I walk up behind them and plead to Jake with my eyes. “You can’t take him to jail. He didn’t do anything.”
His jaw tics as he studies me then lets out a sigh. “Get him the fuck out of here.”
“That guy. The one your partner has—”
Jake’s gaze softens, and he lowers his voice. “I know who he is.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Go home, Addy. I’ll take care of it.”
I convinced Hector into letting me bring Blaze home. Part of me was still worried someone might follow me. I know it’s stupid, but I also wasn’t naÏve enough to believe Mal was at Shooters alone. Someone saw everything that happened, and chances are they’ll want revenge.
The bar owner gave Blaze a towel for the blood. I’m not a doctor, but I’d say he needs a few stitches. Underneath his cut eye, his cheek is starting to swell and bruise. It looks painful.
He holds the towel to his head and stares out the window. “So, your friend is a cop. How fortunate.”
Are we really playing the jealous game right now?
A call comes over my Bluetooth. Brody’s name flashes on the screen. I’ll text him later. I’m sure Jake filled him on everything he needs to know for now. I’ll tell him the rest once my blood pressure levels out.
“You gonna get that?” Blaze asks.
“Nope.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair and leans his head back against the seat. “What the fuck were you thinking, Adrienne? Standing up to a guy twice your size? What if I wouldn’t have been there?” He blows out a long breath then turns his head to me. “Jesus, do the words self-preservation mean anything at all to you?”
My eyes snap to his. “Me? You’re coming at me?” I look back at the road, hating the fact that I just raised my voice. That’s something my mother used to do. I swore I would never be like her. “You didn’t even try to fight back. Why don’t we talk about that? Or maybe we could talk about how you even know a guy like Mal or what all that cryptic ‘I owe you a life’ bullshit was about.”
He drops his hands to his lap, towel and all. “You first.”
“Oh, we’re playing that game?” I shot back.
No answer. Fine. It looks like we’re doing this.
“His name is Mal, and he’s the reason Liam started the fire at the brewery. It was some kind of initiation.” Although after what just happened, I’m beginning to feel like the target wasn’t random. “He came to the house today and apparently didn’t like what I had to say. I guess he wanted to let me know I pissed him off.” I rub my fingers across my brow to ward off an impending headache. “He’s not a nice guy, and I won’t let Liam get mixed up with him.”
“Even if it means risking your own safety?” His deep voice is softer now.
“Yes, even if it means risking my own safety. I would do anything to protect these kids. Anything.”
“Fuck, you’re impossible.”
I shrug and cut him a glance. “Your turn.”
“Yeah, well, mine’s a little more complicated than that.”
“I’m a smart girl. Try me.”
He looks over at me with those eyes, eyes that say everything and nothing at the same time. “You don’t want inside my head, Adrienne. It’s too dark for you.”
I deal with dark every damn day. I lived in the dark for eighteen years. Darkness has no power over me.
“If I was afraid of the dark, I would never get to see the stars shine.”
He snaps his neck to the side then back again. Then he blows out a stuttered breath. For a second, I worry he’s not going to tell me. Then he speaks. “When I was ten years old, I knew this kid. Micah. We were best friends. Lived down the street from each other.” Something catches in his voice. I try to focus on the road, but all I want to do is look at him. “One night, he invited me for a sleepover. We slept over at each other’s houses all the time. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But that night, my dad was out late with a client… or one of his playthings… Who the fuck knows? Either way, my mother was drinking. I hated when she drank like that because I was always afraid she’d go to sleep and not wake up.” I flinch because I know that feeling all too well. “So, I asked Micah to come to my house instead. His mom said no, which was weird because she never said no.”
What does any of this have to do with Mal or the fight at the bar?
“A few hours later I heard sirens and saw all these flashing lights down the street.” He flinches like he’s seeing it all again for the first time. His hand grips the top of his thigh and clenches it tight. He stares straight ahead, the air leaving his lungs in slow, controlled breaths. It’s an exercise he’s obviously used to practicing. His next words come out sharp and rushed, like the act of saying them burns his tongue. “Micah’s dad came home and caught his mom trying to leave. He shot her then shot himself. Micah went into foster care, and I never saw him again.” His voice is strained. “Until tonight. Until just now. It’s been fourteen years, but I would know his face anywhere.”
His eyes drift shut. There’s so much pain, so much raw emotion. Words won’t fix it, so I don’t even try. My heart shatters for him, for Mal—or Micah—for two lives enslaved to pain. I fight to find a single breath. I try to swallow, but my throat is too thick. This man, this beautiful, strong, unbreakable man, is so very broken.
“That guy back there… His name isn’t Mal. It’s Micah, and not a day goes by that I don’t wonder if I’d just spent the night… Maybe his mom wouldn’t have tried to leave. No one takes their kid and leaves their husband when a friend is there watching.”
His brown eyes are on me, dark and full of guilt and unshed tears. I can’t force myself to look away. I need to. I just can’t. I’m trapped here, trapped in his pain.
Blaze breaks the silence. “So, no. I didn’t fight back. Because I owed him that.” He doesn’t cry, but I hear the shake in his voice, the strain in his words.
That’s when I feel the crack, the break in my hard exterior, the portal to my soul opening up and calling him inside.
“It wasn’t your fault. His mother would’ve just chosen another day to leave. You can’t do this to yourself, Blaze. You can’t keep carrying this guilt.”
The cut above his eye is oozing blood down his cheek again, so he brings the towel back to his face. He winces when it touches him. “You saw him. You felt it. The anger. The rage of a life stolen. Who knows what kind of hell he’s been living in all these years?”
“Did you forget who I am? What I do? Everyone has a choice. Even Micah. Foster care isn’t a death sentence.” I’m living proof of that. “At least it doesn’t have to be.” I pause to think about the boys and the futures ahead of them. “But yes, I saw him. I felt it. And that’s why I dedicate everything I am to Corporate Cares. I want to make a difference. I want to be the change.”
He reaches across the console, letting his hand rest on top of mine. His thumb brushes my skin. “You’re an incredible woman, and they’re all lucky to have you.”