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“I know. I was in the apartment across from yours,” he said softly against my head.
“The empty one.” It slowly began to make sense. “The one that was never rented out.”
Blaise had been there.
“The cops came. The sheriff came before the chili was ready. He told me about their accident. Said how sorry he was while I broke down and cried. Mrs. Miller heard me and opened her door, then rushed over and wrapped me up in her frail, small arms while she spoke with the sheriff.”
“You looked so fucking lost and broken. My chest felt as if it was going to explode,” he told me.
He had seen it all.
“The rent was overdue, but I couldn’t stay in there alone. Mrs. Miller took me back to her apartment. Then, all that food came from those people who claimed to be from the local Baptist church, and they helped me go through the apartment.” I lifted my head and looked at him. “The people from the Baptist church …” I said.
“Were damn good people,” he replied, but I could see the truth in his gaze.
I’d never gone to that church—or any church. Mrs. Miller had said that was what local Southern church folk did. Except she’d said they normally brought casseroles and pies, not enough groceries to feed an army for a month. It had been him. He’d paid them or done something. All those things that hadn’t made sense back then because I’d been too upset to think about it were clear now.
I laid my head back against his chest. Blaise stood up, still cradling me in his arms, and began walking. I didn’t ask where. I didn’t need to know. For once, I didn’t want any more answers. I might never want answers again. I feared them.
The truth behind the lies wasn’t always a relief. It could also be the thing that nightmares were made of. Horrific nightmares that would forever change you.
Blaise opened a door to the downstairs bedroom that Saxon had said was the master bedroom that his parents used. I hadn’t gone in there at all, and the door had been closed.
When we entered the room, the smell was distinct. Mint and leather. Blaise. It wasn’t because he was in here. The room was his smell. I turned my head to look, and a massive four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room. The bedding was a dark gray, and the sheets were black. This looked nothing like something Melanie would choose. It was masculine. It was simple.
Blaise continued into the master bathroom before sitting me down on the edge of a large tub. I looked up at him, then around the bathroom. When my gaze landed on the open door to the walk-in closet, I saw black boots, faded jeans, and a cowboy hat. Items I recognized. They weren’t hanging in an empty, unused closet meant for a rental house. There was a closet full of clothing.
“This isn’t a rental cabin, and it isn’t the Houstons’ cabin,” I said, then turned back to Blaise.
Blaise shook his head as he brushed hair out of my face. “No, it’s not. I had Saxon pick you up because he was someone I knew you trusted. I couldn’t let you walk on the road, unprotected. He was the only one I believed you’d leave with,” he said, then cupped the side of my face as his eyes locked on mine. “But if you weren’t going to be with me, then you were going to be somewhere that belonged to me,” he said, then dropped his hand and reached around me to turn on the water.
This didn’t surprise me. Not now. Not after all I had heard.
I wasn’t sure if my name was truly Madeline anymore. Was I really nineteen? Had my mother wanted me? Had anyone before Blaise ever wanted me? Everything I had thought I knew about my life had been a lie.
I had wanted to hate Blaise for lying to me, but my entire life had been a lie.
I looked up at Blaise. He was the only one who had ever cared. He’d lied to me, but he had done it to protect me. The pain in his eyes even now was genuine. He didn’t want me to hurt.
Had anyone ever truly cared if I hurt?
I thought about Melanie and the Houstons. It had all been orchestrated by Blaise. Melanie wouldn’t have known where I was or even looked for me.
Then, something else began to sink in …
“Blaise, whose credit card is it that Saxon left for me? It has my name on it, but Saxon said Melanie ordered me one with my name.”
He added bubbles to the water. “It’s yours,” he replied. “Your name is on it.”
“I have no money or bank account,” I replied.
“I said it was yours. Not that you would pay for it. Can you stand up so I can take these shorts off?”
