At least he doesn’t look like he’s about to commit a homicide anymore.
…maybe.
I bite my lip as he takes a step deeper into the room.
“You and me, Clark,” he bites off. “We need to talk. Alone.”
Clark narrows his eyes, lifting his chin. Kid’s got pride; have to hand him that. “I don’t have shit to say to you, Mr. Silverton.”
“You better say something if you want to keep hanging around my daughter,” Blake snarls.
“Dad!” Andrea’s face flames red. “I hate you!”
His face whips back toward her. “Hate me all you want, Violet, but I don’t want to hear your mouth right now. This is between me and him.”
Holy Toledo.
This is a different Blake.
A calm, severe, deadly-serious Blake.
The kind of Blake you don’t ever mess with.
And Andrea apparently realizes it. She goes pale, silent, her anger draining. It leaves her looking nervous as she stares helplessly between her father and a tense, motionless Clark.
He moves then, farther down the hall, and Blake follows, giving them a faint shield of privacy.
I almost feel like I shouldn’t be here to witness this.
But I also feel like I might need to be here to break things up if they get nuts.
Peacemaker Peace.
Don’t laugh.
I sit on the arm of the sofa, watching tensely as Blake gives Clark a slow once-over, looking him up and down from head to toe.
“I said we’re gonna talk,” he says quietly. “And I mean talk. Man to man, not man to boy.” His jaw tightens. “Because if you’re the one who’s been setting fires around town, if you’re pulling some kind of stunt, that’s how they’re gonna see you when you’re standing in front of a judge. A man, not a boy. So I’m talking to you, Clark, and asking if you understand the seriousness of the situation.”
The kid stays silent for several heavy seconds, his eyes narrow and dark, before he draws up a bit of bravery I can’t help but admire. “You want to talk to me as a man, you’re going to have to take my word as a man that I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t. You’re an asshole. Not enough of an asshole for me to risk jail over you, or risk hurting somebody. I’ve seen what burns do to people. You think I want to hurt anybody like that? What if I did something stupid, and Andrea gets caught up in it?”
Andrea’s blush is back—but it’s different now, softer, her eyes wide as they trail after Clark. She works her lips with a soft, nervous sound. Then she looks away and ducks her head, completely flustered, tucking her hair back with raking fingers.
Blake and Clark never look away from each other.
It’s like a Wild West standoff.
I can’t help seeing Blake as the desperado again, defending his town.
Finally, he inclines his head, grudging but accepting.
“Guess we’ve got one thing in common, Clark,” he says. “We’d never do anything to hurt Andrea. So if we’re on the same page there…you willing to answer some questions in front of Sheriff Langley just to get this on record?”
Andrea makes a mortified noise. “Dad, he just said he didn’t do anything—”
I grab her arm gently, urging her voice down to a harsh whisper, then silence.
“That’s right,” Clark interrupts sharply, squaring his bony, angular shoulders. “I didn’t do anything. So whatever, I’m not scared to say so in front of the sheriff, if that’s what’ll get you to calm the fuck down and get out of my face.”
Blake smirks.
Actually smirks, instead of bristling in response to what’s clearly a teenager lashing out and testing his authority. “You kiss your mama with that mouth, kiddo?”
I could kiss him right now.
For knowing when to be the big mean dad, and knowing when it’s not fair to flex his muscle on a kid. He lets Clark have that hit to save his pride.
“My mom cusses worse than I do,” Clark shoots back. “So are we done here?”
Blake shrugs. “Don’t know, are you?”
Andrea sighs and speaks up. “Look, we’re supposed to be working on our school project, Dad. Can…can we go do that, or do you want to embarrass me some more?”
Blake grumbles softly, then sighs. “Go on.”
I’ve never seen two teenagers bolt away faster, their shoes scraping the floor.
I’ve also never seen a boy turn as red as Clark does, when Andrea grasps on tight to his hand and drags him upstairs.
“Keep your door open,” Blake growls after them.
The only answer is the resounding slam of the door instead, and he hangs his head with a snarl, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“Well,” I venture, holding back my grin. “That was eventful.”
“Sorry you had to see that.” Blake jerks, lifting his head and looking at me a bit sheepishly.
“It’s fine. I’d rather be here if I helped even a little bit.”
“You did, darlin’. Thanks for helping calm her down.” With a firm glance, he settles down on the couch, his heavy weight sinking in—and I can’t help but notice that he’s favoring one leg again.