Shar stared at me, dumbfounded. “You slept with my brother?”
I nodded.
“And you...enjoyed it?”
I nodded again.
“Oh, my God, Vicky! You know I’m happy for you both, right? And you know I’d talk about all the juicy, sexy details with you if it involved any other guy, but with Blake or, really, with any of my brothers—I mean, I just don’t think I can—”
“No! I’m definitely not sharing those details with you, Shar. Trust me. That’s not what this is about.”
She looked relieved. “Okay. So, if things went well between the two of you physically, and if he’s not running away for a change, what’s the issue?”
“I’m the one who’s been running away.” I told her about the conversation Blake and I had on Sunday. About how he suddenly wanted more than the one-night stand he’d originally claimed to want.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “We’re still talking about Blake Michaelsen, right? My brother? The commitment-phobe?”
I assured her that, yes, we were still discussing the same man.
Shar’s comical disbelief disappeared and she turned very serious. “Wait—are you saying you don’t have feelings for him? Or are you afraid to get involved with him because of me? Because of our friendship or because of the things I’d told you about him?”
“I do have feelings for him, Shar. I don’t entirely understand them. But, yes, they’re there, and, yes, your warnings about him made me think twice. Even so, I still went ahead with everything this weekend. I was so sure I knew what he wanted. So sure I knew what I wanted. But now... Now I have no idea. It scares me to think of really getting involved with someone again. Anyone. Putting my heart out there. I can’t deny that I’m drawn to Blake, but he and I are so different. It would be much easier to just let things drift between us. For this to be the fling it was supposed to be.” I paused. “Est-ce que ça vaut la peine de lutter pour l’amour?” I murmured.
“What’s that mean?” my friend asked.
“Is love worth fighting for?” I said.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, Vicky, that’s the wrong question.”
“Why?”
“Love is always worth fighting for. But that’s not where you’re at in your relationship with my dorky brother. You’re at that place of uncertainty. Where there’s no guarantee of anything, for either of you yet. So the question is whether or not you’re even willing to risk it. If the possibility of love is worth attempting.”
She was right, and I knew it the moment she spoke. Unlike me, Shar had been married and divorced. She’d risked big, and she’d lost. She wasn’t over the pain of that, and I didn’t blame her.
“I’m scared of what I’m feeling,” I confessed. “Terrified, actually.”
“I know you are. And, from everything you’ve told me and from the shell-shocked expression on my brother’s face this morning, he is, too.” She buried her head in her palms. “I feel so damn guilty. I’m his sister, and I love him. I’m your friend, and I adore you. But I had no idea you two might become an actual couple. You were both standing right in front of me, and I didn’t see how well it might work until just now.”
“You can’t blame yourself for this—”
“Yes, I can. How could I be so blind? I interfered in the worst way possible. You trusted me to be honest when I told you about Blake’s typical relationship behavior. And everything I said may have been true in the past or with other women but, with you, he’s not necessarily the same guy.”
I reminded her of the provocative things he’d spouted off in my classroom, at the park, and in other places around Mirabelle Harbor.
“Yeah, but you might have interpreted his intentions differently or reacted by being less frustrated with him if I hadn’t prejudiced you against him. I fanned the flames of your distrust.” She shook her head. “And I told you only about his annoying traits. Granted, there are many of those, but Blake’s also got a huge heart. You don’t know how loyal he can be to the people he loves. How generous. He has at least as many good qualities as irritating ones, and now I feel as though I’ve not only misled you, but I’ve also betrayed him.”
My friend had tears in her eyes. I knew she genuinely meant every word she said, but I also felt her sense of accountability here had gone too far.
“Shar, no. You need to stop thinking this way. Please. You’re not responsible for our decisions. Not Blake’s, and definitely not mine. Don’t forget, I chose to sleep with him, despite all of your warnings. You can’t be held accountable for that any more than you can for any other choice I’ve ever made. You’re intensely involved in the lives of the people you care about but, let’s be honest, while we all love you and value your opinion, you’re not that powerful.”
She finally laughed. “Okay. Fair enough. So then, what can I do? How can I help you now?”
Until this very second, I hadn’t known what the answer to that question might be. But once Shar’s words were in the air between us, it came to me.
“There is something you can explain, which, maybe, will help me understand your brother a bit better.”
“Shoot,” she said.
“What’s the deal with him not liking romance?”
Shar pointed to a student chair. “Have a seat. And get comfortable. This is gonna take a while.”
Chapter Thirteen
~Vicky~
I was trying to be a supportive teacher and watch the Homecoming football game the following night. I cheered on the Mirabelle Harbor Hawks to the best of my ability as they attempted to crush the Highbury Park Panthers. And our team won—narrowly, by a field goal—in a 24 to 21 victory.
But, obviously, my mind wasn’t on the game.
I’d slipped away multiple times during the second half to check on the teens busily decorating the gym and on the parent chaperones who’d graciously agreed to help out at the dance tonight. And, of course, I was always keeping an eye out for Blake, who arrived just when we’d asked him to (at the start of the fourth quarter) and made quick work of setting up his equipment.
I waved to him when he walked through the gym doors. He acknowledged me with a wave in return. But that was all.
Our pattern of interaction had been disrupted and was now a very strange and awkward thing. I’d gotten used to him chasing me and cajoling me into doing things. My role until recently had been to parry his advances and, occasional, agree to be swayed by one of his suggestions. Which made his distant behavior this week all the more odd.
I couldn’t believe how much I’d found myself missing him. His flirtatiousness had been flattering, I had to admit. And, sure, his overt sexual innuendos had been equal parts annoying and amusing, but they were always memorable. If I were to be completely honest with myself, though, what I really missed was the unique combination of qualities that made up the man himself. Blake might not be perfect, but he wasn’t what anyone would consider ordinary.
Yesterday, in Shar’s classroom, she’d responded to something about her brother that I’d long wondered: If his deep resistance to romance was because he’d been badly hurt in love.
The answer was no.
But his sister explained that he was far more sensitive, far more empathetic to others than most people realized. He’d witnessed too many situations where people he cared about had been hurt by love or, more precisely, by the loss of it.
“He has such a fear of being vulnerable,” Shar had said. “It’s going to be incredibly difficult for him to overcome that. His internal walls are a mile high. But once somebody manages to worm their way into his heart, they’re there to stay.”
She also said something else that I took to be as much of a friendly warning as it was advice.
“Blake’s not necessarily an easy choice for a boyfriend. Not only isn’t he the romantic White Knight type, he doesn’t want to be. Whomever he’s with would need to want the real man, flaws and all. And she’d probably need to prove that to him. He won’t
settle for anything less. So, Vicky, if you choose him, you need to pick him with your eyes wide open. And if you decide you don’t want to be with him, please do him the kindness of not dragging things out. Blake’s always been a pull-the-bandage-off-fast kind of guy.”
As I watched Blake adjusting his DJ equipment across the gym, I couldn’t get his sister’s words out of my mind. There was something different about him tonight that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. An underlying seriousness despite his usual friendly exterior.
I observed the way he was interacting with the other people in the gym. A rotating series of parent chaperones came up to him to shake his hand and, no doubt, tell Blake how much they enjoyed listening to him on the radio.
But though a couple of those parents were very attractive single moms, I could tell he wasn’t flirting with them. There was an air of detachment about him that I could recognize even across the room.
And there were teenagers zooming around us everywhere. Every member of the Homecoming committee and a handful of their friends also stopped by to welcome Blake and to chat with him.
He grinned at them all, took time to answer their questions, and seemed to regard them with gentle amusement but, as he did with the parents, he kept a cool distance. Like he was politely marking time until he could go home.
I finally spotted a gap when he had no visitors, and walked up to him.
“Hi, Blake. Thanks for getting here early.” I glanced at the equipment in front of him. “It looks like you already have everything set up.”
He nodded briefly and busied himself connecting some kind of cable to the sound system. “Just about,” he said.
With so much of the music being organized digitally, there weren’t many things that needed prepping. But whether it was necessary or not, Blake seemed to find tasks to keep him occupied while I was standing there. I knew an avoidance technique when I saw one.
I took a step back and just said, “Well, if you need anything during the dance, please let me know.” As I started to walk away, though, he called me back.
“Vicky,” he said, finally meeting my gaze. Then, with a hoarse whisper, “It’s good to see you. You look really nice tonight.”
I’d chosen my dress—a violet-colored, tea-length gown—with Blake in mind. I didn’t know why, but I just knew it would be a color he’d like. Not that I was going to tell him that.
“Thank you,” I said. “So do you.”
Actually, “nice” was a woefully poor descriptor. Rather, he looked dashing in his dark-gray dress pants, white button-up shirt, black sports jacket, and designer tie—one that had little footballs all over it. He caught me staring at it and half grinned.
“Figured this would be appropriate, given the game and all,” he said.
I was about to say something light and unimportant in response, like how the clothing we wore matched the purple and black dance theme colors the kids had chosen, really just for the purpose of keeping our conversation going. But Blake abruptly grabbed his keys and said, “Hey, I forgot something in the van. Gotta run out there. Hope you’ll enjoy the music tonight.” And he all but sprinted out of the gym.
If that wasn’t an obvious sign of dismissal, I didn’t know what was.
When the dance began a half hour later, I was kept busy by the committee kids and their flurry of last-minute questions. Heath and Alexis needed help finding stronger tape when the masking tape they’d used to hang up Heath’s “Tribute to the Eighties” mural on the wall wasn’t holding. Though, once that last task of theirs was complete, they hugged each other and started to dancing right in front of it to the sounds of Madonna’s “Crazy for You.” I loved seeing their youthful, hopeful smiles.
Also out on the dance floor, I spotted Carson and Amanda, who’d arrived together just a few minutes earlier. Whatever he’d said to her had her laughing harder than I’d ever seen her. This alone made my heart soar. They were a pair that deserved some happy memories.
Matt, as the junior class president, had been one of the most popular kids in his grade from elementary school on. And while he could have asked any available girl in the gym to dance with him (and most would have jumped at the chance), Matt spent the first full hour of the dance hovering around Blake, inquiring about the music, and probably asking a gazillion questions about life as a radio DJ.
Blake had warmly welcomed everyone to the Homecoming dance and, periodically, would unleash his considerable charm on the crowd and announce a new set of songs. When not talking with his sexy voice into the mic, he chatted with Matt, showed him how to work the equipment, and looked pleased to have someone to keep him company.
Stephanie, head of the committee and one of the world’s most responsible teenagers, buzzed between the refreshments table, the picture station, and me, particularly when she felt the need to report on something.
“We’re almost out of plastic cups for the soda,” she said, breathless from her jog across the gym. “Should I run to the store quick and buy more?”
“No, don’t leave the party,” I said. “Let me check the foreign language office for you. We may have some extra paper and plastic products left over from last year’s Fête. You just keep an eye on things here.”
She nodded gratefully. “Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle.”
Blake, who’d been looking with riveted attention at Matt and, occasionally, at anybody else in the room who wasn’t me, suddenly shot me a curious glance as I strode past him and toward the gym doors. I could feel his gaze following me. Could almost hear him questioning my departure.
For someone who’d spent more than half of the event studiously avoiding me, this struck me as odd. I couldn’t imagine why he’d care where I went if he so desperately didn’t want to even look at me, let alone talk to me.
But, whatever his reasoning, when I returned to the gym with the extra cups, it seemed as though Blake’s eyes hadn’t left the door. Matt was still standing beside him, still yakking away, but Blake was staring directly at me, as if he’d been waiting for my return.
After that, he tracked my every move. Watched as I brought the plastic cups to the refreshments table. Studied me as I spoke briefly with Stephanie.
It wasn’t until after I’d stepped away from the drinks and treats that Blake left his DJ post for the first time. But did he come to talk with me? No. He went to the refreshments table and talked with everyone there. He said a few things to Stephanie, too. Complimented her, I could tell, because she blushed prettily and tried to shrug off his words.
Then he poured two cups of soda and strode over in my direction...but, again, not to me. He stopped and offered the drinks to a couple of chaperones.
I watched him repeat this exercise several times. Going to the refreshments table. Pouring some sodas. Handing them out to chaperones in the general vicinity. It was, I had to admit, an incredibly thoughtful gesture. Maybe that was why he was so interested when I left the gym and returned with the plastic cups. Maybe it wasn’t about me at all. He just knew there were a lot of thirsty parent volunteers in the room.
Then he was back at the DJ station, continuing his conversation with Matt and pointing out some notes to him that were printed on sheets of white paper.
A few minutes later, Blake clicked on his mic and addressed the crowd. “Let’s hear it once again for the Mirabelle Harbor Hawks! What a great game tonight.”
The students in attendance went wild with their cheers.
When the commotion died down to a low roar, Blake added, “I wanted to give a shout out to the Homecoming committee. They’ve done such an awesome job organizing the dance tonight, raising money for the food and decorations, and making sure everything would run smoothly. Let’s show our appreciation to Stephanie Little, Alexis Cho, Heath Murray, and my man up here—Matt Rosatti!”
A deafening round of applause followed.
“Matt’s gonna help me spin this next tune,” Blake continued. “It goes out to all of the football players on the team who foug
ht so hard on the field tonight.”
More loud applause, and it only grew louder when Matt pressed a few buttons and Queen’s “We Are the Champions” began to play. That song hadn’t been on Blake’s original playlist, but it certainly fit the mood of the night.
He caught my eye the moment the chorus started, and he deliberately held my gaze. Without breaking our eye contact, he whispered a few words to Matt and then waded through a sea of singing teens to where I was standing.
Finally.
“Before you chew me out about this,” he said with more than a hint of defensiveness, “I know I’m deviating from the approved playlist. I realize this isn’t a love song. That it’s not even from the Eighties. It came out in 1977, but Freddie Mercury’s voice rocks, and—”
“And it’s an excellent choice,” I interrupted. “I’m not arguing with you about the music, Blake. You’ve done a fabulous job tonight, and the kids are having the best time.”
“So I don’t have to plead my case?”
“Not about the song,” I said.
A smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”
“And it was really sweet of you to recognize the students on the committee, not just the football players.” I nodded toward Matt. “I think you’ve earned yourself a faithful assistant, too, whenever you might need one.”
“He’s a terrific kid,” Blake said. “Funny as hell. I’ve never seen anybody get so excited about pressing a few buttons.”
“He looks up to you, Blake. It’s been wonderful to see him coming out of his shell again this fall, especially after the past two years.”
“Why? What happened?”
I realized Blake didn’t know the background of the students the way I did. “Matt’s parents got divorced during his freshman year, and his dad took off to Seattle. The guy rarely comes back and doesn’t make much time to spend with his son when he goes there. It’s been really hard on Matt, and he’s struggled a lot with his self image during high school.”
You Give Love a Bad Name Page 17
