“Holton! Oliver! Let’s eat,” Mom calls from the dining room.

Oliver watches me, giving me one final chance to correct myself.

But I don’t.

“Coming,” I say, walking around him.

Blaire is standing next to the wall with her hands on the back of a chair. Two plates of food sit in front of her.

She turns to face me, and I stop in my tracks.

There’s a hurricane building in her blue eyes.

What’s this all about? Who said something to cause this?

“Take your seats, kids,” Dad orders.

I pull out Blaire’s chair, and she sits. I take mine beside her.

Before I can ask her what’s wrong, Dad has us bowing our heads to pray.

I take her hand beneath the table and give it a squeeze. I also add a little line to the prayer for God to help Blaire and me figure this out.

Twenty-Eight

Blaire

Trees whip by the windows as Holt flies down the highway.

I sit, buckled in, and try to summon the shield I use in court when things get emotional. It’s never too far away, and I can always find it when I need it. Yancy says it’s probably an indicator that I’m emotionally detached, but I quite like the ability.

When it works.

It turns out, it’s easier to do when Holt isn’t involved.

He pilots the car onto an exit ramp and winds us through town. It’s a quiet ride, just like brunch.

The absence of communication between us probably wasn’t evident to anyone but us. The stories and laughter from the family made up for the silence between Holt and me.

The tires hit Cobblestone Way, and our speed slows. I remember coming down this street for the first time a few days ago. I was so confident that I could control this situation.

What was I thinking?

Now I’m going to pay the price, and it’s my own damn fault.

A lump settles in my throat as Holt’s words filter through my mind.

“She’s a human being who needs support and time and energy. She deserves that. And unfortunately for all of us, I don’t have that to spare.”

I didn’t mean to hear it. I was just going to tell him and Oliver to come to eat at their mother’s request. But his voice hit my ears before my feet could hit the doorway, and I backed away.

My lips part as I try to drag more oxygen into my lungs.

I need to calm down.

Naturally, as if he knows I need consoling, he chooses this moment to place a hand on my knee. I want to push it away. I want to tell him that despite what he said to Oliver, I’m not needy.

His hand remains on my leg because I don’t have the strength to remove it.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he says.

I hum in agreement instead of using words.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod, tearing my eyes away from his hand and staring out the window instead.

“I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed,” I say.

It’s not a lie. I am overwhelmed. Just not like he’ll assume I am.

The sound of our voices stirs up my emotions again, and I feel the unwanted sting of tears. So many emotions flood through me.

I’m embarrassed that I was going to talk to him tonight about meeting up in a few weeks. There’s anger with myself for not sticking to my guns when I told him I didn’t want to go to dinner that first night. And there’s so much freaking pain from knowing that I told Holt about my ugliest moments and now he’s decided he’s walking away.

Even though that was always the plan—for me to leave—it still feels like he urged me to open up, to be vulnerable, and then he assessed my emotions and bailed.

Like Jack.

He took my greatest weakness and turned it against me.

I laugh quietly at the irony. The sound surprises me. I feel Holt move around in his seat, but I don’t look at him.

We pull through the gate at the end of his driveway. The sun is high in the sky, welcoming us with its full rays. It feels good on my skin and helps dissolve the water droplets gathering in the corners of my eyes.

The car rolls to a stop in front of his house. I grip the door handle.

“I have to head to the office,” he says.

“I know.”

Please want to talk to me. Please care.

“I have a meeting in a couple of hours with an investor that Boone set up. I don’t know how long it will last,” he says.

I turn and look at him over my shoulder. He’s so handsome despite the lines around the corners of his eyes and the bags beneath them. And I realize the truth of the situation: there’s no room for me in his life.

My heart cracks in my chest.

“I understand,” I tell him.

He bites his lip. “I’ll be home late.”

And I’ll be gone.

Tags: Adriana Locke Mason Family Romance
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