Driving down Main Street, he slowed the truck at the entrance to Mack’s Bar and Grill. Blake’s pulse accelerated in anticipation of how the whiskey would feel sliding down his throat, quenching his thirst and dousing the grief that roared through his soul. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his conscience sounded a warning to keep moving. But he was past logical thought at this point. He nosed his truck into the last available spot, shoved the gear shift into park and climbed out. Slamming the door, he jammed the keys in his pocket and headed for the entrance, riding on a wave of equal parts anger and adrenaline.
Once inside, Blake pushed his way through the crowd, a haze of cigarette smoke wafting from the usual suspects parked at the bar. Claiming an empty stool at the end, he ignored the curious stares and waved down the bartender.
“Shot of Maker’s mark,” he mumbled, rage clouding his vision. This was the quickest way to dull the pain.
The bartender affectionately dubbed Lefty for the port-wine birthmark splayed across his left cheek, stood on the other side of the bar, polishing a shot glass with a white towel tucked in the waistband of his worn Levi’s. Blake could feel Lefty’s steely gaze boring into his skull. Don’t even try to talk me out of this. He craved a drink with every fiber of his being.
“You sure about that, son?”
“I’m a big boy, Lefty.”
“True.” Lefty poured the amber liquid into a shot glass, concern etched in the deep crevasses that lived above his brow line. Rubbing his beefy hand over his bald head, he slid the glass aside and leaned his massive forearms on the bar. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Not really.” He just wanted to forget. The picture, the look on Lauren’s face, the shock. All of it. His stomach churned. Why? How was she even capable of that kind of deception?
“Generally speaking…” Lefty traded the shot glass for a tumbler full of Coke “…I like to keep my customers happy.”
Blake frowned at the drink in front of him. “That’s not what I ordered.”
“Well, it’s what you’re drinking. Your dad and I go way back. To Vietnam and beyond. He would tan my hide if you fell off the wagon on my watch.”
“One drink. That’s all I need, man. You’ve got no idea what I’m dealing with here.”
“I probably don’t. But whatever it is ain’t worth flushing eight years of sobriety down the drain. You can sit here all night if you want. But it ain’t worth it. You hear me, son?”
“I’ve held it together a long time, Lefty. Eight years is pretty good, don’t you think? Shouldn’t I get some kind of reward or something?” Blake hated the bitter edge that tainted his words. Even worse, he hated that he was trying to manipulate his father’s closest friend.You’re pathetic.
“I’ve heard it all before. There’s no bargaining here.” Lefty set the Coke in front of him again. “Stay as long as you like, but that’s the only drink you’ll be getting from me.”
Blake hung his head and watched the bubbles collapsing against the glass. What a waste. He’d spent so many months—years, in fact—only half-living. Waiting for her to come home. But Lefty was right. She wasn’t worth it. And he was done trying to pretend she was.
twenty eight
Lauren awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. Make it stop. She buried her head under a pillow and tried to go back to sleep. Just for a minute, she floated in that blissful space of unawareness. Then the events of the previous day flashed through her mind, each one more painful than the last. It was like rubbing salt in an open wound. She groaned and pulled the pillow away, tossing it aside. Her phone chimed and she rolled to the side of the bed. Where did she leave it? Her bag sat on the floor, slumped against the nightstand. Maybe it was in there. She rummaged inside until her hand closed around it. She pulled the phone out and squinted at the screen. A text from Matt.
Are you ok?
She dropped the phone back in her bag. No. She wasn’t okay. Not even close. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her head hurt but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. Blake. Kind, generous, selfless Blake. He’d been absolutely transparent yesterday and she’d crushed him with her deception.
Her mouth was dry and her stomach growled. A shower could wait. Coffee was a definite must. She grabbed a sweatshirt from the chair beside her bed and slipped it on over her rumpled t-shirt. Dragging her fingers through her tangled curls, she opened her door and went downstairs.
The house was eerily silent. She couldn’t even remember if they’d had guests last night. Dishes were piled in the sink and remnants of breakfast stuck to the counter. She craned her neck to look out the window. Mom and Dad’s cars sat empty out front. Where were they? It was almost noon. Only a swig of coffee remained in the bottom of the carafe. She dumped it out and fixed a fresh pot. She tapped her fingernails on the counter while the coffee brewed.
Mom and Dad. She shook her head. Last night was a disaster of epic proportions, worse than she ever imagined. Of all the possible scenarios she’d played out in her head, Aunt Jane and a box of quilts never entered the equation. Then again, she’d been so consumed with her own secret that the hard truth about her own identity was a complete shock. A fresh wave of hurt and confusion washed over her. How did they keep such a juicy secret in this tiny town? Her cheeks grew hot. Was she the last one to know? Granny. Did she remember her real father? There were so many questions that demanded answers.
Her running shoes beckoned from the doorway of the laundry room. Not now. There weren’t enough miles of road in Alaska to outrun this heartache. She downed a few sips of coffee, eager to get to the hospital before her courage dissipated. She ran up to her room, grabbed her phone and her purse then dashed back down the stairs. Her stomach roiled in protest. Coffee didn’t exactly count as a meal. But she couldn’t stay in the house another second. Grabbing the van keys, she jogged toward the front door.
Mitchell was sprawled on the porch. He thumped his tail and followed her with his brown eyes as she gripped the porch railing. A light breeze rustled the branches of the trees and a shadow slid over the yard as the sun went behind a cloud. Although the view was the same, everything else had changed. She was alone. Deceived by the ones she trusted the most. She stepped over Mitchell and ran to the van.
A custodian was mopping the floor in the waiting room when Lauren passed through the hospital’s double doors. The acrid smell of disinfectant filled the air and the only nurse behind the desk at the nurses’ station let Lauren pass with a cursory wave. So distracted by the long list of questions running through her head, Lauren didn’t see Shannon coming out of a patient’s room until it was too late. They collided and Shannon squawked, the chart in her hands falling to the ground.
“I’m sorry.” Lauren squatted to retrieve the chart.
As they stood up, both gripping the chart, Shannon’s eyes roamed Lauren’s face. “You look like death warmed over. What in the world is going on?”
Lauren cringed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me. C’mon, your grandmother is still with the physical therapist. Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”
Stepping into the break room, Shannon grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and motioned for Lauren to sit down at the round table in front of the vending machine.
“Here?” Lauren glanced around.
“Sorry. I’d take you out dancing but I’m on for another hour.” Shannon winked and twisted the top off of her bottle. “It looked like you and Blake were having a good time. Where did you go?”
Lauren gnawed on her lower lip. How did she even begin? “It’s not what you think. Our evening didn’t end on a happy note.”
“You certainly don’t look like the same Lauren Carter I saw last night. What’s up?”
Lauren’s hands fluttered to her throat, reaching for the locket and any measure of comfort it might bring. She took a deep breath and in a matter of minutes, told Shannon everything. Both the secrets t
he Carter family had spent years concealing and the truth about why she’d run off to Portland.
When Lauren was finished, Shannon pulled a tissue from the pocket of her scrubs and dabbed at the moisture on her cheeks.
“Wow,” she whispered, twisting the tissue between her fingers. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Please don’t hate me.”
Shannon knitted her brows together. “Hate you? How could I?”
“Isn’t this the kind of thing you tell your best friend?”
Shannon reached across the table and squeezed Lauren’s hand. “As your grandmother often says, most folks do the best they can. I’m sure you did what you thought was best for everybody at the time.”
Lauren released a slow breath and looked out the window. “I don’t know, Shan. I’m not sure Blake will ever forgive me.”
“Have you asked him?”
Lauren dipped her chin, peeling the label off the full water bottle. “I’m sure he wants nothing to do with me now.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Blake’s always been fiercely loyal. Why don’t you go talk to him? What have you got to lose?”
That was the problem. It was already lost.
twenty nine
When she finished talking to Shannon, Lauren fully intended to visit with Granny. But her therapy left her exhausted and Shannon urged her to come back later. Lauren couldn’t decide if Granny truly needed a nap or Shannon wanted her to go and talk to Blake.
She left the hospital and sat in the van, the keys in the ignition, her head propped on the steering wheel. What next? Thank goodness she had that interview in Portland. At least she could go back, maybe find a smaller apartment and try to put the pieces of her life back together.
You’re not finished here.
The voice whispered from somewhere deep within.
That’s ridiculous. Last night had proven quite the opposite. Weary and confused, Lauren eventually lifted her head, started the engine and drove out of the parking lot.
Although she planned on going home, at the last second she turned the van in the opposite direction and drove down to the waterfront. Staring out at the deep green waters of the cove on a beautiful summer day always soothed her. Even as a young girl, when she was disappointed or angry or frustrated, she would ride her bike down to the harbor and sit for hours. There was a vacant parking spot next to her favorite bench so she pulled in and turned off the engine.
Climbing out of the van, she couldn’t resist a glance across the street at Blake’s shop. Her breath caught when she recognized his truck parked out front. Maybe she should go over, take him some coffee and tell him the whole story. Forget it. He doesn’t want to talk to you. She turned her back on the shop and sank down on the bench with a heavy sigh. What a nightmare.
“Lauren? Lauren Carter? Is that you?” A very pregnant woman waddled toward her, the light breeze tousling her adorable blond pixie haircut.
“Christi?” Jason Cavanaugh’s wife stopped in front of the bench, chest heaving with exertion. Lauren stood and gave her an awkward hug, trying to avoid the baby bump.
“I thought that was you. Jason told me you were back in town.” Christi’s eyes flitted toward Blake’s shop and back to Lauren. “What are you doing down here?”
“Um, just needed a little fresh air. That’s all. How about you?” Lauren studied her friend’s curious expression. Does she know?
“Oh, I brought Jason some lunch. He’s working on the boat today. Want to grab some coffee? I’m totally craving a latte.”
Lauren hesitated. If she went into the Copper Kettle for coffee there was an excellent chance she’d run into Blake. On the other hand, they were bound to run into each other at some point.
“Okay.” Lauren followed Christi across the street. “Congratulations, by the way. I had no idea you were expecting.”
“Thanks. Two weeks to go. Although she seems pretty comfortable in there.”
Lauren almost mentioned her own pregnancy going to forty-two weeks, but stopped herself before it was too late. No. Her stomach plummeted. She fumbled for a compliment about Christi’s appearance instead.
Megan eyed them from her post behind the espresso machine as they entered the coffee shop. “Can I help you?”
Lauren rattled off her order and tried to ignore Megan’s subsequent eye roll.
Christi giggled. “Just a decaf vanilla latte for me. Thanks, Megan.”
While they waited, Christi brought Lauren up to date on the last nine years of her life. Lauren dodged almost all personal questions by circling back to the baby. Christi was more than happy to oblige, spilling all the details about their plans for the baby’s room and their short list of potential names.
Megan looked up from her cell phone and cleared her throat. “Could you take my brother his coffee?”
Lauren swiveled toward the young girl. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Blake. He wants coffee. I’m not supposed to leave the shop. Can you take it to him?”
Lauren swallowed hard and glanced at Christi. Maybe she could deliver it. But if Lauren refused, that left her wide open to questions.
Christi smiled. “Go ahead. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, anyway.”
Dang it. She nodded slowly, unable to speak.
“Good to see you.” Christi patted her arm. “Maybe we can get together with Shannon and have lunch sometime.”
“Sure, I’d like that.” Lauren pasted on a smile. Not that you’ll still be speaking to me. She knew her secrets were safe with Shannon, but scandalous news like this would spread like wildfire. Jane would make sure of that. It was only a matter of time.
“Here. Thanks.” Megan slid the coffee into a cardboard sleeve and passed it to Lauren.
Heart pounding, Lauren grabbed the coffee and slipped out the door. Every step toward the shop next door felt like her shoes were filled with concrete. It was just coffee. They didn’t actually have to talk to each other. She could hand it to him and leave.
The bell on the door jingled as she stepped in. Blake stood behind the counter, eyes on his computer and the phone pinned between his shoulder and his ear. His eyes met hers and he clenched his jaw. She took another sip of her own coffee and pretended she belonged there.
“Let me call you back, okay? Thanks.” Blake hung up and stared at her. His piercing gaze cut straight to her heart. Dark circles ringed his eyes and a day’s worth of stubble clung to his angular jaw.
Say something. She lifted the coffee cup. “Megan sent this over.”
“Thanks.”
The silence unnerved her. It was a long walk to the counter but she made it. Sliding the cup toward him, she wracked her brain for something to say. He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at the counter.
“Busy today?” She cringed at her lame attempt at small talk.
“Don’t.” His head shot up and anger flashed in his eyes.
“What?”
“Don’t pretend like everything’s okay.”
“I’m not pretending. I brought—” Her knees quaked and her cheeks burned. This was a mistake.
“How could you?” His voice broke and he dropped his chin to his chest, hands braced against the counter.
She stumbled back. “Blake, please. Let me explain.”
He snorted and shook his head in disgust. “You gave away my child, Lauren. My son. Yes, please. Explain it to me.”
His words knifed at her heart, severing any hope that he might forgive her. Not that she deserved it. She pressed her palm to her lips to stifle a sob. Turning away, she hurried toward the door, tears blurring her vision. That’s right. Run. Just like you always do. She should’ve never come here. What a fool she was for thinking he would listen to her.
thirty
Blake watched Lauren run out of the shop, hair streaming behind her as she jogged toward the minivan.
Go after her.
No. Don’t even think about it.
She had him in pieces.
All over again. One minute he longed to pull her close and mourn together for the child they’d created but released to someone else. The next, he wanted to grab her and ask a million questions. Did she hold him when he was born? What did he smell like? Was she alone when she delivered or was the rich doctor already in the picture? Most of all—and this is the one that nearly killed him—could his son ever find him?
Blake’s knees grew weak and he sank into the chair in front of the computer. The thought of his own flesh and blood out there in the world, without him, was almost more than he could bear. Rubbing a hand across his scruffy chin, he tapped the computer to wake it from its hibernation and glanced over the reservations for the day. They were slammed. A party of fifteen had booked a white water rafting trip for the afternoon. That meant all hands on deck, so to speak. There wasn’t time to wallow. Somehow he had to put on his game face and get the job done.
The front door opened again and Jeremy came in, his face ashen. “Hey.”
Blake swallowed hard and managed a wave. “Hey.”
Crossing the shop, Jeremy came around the counter and stopped in front of Blake. “A fist bump hardly seems appropriate in this situation, but I wanted to tell you that Mom shared, uh, what happened.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, man.”
Blake held out his fist anyway. Jeremy bumped it, a half smile tipping up one side of his mouth. “Thanks. I’m sorry, too.”
Jeremy hoisted himself up on the counter. “I heard you stopped by Mack’s last night. Why didn’t you call me?”
“What were you going to do? Talk me out of taking a drink? Don’t worry. Lefty pretty much had that covered.” Even if Lefty hadn’t refused to serve him, probably half the bar would’ve run him out of there. One of the perks of living in a small town. Laughter escaped his lips.
Unraveled Page 21
