Shiver

He shrugged. “Why, if I want something badly, would I leave the decision of whether I get it up to someone else?”

He could not be believed. “This isn’t only your decision to make.”

“You want this, Kensey, or you would have already stated your objections by now. Don’t overthink this. Don’t look for reasons why it won’t work. Give it a try.”

“Do you really think there’s much point, Blake?”

His brows drew together. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m not what anyone would call forthcoming, but you take evasiveness to a whole new level. It’s rare that you give me a straight answer to anything I ask. You either deflect my questions, trivialize them, or give me simplified answers. I don’t expect you to cough up your secrets, but you share as little as you possibly can. You say you want to be part of my life. The thing is, you’d need to also make me a part of yours. So far, you’ve kept me sort of … compartmentalized from the other areas of your life. You wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. I’m not sure these are things you could be okay with.”

Seconds of silence ticked by, knotting my stomach. His fork dropped to the plate with a clang. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Look, Blake—” I frowned as he pushed to his feet. “Where are you—”

He moved to my side of the booth and gestured for me to shuffle along. Then he seated himself close to me, pulled his plate toward him, and said, “Better.” Snatching my cutlery, he cut into my steak and then offered me a piece. As soon as I closed my mouth around it, he said, “My parents divorced when I was nine. Although they argued like fuck when they were together, they got along pretty well once they separated. My mother died when I was fourteen. House fire. That was when I went to live with my father and Laurel. Your turn; tell me something.”

If what he’d shared hadn’t been so sad, I would have smiled at his quick, choppy, bullet-point delivery. The guy would make a shit storyteller. “My mother had me when she was seventeen. Maxwell Buchanan had played Clear like a fiddle. Told her he loved her and was leaving his wife. Clear believed him, thought she loved him.”

He fed me another piece of steak. “I admit, I asked about her. Wanted to understand why someone would marry a killer on death row. I expected to hear people call her a whack job. Most just said she was very fragile and broken. They seemed to pity her more than anything else.”

I nodded, watching as he ate some of his own meal. “She’s damaged deep inside—so damaged she doesn’t seem to see things the way we do. She believes Michael Bale understands her. Some people judged her for keeping me, but he doesn’t.”

“Why did they judge her?”

“Maxwell claimed that I wasn’t his; said he never touched her. People believed him, even Clear’s parents. They insisted that she abort me. They threatened to toss her onto the street and disinherit her if she didn’t. But she refused to abort me, and her parents made good on their promise. She left that big house with nothing but a car and a suitcase of possessions. She dropped out of school and, with no money or qualifications, ended up living in a shitty area, working shitty jobs. But she never once complained about any of the things she lost. Never threw any of it in my face, not even when she was at her lowest.”

Blake was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “But that makes you feel indebted to her, doesn’t it?”

“In a way, yes, it does. But she doesn’t see that, so don’t think she plays on it. If she knew, she’d probably be upset about it. She prides herself on being a good mother, just as she takes pride in how Michael claims to admire and respect her for going up against her parents and keeping me. He makes her feel accepted, understood, and cared for. In turn, she forgives him for the crimes he swears to her that he regrets. To Clear, she’s sticking by her man and her family. That’s one thing I can say for my mother—she sticks by the people she loves. She just doesn’t always love the right people.”

I tried taking my fork back, but he shook his head and began to feed me again. “My mother, Rose, was nyctophobic,” he said. “She had a phobia of the dark. It varies from person to person. Some are worse than others. For her, it was an extreme, paralyzing fear. Rose wouldn’t go out at night. Wouldn’t let me go out either. Not until I was about seven, anyway.”

I wondered if that was why he had a chain of nightclubs—if he was seizing the dark in some way.

“She always had the lights on all over the house, even at night. Carried two torches wherever she went. Once, the bathroom light bulb went out while she was soaking in the tub. She had a panic attack right there, shaking and rocking. I kept telling her she was fine, but she kept whispering that bad things happen in the dark.”

My heart ached for her. “She was abused?”

“Probably. She never said.” He sipped at his wine. “The firemen thought one of her lamps was faulty and overheated, causing the fire. I got out in time. She didn’t.”

Fuck, I could only guess what that would do to a person. Especially a teenage boy. He’d no doubt felt guilty for surviving. I knew I would have done, in his position.

“It was Cade who told you about Emma and Tara, wasn’t it?” Blake asked. “He went digging for dirt, heard I’d been seen with other women, and ran to you with little tales. It makes sense that he’d want rid of the competition.”

I shook my head, brow furrowing. “Cade doesn’t consider you competition. He doesn’t want me for himself.”

“Of course he does—I can’t even blame him. But I don’t fucking like that he wants what’s mine. He’s not going to get it.”

“Really, he’s not interested in me that way. Hasn’t been for a long time. But we’re close.”

“I know you’re close,” Blake grumbled, shoving a forkful of lobster into his mouth.

Figuring it was senseless to argue further about it, I instead told him, “It wasn’t Cade who came to me.”

“Then who was it?” Blake’s eyes narrowed. “The reporter sniffing around you?”

I jerked back a little. “Reporter?”

“I asked Dodger if he knew why you were acting so edgy. He said you were probably dealing with unwanted attention from a reporter—according to him, you’ve had to deal with that sort of shit before.”

That was quick thinking on Dodger’s part.

“If you tell me their name, I’ll take care of it. I know—” Blake cut off with a sigh as his cell rang. Fishing it out of his pocket, he seemed about to cancel the call, but then his brow creased. Holding up one finger to me, he answered the call with an abrupt, “Yes?” His shoulders stiffened, and he straightened in his seat. “Where is he now?” Blake sighed again. “No. I have Kensey with me … Right … I’ll meet you downstairs.” Swiping his thumb across the screen, he gave me a soft, apologetic look. “I’m sorry, baby, I have to take care of something. I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important. Will you be okay here?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He stood, eyes searching mine. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

Satisfied, he nodded and landed a soft kiss on my mouth. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”