by Coralee June
My brows went up in surprise at her question. Mrs. Trask smiled. Lance put his arm around Blakely’s shoulder and pulled her in for a small side hug. Mr. Trask just started stuffing his mouth with snacks, unencumbered by the heavy topic.
“Well, we knew early on in our marriage that pregnancy wasn’t something I wanted. Adoption had always been our goal, and when we put ourselves on the registry, Jonathan and I knew it would happen when it was meant to.”
Mrs. Trask’s eyes turned glassy with emotion as she stared lovingly at her son and husband. I’d always been jealous of their close-knit family. “We were on the list for almost seven years. In that time, Jonathan built up his career as a world-renowned heart surgeon. I built up my plastic surgery practice. We had a fulfilled life but were always waiting. It was like I knew this piece of my soul was out there just waiting for me. And then we got a call about a particular boy with a heart defect.”
I watched Blakely’s eyes snap to her brother’s. “You had a heart defect?”
Lance’s lips pulled into a straight line. He was never a fan of telling others about his heart problems. It was ironic to me that a man with one of the most giving hearts I’d ever known had a defective organ pumping blood throughout his body. “I had pulmonary valve atresia. Basically, there was a valve in my heart that didn’t form correctly. It required surgery soon after I was born.”
“Jonathan performed the surgery,” Mrs. Trask stated proudly. At the mention of his name, Mr. Trask’s head popped up, and he coughed with his mouth full, spewing crumbs everywhere. Mrs. Trask continued with an eye roll. “The agency your mother worked with was worried they wouldn’t be able to place him anywhere but remembered us. Two doctors seemed ideal for a baby that needed extra care.”
Blakely reached out to briefly squeeze Lance’s hand before turning to Mrs. Trask. “I’m really thankful you found each other,” Blakely said with a tight smile. “Is the heart defect genetic?”
Mrs. Trask looked nervous to answer, but I’d never known her to be dishonest. “It’s very commonly associated with fetal alcohol syndrome. We assume that Sharron also smoked while pregnant,” Mrs. Trask whispered.
I realized then that it was time to change the subject. Blakely was turning pale and looked like she wanted to vomit. “Lance, we should show Blakely the old treehouse,” I said with a smile, drawing the attention back to me.
Mrs. Trask joined in. “Decker Harris, I doubt you’d fit into the crawlspace to get up there.”
My lip tilted in amusement. “You’re probably right. How long ago did we build that?” I asked.
And just like that, everyone switched to lighter topics. Blakely engaged in conversation, but her eyes were always vacant. Everything that had happened the last few days was starting to pile up. I couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. Was it difficult to see the contrast between where Lance grew up and her own childhood?
But my girl—fuck, when did I start referring to her as my girl?
My girl smiled as she spoke, not once treading into the dangerous waters of what led us all here to this exact moment. I’d do everything I could to keep her from drowning.
23
Blakely
“Do you like to bake?” Mrs. Trask’s voice said from behind me. I’d retreated to the kitchen half an hour ago to shake the nerves in my bones. Being here, seeing Lance’s childhood home, it was messing with me.
I wasn’t jealous, though any sane person would be. I was happy that Lance was given such an incredible life. I liked Mrs. Trask, or Katy, as she insisted I call her. She was lovely, and even though Jonathan wasn’t very talkative, he was funny to watch. It was odd that someone so clumsy and goofy could perform such detailed surgeries.
I just kept thinking about Mama. I kept wondering how Lance could look at me and not feel hate. Mama gave him up while he was fighting for his life. She wasn’t there when he had heart surgery as a newborn. She didn’t think to find him until she was at the end of her miserable existence. Did she ever wonder if he was okay? Did she even care? Mama thought she did the heroic thing by giving him up, but she abandoned him in his time of need. “Blakely? Sweetheart, did you hear me?”
I turned around and faced Mrs. Trask with a forced smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, I like to bake, though I’m not very good at it.”
“Lance just walked over with Decker to the Harris’s to say hello to his parents. We have time to kill; how about we bake a pie?”
My mouth dropped open in shock. A pie? She wanted to bake a pie? How…wholesome.
“You’ll have to walk me through it,” I admitted.
“Well, that’s what recipes are for. Grab those apples in the fruit basket and start peeling them. I’ll get started on my homemade crust. My husband will think I’ve been abducted by aliens for making something with sugar in it. But special times call for treating yourself, yeah?”
I just nodded, mostly because I didn’t know how else to respond. I grabbed the apples as she placed a cutting board on the kitchen island, accompanied by a peeler. She hummed as she got the ingredients for her crust, giving me reassuring smiles as she floated across the marble tile in her kitchen. She really was beautiful. Her smile was infectious. “Lance tells me you’re attending MAMS? I’ve heard good things about that school. Are you hoping to go into a science field?”
“I don’t know what I want to do. I thought I wanted to be a doctor, but bodies kind of gross me out. Maybe pharmaceutical research? I think I’ve convinced Decker I want to be an astronaut.”
Katy Trask laughed. It sounded like birds chirping in the wind. “Decker is hopelessly helpful and gullible. I bet he’ll sign you up for a NASA internship.”
“Funny, he said Lance was the one that was constantly helping people.” Katy stopped mixing the dough to look at me. She seemed to gnaw on her inner cheek for a moment as if debating on what to say.
“There’s a difference, you know,” she began. “I love those two boys. Lance helps because he has so much love in his heart but no place to put it. He’s good to me, but he’s always wanted to know about your mom—and now you. He just wanted the chance to love, you know? I’m really thankful that you’re giving him that opportunity, Blakely.”
My heart fell in my stomach, and I nearly sliced my finger as I looked up to stare at Katy. She tilted her head to the side, emotion evident in her eyes. “And what about Decker?” I asked. She gave me a knowing smile that made me uncomfortable.
“Decker helps because he wants to be the hero. He doesn’t think he’s good enough at saving people, so he overcompensates. He couldn’t save his mom from her alcoholism. Couldn’t save his father from his ego. Couldn’t save himself when he had a gun pointed at his head.”
Air got trapped in my chest, and I tried not to show how much her words truly affected me. “I didn’t know that about his parents,” I replied lamely.
“Not many do. I’m only sharing because I know their relationship doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Lance needed someone to love. Decker needed someone to save. They’ve both reversed those roles numerous times, but their brotherhood is a bond that I’m incredibly thankful for. I’m sure you’re wondering where you fit in that dynamic, but I think you already know.”
Visions of pancake breakfasts and forbidden kisses filtered through my mind. “Yeah. I think I do.”
Lance and Decker were gone long enough for Katy Trask and me to make two pies and a meatloaf dinner. She kept the conversation light, focusing on embarrassing stories from Lance and Decker’s childhood. I laughed so hard my cheeks hurt, and it wasn’t until she was setting the table for dinner that I realized Decker and Lance were still gone.
“Go fetch them, yeah? Tell Decker to come, too. I doubt his parents planned anything.”
I wanted to ask more questions about Decker’s parents but knew it wouldn’t be appropriate. So instead, I nodded and headed out the front door, pausing at the sight of Decker’s large house. Should I have called? No. Katy said to go get them. Why wa
s I questioning everything lately?
As I walked toward the front door, I thought about the night before we got here. Something had changed in Decker—something I didn’t quite understand. He was more open about this…thing…between us. He was warm. Accepting.
It scared the hell out of me. I’d been hoping for his affection for so long I didn’t know what to do now that I had his attention. I knocked on the door while clicking my heels, and it wasn’t until the doorknob was turning that I realized I’d be meeting Decker’s parents for the first time. What if they didn’t like me? Why did I care?
Luckily, it was Lance on the other side of the door. “Hey,” he greeted with a sad smile. “Dinner ready? Sorry we left you there; something came up.”
A shrill scream in the living room, followed by Lance’s wince made me gasp. “Tell Mom it’s a bad time…” he rushed out while trying to shut the door in a lame attempt at blocking me from the commotion inside.
“Who is that Lance?” a slurred voice said at his back.
“No one, Mrs. Harris.” A manicured hand landed on my brother’s shoulder, yanking him back and granting me an unobstructed view of Mrs. Harris.
I’m sure she was beautiful once. She had dark eyes, washed-out skin, and cracked lips. She was thin—too thin. It was like she had spent more time counting calories than actually eating.
“Are you fucking my husband?” she cried out while wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “That’s where he is right now. Fucking one of his whores instead of visiting with his son who never visits anymore!” Her voice was like a screech as she reached out to grab my shirt. I took a step back to escape her reach.
“I’m not fucking your husband. I’m just eighteen,” I replied calmly. I’d seen destructive before. Was raised by a hurricane, so I could detect the switch in the air.
“That hasn’t stopped him before,” Mrs. Harris said with a roll of her sunken-in eyes.
“Well, I’m here to tell you dinner is ready. You going to sulk about your shitty husband some more or introduce yourself and get presentable for dinner? I made a meatloaf.” To anyone else, my words might have seemed crass, but this was how I handled Mama. I learned that she didn’t respond to doting. She couldn’t handle calm reassurances. She needed brutal honesty and a selfless soul willing to dish it out.
She blinked a couple times, ruminating in my comment while deciding which part of my words to address first. Lance gave me a scolding look, but I knew how to handle this situation. Taking care of Mama required nerves of steel and a mean streak. When people were so caught up in their own bullshit, it required a certain level of sass to yank them back down to the real world.
Where the hell was Decker?
“Who are you?” she finally asked.
“Lance’s sister,” I replied while reaching out to shake her hand, but snaking it back when I noticed dried vomit on the back of it. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? We’ll go to the Trask house in twenty minutes.” It was essential to not allow inebriated people the opportunity to formulate an excuse. I’d said variations of the same thing my entire life.
“You’re going to stop crying over him.”
“You’re not going to miss another day of work.”
“You’re going to get out of bed.”
Mrs. Harris sniffed, drawing me out of my dark thoughts. “I suppose dinner would be nice.”
I smiled before walking past them both and inside. “Want help picking out an outfit? I bet you look terrific in blue,” I said while looking around. Where Lance’s house was warm and inviting, Decker’s home was cold and empty. No photos on the wall. No personality. The only thing I noted was football memorabilia proudly mounted to the wall.
“I do look good in blue,” Mrs. Harris said with a small grin while following after me. Lance stayed in the entryway, shaking his head while fighting a smile.
“Where is Decker?” I asked and gestured toward to a long hallway leading to a bedroom where the sheets were a heap of fabric on the floor. An expansive portrait was hanging on the wall of a large man with a scar under his eye. The painting was slashed to shreds, and on the floor, Decker was picking up broken glass. The moment he heard us enter, he spun around to face me, embarrassment flooding his cheeks.
“Blakely? What are you doing he—”
“She’s helping me find a pretty dress. I’m going to look hot. Can we do a photoshoot? I’ll send pictures to Tony.”
Decker’s eyes widened in shock, but I didn’t miss a beat. “Nah, that would make you look desperate. Go have a good time, make him wonder.”
“You’re right. I should post a pic on the gram!” she exclaimed. Her lingo felt forced, and I wondered if she spent most of her life pretending to be younger to appeal to her husband’s disgusting preferences. It was something Mama often did.
“What are you getting dressed for?” Decker asked with a sigh. I took a good look at him, and my heart nearly broke on the spot. He seemed unsure and sad. He stared at his mother like she was a porcelain doll with a chip in her painted on face.
“Dinner with the Trasks. I was invited, isn’t that nice? I have a life. I have friends. I have things to do. I won’t be sitting here and waiting for Tony. He can sit and wonder what I’m up to!”
Decker turned to face me with an expression that seemed to ask, is this your doing?
“Yep! I also made an apple pie. It’s delicious.”
It took us a minute to pick out her clothes, and I quickly realized that she had a critique for her body with every dress I picked.
That one makes my stomach look fat.
I don’t like how my arms look in this one.
This color makes my hair look dull.
This fabric clings to my flabby skin.
This is way too short. My varicose veins are atrocious.
Every slurred complaint made me wonder just how much she’d actually had to drink. I doubted she would make it across the lawn and through dinner. She’d probably fall asleep before we even left the house. We finally settled on a knee-length bodycon dress that was really inappropriate for a casual dinner, but she didn’t care. She simply pushed Decker and me out of her bedroom so she could get dressed.
In the hallway, I found a note from Lance saying that he’d left for dinner and would see us there. “Guess he got tired of waiting. Your mom is pretty picky about clothes,” I mused. When Decker didn’t answer, I spun around to face him, his distraught face catching me off guard.
“He’s going to be gone all weekend. Mom saw a receipt for a lingerie store,” he whispered. I took a step closer to him. “I didn’t realize how bad it’s gotten.” He ran a hand through his hair before turning to look back at her bedroom door. “Maybe I need to move back to Chicago? Maybe she needs to try rehab again?”
I took another step as he talked himself through everything. Each step closer, his voice broke more and more until he was nothing but choked whispers full of emotion. I cupped his cheeks with my hands, forcing him to look me in the eye. “I’m going to tell you something that I wish someone would have told me,” I began before leaning up to brush a tender kiss against his lips. He melted against me, but I pulled away before it could turn into something we couldn’t stop. “You are not responsible for her. Her self-destruction is not your fault. Love her where she’s at, but don’t think for a second that her behavior has anything to do with you. Put your air mask on first, Decker.”
My mind immediately went to my father, and I wondered how he was doing. The worry was still there, but I wanted to take my father’s advice to heart. Decker was like oxygen to me. Our plane was crashing, but I just wanted to breathe him in.
Decker’s eyes skated over my skin, and he wrapped his arms around me for a hug. I tucked my head under his chin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he processed my words. “She sure is taking a while to get dressed,” he finally said after what felt like a tender eternity.
“She probably passed out. I was stalling,” I admitted.
“You going to stay here with her or go to dinner?” I asked.
“Dinner,” he bluntly replied.
I smiled against his chest. “Take a deep breath, Decker. You’re doing great.”
“After dinner, meet me in the treehouse,” he said before pulling away. It felt like the promise of more, but before I could ask him why or how or what the fuck we were doing, he was walking to the door and glancing back at me over his shoulder. “You coming with me?” he asked.
“Always,” I whispered.
24
Blakely
The guest room I was staying in was across the hall from my brother. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and there was a foreboding sense of understanding boiling in my gut. Once Decker and I started this, we wouldn’t be able to stop. It was dangerous for us to be alone together. I almost wished that Lance would hear me tiptoe across the wood floors and down the stairs. I wanted Katy Trask to stop me when my hand touched the back door to their home.
But I met no obstacles. It seemed that fate wanted Decker and me to bring this building tension between us to a head.
Chicago was one of those towns where the sun was blistering hot in the summer, but the wind blew with a whispered warning that autumn was coming. It was weird to think about how much time had already passed.
The moon was out now, leaving nothing but a breeze that licked my skin. My bare feet crunched in the dewy grass as I made my way over to the tall tree house hoisted high in an aged redwood in the back of Lance’s backyard. Leaning against the bark with his arms crossed over his chest, Decker stared at me. The moonlight cast shadows along his scruffy face. He wore all black, looking intimidating as I approached him. I took my time and stared at his broad shoulders with fresh eyes. So much rested on them.
