"Only that you're sweet."
Okay, that's a start. A new, holiday adjacent memory—the time his fiancée forced him to eat cheap drug store chocolates. One memory down, a thousand to go.
I press the lid over the box, slide it back in the plastic bag, and sling the bag around my wrist. We make the rest of the twenty minute walk in silence.
Finally, we reach the Christmas tree lot. It's small, about a thousand square feet, and surrounded by a metal gate. The trees are so close together that there's almost no room to move around them. Everything smells like pine, like Christmas.
There are lots of other people here, couples and families mostly, but they all fade away. My attention goes to a tree in the corner. It's on the shorter side, missing a few branches. By all accounts, it's ugly, but that imperfection is charming.
"What are you thinking?" Blake asks.
"That tree." I point to it. "It reminds me of my first Christmas with Lizzy after the accident."
His voice softens. He drags his fingertips over my neck. His skin is so warm. It melts all the chill around us.
"Tell me about it," he says.
I turn to Blake to look into his eyes. He's hard to read, as usual, but he seems okay.
"She hated being in a car. She still does. I wasn't about to lug a tree back to our apartment, so we looked for something at the drug store. They only had one tree, and it was about two feet tall and metallic purple."
"It sounds charming."
"It was." I lean into his chest. "We didn't really know what to do. Our parents had always been big on the holiday. They were schoolteachers and winter break meant they had a lot of time to celebrate. I was lost without them."
He plays with my hair. "You miss them."
"Of course." I bring my gaze back to the charming little tree. "The pain was fresh, but it helped to move forward. We did everything differently. We ordered Chinese food instead of cooking a big dinner. We decorated that tiny tree with exactly three candy canes. And we each bought a single present. I got a Star Trek sweater for Lizzy. She bought me a manga from the used book store at the library. And we stayed up all night to watch The Matrix Trilogy for the eight millionth time."
He sighs. "Kat, you have no idea what you do to me."
I meet his gaze, totally unable to read his expression. "What's that?"
"The world is beautiful through your eyes. I wish I could use them all the time."
"The world is beautiful."
His eyes fill with affection. He brushes the hair behind my ear with a soft touch. "You've been through so much and you're still idealistic."
"No." I bite my lip. "I just… look at these trees—" I point to a tall evergreen, lush with pine needles. "They're beautiful. And the park. And the streets. And the sky." My gaze goes back to his eyes. "And you. When you smile or laugh."
His expression changes. Almost like he's overwhelmed. But Blake doesn't get overwhelmed. And certainly not by me.
His fingertips skim my chin, sending warmth straight to my belly. He tilts me so we're eye to eye. "I love you."
"I love you too."
He pulls me into a tight hug then releases me. I give him space to sort out whatever it is that's going through his gorgeous head.
There's a family picking out a tree. The parents are in their thirties. They have a daughter about four or five years old. She's wearing a bright pink coat and she runs around like doesn't believe anything will ever hurt her. When she trips, she picks herself up like it's nothing.
She runs straight to the tallest tree in the lot. Then she tugs at it like she needs it right now. She's adorable and she's happy.
Everyone here is happy.
Everyone except Blake. He has a frown on his face. He's watching another family, a man in his thirties and a little boy who can't be older than ten. The man is yelling at his son. The kid is holding an empty cup and the man's jeans are stained with hot chocolate. It's such a small thing to yell over, but the man is angry.
And then the man reaches out and grabs his son so hard the child cries.
Blake's expression hardens. His hands go to his pockets. He doesn't have to say anything. I know what this means. He needs to get out of here and now.
"I'll call your driver," I say. I grab Blake's hand and drag him to the street. It's tough to dial one-handed, but I make do.
Jordan picks up. "How can I help you Ms. Wilder?"
"Can you meet us a Fifty-Ninth and Fifth? I'm going to start walking from First."
"You're not far from Blake's place—"
"Please hurry." I hang up the call and shove my phone into my pocket. I bite my lip, cursing myself for sounding so obnoxious. I worked in a restaurant for three years. I always hated when people asked me to hurry as if I wasn't already going as fast as I could.
I look into Blake's eyes. It's like I'm losing him. He's going off somewhere far away, to something that rips a hole through his gut. I know that feeling, not to the extent he does, but I know it. Every time I hear about some horrible car accident, I can't breathe and I'm sure I'm about to break in two.
The only thing that keeps me functioning is knowing my sister is okay.
The limo meets us around Third Avenue. Jordan got here fast. There's no forced decorum. I pull the door open for Blake and wait for him to climb inside.
Everything eases once we're alone. Or as good as alone. I offer Jordan a friendly nod. "Back to Blake's place."
Blake shakes his head. "You need your tree."
"Okay. How about we get a plastic tree at Target?"
He nods.
"The one in Brooklyn if there's not too much traffic." I go to roll up the partition.
"It should be about twenty minutes if you'd like some privacy." Jordan's tone is unreadable, but his implication is clear. There are twenty minutes to fuck.
Blake presses his back against the seat. There's less tension in his shoulders. There's less pain in his expression.
"Are you sure you want to stay out?" I ask.
"I told you not to ask if I'm okay."
I scoot onto his bench seat and move as close to him as I can.
He's still tense, turned away from me like he's lost in some well of agony deep enough to drown him.
I go to take his hand, but he pulls it into his lap.
"Talk to me," I say. "Please."
"Not now."
"Please."
"That man. He looked like Orson. Handsome, charismatic, and vile to the core."
"You don't know…" I hold my tongue. There's no sense in arguing over whether or not a stranger is vile. We'll never see him again. "Tell me about it."
His gaze goes to the tinted window. It's a charcoal color and it's totally opaque. I
t can't be an interesting view.
I squeeze his hand. "Please."
"My father kept it together when he was sober, but alcohol brought out all the hate inside him. One night, he came home drunk. Meryl had lit candles. She tried to keep things normal, even when we were old enough to understand exactly how despicable he was."
I squeeze him tighter.
"He knocked over one of the candles. The presents caught fire. Then the tree. He stood there, laughing as we tried to put it out. There was a fire extinguisher under the sink, but by the time we put the tree out it was charred and black. When I tried to take it down—" Blake's gaze drifts to the floor.
"He hit you?"
Blake nods. "It was the first time I kept him from hurting her."
My heart pounds against my chest. "How old were you?"
"Ten."
God, I can't breathe. I can't think. The limo feels darker and colder. Blake has to live with these memories every day. How many are there? How deep do they go? He's quiet about his father, but I know there were years of abuse.
It might be better to let him disappear. It's only a few days.
"Don't feel sorry for me, Kat. I can't stand it."
"Are you sure you can do this?"
His expression hardens.
He shakes his head. He turns, his eyes passing over me slowly. He brings his hands to my shoulder and traces my neckline. "You have a bruise."
I look down. I do have a soft purple bruise next to my collarbone. From yesterday, though from the regret in Blake's eyes I'm sure he realizes this.
"I hurt you," he says.
"I like it. I feel marked."
The car stops. Must be a red light. I go to stroke his hair but he turns away.
"You're not like your father," I say.
"He took control by hurting the people around him."
"You don't take anything, Blake. I give you control because I want it that way. Don't you remember what you said about how much I want that, how much I need it?"
His gaze goes back to the dark window.
"Was that a lie to seduce me?" I ask.
His voice is clipped. "No."
"It's barely more than a hickey," I say.
"If we keep this up, I might not be able to stop the next time you ask."
"You will."
"I'll hurt you."