meant to soar.”

I’d slipped into the lyrics without meaning to.

It’s such a sweet song, embedded forever in my heart.

And it feels like it could belong to his heart, too, if he’d just let it.

Maybe I could belong too, if he’d just let me.

“I didn’t get to hear all of it,” he admits. “But I’d love to hear it now. Will you sing it for me again?”