“How about we just call this what it is?” Decker said before setting me off his lap. The front door knob jiggled. Lance was home and standing on the other side of the front door. I listened to a set of keys rustling through the door.
“What?” I whispered, knowing that our moment was nearly over.
“Tragically inevitable,” Decker replied just as the front door opened and Lance walked inside.
22
Decker
Lance swooped in to save the day, and I let him. He called Mr. Stewart’s parole officer and demanded that she look into the situation. He called the apartment security and advised that more precautions be taken to prevent anyone from showing up unannounced. He called our parents and informed them about our random trip to visit them so we could get away while things cooled off—not that my parents particularly cared.
Then, he booked our flights, picking first-class tickets because he was feeling extra generous. He called his boyfriend—Sean—and invited him with us, but Sean turned him down. He worked weekends as a barista and couldn’t get the time off. Usually, I would be extra eager to meet his boyfriend, but someone else had consumed all of my protective energy. Apparently, I only had enough headspace to pour my focus into one person at a time. Blakely had never been on an airplane before and was freaked out during takeoff and landing.
We had a moment of weakness on the plane. I could still feel her hand in mine, squeezing for dear life as the plane ascended. It was nice feeling like a person worthy of her faith. Lance saw but just laughed at her, chalking the hand holding up to her terrified expression on her face. I had half a mind to book more trips just for the opportunity to freely hold her hand in front of him without shame again.
Our parents’ mansions in Barrington, a suburb of Chicago, sat side by side. Manicured lawns and designed porches littered the neighborhood. Not a blade of grass was out of place. Everything about this place was pristine and organized.
I hated it.
Blakely got out of the limo that picked us up from the airport, a luxury Dad arranged because he liked to appear like the doting parent. I followed after her, pushing my pinky along her arm as I stood on the sidewalk between our two homes. It was a secret touch meant only for us, and I found myself stroking her creamy skin any chance I got.
Lance and I had met here between our two homes plenty of times. We were always playing pirates and robbers on the section of grass where our lawns met. Climbing the massive tree outside my bedroom window and chasing each other with water guns in the hot summer heat were a couple of my favorite childhood pastimes. There were a lot of good memories here, but a lot of bad ones too.
“Wow,” Blakely said with a low whistle while looking around. I didn’t think it actually hit her, the amount of wealth we had, until that exact moment. Her expression was wild and electric, tension heavy on her shoulders as she gnawed on her lip. I covertly brushed my pinky against her skin once more, this time dragging my padded finger along the vein in her wrist. She sighed. I needed to be more careful in front of Lance, but I couldn’t help myself.
Every little touch. Every little sigh and lingering glance had my dick at full attention. We hadn’t figured our shit out, but I wasn’t holding back anymore. I didn’t see the point. Blakely made me feel capable, reliable and needed. I wasn’t doing either of us any favors by staying away. It might go nowhere, but I wanted to be there for her while we navigated this crisis with her dad.
“I thought you were maybe upper-middle class with credit card debt out the ass, but this is like…” her voice trailed off, and it was kind of adorable in a refreshing sort of way. I found myself staring for an inappropriate amount of time at the freckle right outside the corner of her mouth. It was tiny and faded but oh so tempting.
“Both my parents are world-renowned surgeons,” Lance boomed with pride. “They’ve written books, gone on Ted Talks. They take power couple to the extreme.” Blakely nodded before looking down at her outfit. She was wearing tattered jeans and a band shirt. Her hair was a frizzy mess from the red-eye flight, and the mascara on her lashes was smeared. She ran her hand along her shirt while biting her lip.
“You look great,” I whispered so low only she could hear.
She let out a shaky breath just as the ornate front door opened and out walked Mrs. Trask. She was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, her black hair swept up in one of those classy bun type things that no-nonsense women and ballerinas wore. Her teeth were bright white and artificially straight as she walked forward with her arms outstretched for a hug. Her dark skin looked soft under the shining, Chicago sun. It wasn’t until I saw her wistful eyes that I realized how much I missed the Trasks.
“Lance! You better get your ass over here and give me a hug,” she teased. Lance dropped his duffle bag and ran for her like the Mama’s boy he was. They embraced as she squealed. Lance picked her up a bit just to prove he was a strong, growing boy, because that’s the kind of shit he liked to do. “Put me down, you weirdo,” she protested while swatting his arm.
Once her feet were firmly on the ground, she turned her attention to me and grinned. “Hey, Mrs. Trask,” I greeted with a shy wave. Blakely turned to look at me with a teasing smile at my awkwardness. Fuck. I wanted to kiss that smile off her face.
“Mrs. Trask, huh? No more Aunt Katy? We’re too cool for that now?” she teased, drawing my attention back to her. Mrs. Trask then stalked over to me for a hug. I gently patted her back, and she pulled away to finally get a look at Blakely. Her eyes softened with barely-masked pity, making me cringe. I knew Blakely was repulsed by sympathy from strangers. She didn’t like people knowing her story without being the person to reveal it. We had to be honest with the Trasks about why we were here, and I knew it was bugging Blakely to see the sympathy pouring out of Mrs. Trask. “Blakely, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, warmth dripping from every syllable.
Mrs. Trask was adept enough at reading body language not to offer Blakely a hug. She simply stretched out her hand for a handshake, Blakely readily accepted it, and Mrs. Trask maintained eye contact in those reassuring ways most doctors had mastered. Mrs. Trask was used to instilling confidence into her patients and made sure to do that with Blakely, too.
“It’s really nice to meet you,” Blakely replied before snapping her hand back and wrapping it around herself. I didn’t even think she realized how scared she looked.
We stood awkwardly on the front lawn for a moment before Lance finally broke the tension. “Okay, well, let’s go inside,” he offered while picking up Blakely’s suitcase. Lance and Mrs. Trask walked inside, and Blakely and I followed after.
“They’re going to love you,” I promised in a whisper.
“She looks at me the same way you did when I first showed up on Lance’s doorstep,” she gritted. I felt disbelief and chagrin. Mrs. Trask didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It just wasn’t in her nature. I wished I could go back in time and change how I approached our first meeting. Maybe if we started off on the right foot, this forbiddenness wouldn’t be so daunting. I pulled on her wrist, stopping her in the hallway as Lance and Mrs. Trask put away our stuff.
“When I first saw you, you know what I thought?” I whispered.