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I stopped, considering her words.
The details of the article hadn’t matched the man I had thought I’d known.
And yet, I’d been so quick to dismiss him, to accept those words as truth and not so much as hear him out. But there was one question that still bothered me.
“But if it wasn’t true, why couldn’t he just tell me what was?”
My mom shrugged. “Only Blake can answer that question. But don’t you think he deserves a chance to explain as best he can?”
I paused, chewing the inside of my cheek as my brain turned that question over and over. Did I think he deserved a chance, to tell the truth? Yes. Did I think I could handle what that truth was? I wasn’t entirely sure, but there was only one way to find out.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I think he deserves that chance.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
NELL
I unlockedthe front door to my apartment building and stepped through the threshold, immediately comforted by the familiar entryway.
I’d sat and talked to my mom for about an hour longer before deciding that I needed to head home, and now I could not wait to shower and climb back into my bed to try and get some rest.
Then, when I felt a little more levelheaded, I would call Blake and invite him over.
I made it to my landing and came to an abrupt stop. The door to my apartment was ajar.
I listened intently for a moment, wondering if I should call the cops when a familiar voice drifted out to me through the crack in the door.
“… should have called first… idiotic…”
My heart began to race as I stepped forward and pushed the door open to find a frazzled-looking Blake standing in my living room.
His blue eyes darted to me the moment he heard the door creek open. I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing there, but he beat me to it.
“I came here to get some work done,” he said in a rush, gesturing to the piles of papers that sat atop my coffee table.
I furrowed my brow in confusion, but he didn’t give me time to question.
“There are incredibly important documents in these piles. Documents that have to do with plans for a certain borough of New York City that I’m under an NDA for, and I have to go to the bathroom. Under no circumstances should you look at them. Do you understand me?”
He held my gaze, his stormy eyes imploring me to understand.
And I did.
I glanced from the papers to him, my heart thundering loudly as I gave him a quick nod.
“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said, giving me a soft, tentative smile before turning and walking toward the bathroom.
When I heard the door to the bathroom shut with a faint snap, I ventured the rest of the way into the apartment, pausing long enough to close and lock the front door behind me.
I walked over to the coffee table and sat on the sofa, fingering through the pages.
My mouth popped open as my eyes raked down them, reading them.
There was the deed to my building, new and printed in his name.
There was a contract for three more lots on my block. One contained a building, and the other two were vacant, nothing more than cracked slabs of concrete with weeds growing through them.
I continued to read through the paperwork, finding contracts and proposals outlining the transformation of those lots, not into luxury buildings, but into community resources.
