CHAPTER 6

Blair's POV

“Stop, he could come at any time,” I heard my mom giggle from behind her bedroom door. Her voice was hushed but airy, coated in flirtation. “We’ve done enough—now leave before anything else happens.”

"Baby, you know I’ll miss you," a male voice replied softly.

I paused at the top of the stairs, hugging the hallway wall like a shadow. That voice. It wasn’t unfamiliar. It echoed too closely to a memory I tried to bury.

"Yeah, I know, but my husband is about to come home," she whispered back.

The sound of hurried shuffling followed, then the door creaked open. Out stepped my mother and the man I’d recently been introduced to as my “soon-to-be tutor.” Ten-year-old me stood in the hallway, paralyzed by confusion and instinctual dread. The two adults froze.

"Honey..." My mom blinked, feigning surprise. “What are you doing here?”

"I came looking for you... I’m hungry," I said, not taking my eyes off the man beside her.

Her expression tightened, lips twitching into a false smile. “Oh, really? It’s okay, dear. Your tutor was just leaving… Let me make you something to eat.”

"I’m not hungry anymore," I muttered and turned, my small fists clenched at my sides as I walked away.

Beep.

The sound cut through the silence of my room like a knife. I groaned, swatting my phone off the nightstand in an attempt to silence the alarm. My body felt damp again—sweat coating my skin like an unwelcome second layer. That dream—no, memory—had been creeping into my sleep more often lately.

I sat up, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm, my heart still unsteady. I checked my phone. A stream of texts from Max stared back at me.

Max:

Please tell me you're coming today.

Customers are asking for your service.

My brother was literally going crazy again.

I thought you stopped with the off-and-on service.

Today I'm seriously coming to pick you up. Be ready at eight.

I sighed and texted back simply:

Me:

Alright.

Max could be dramatic, but his intentions were real. He had always been one of the few constants in my life—loud, obnoxious, but reliable. I figured I owed him some consistency.

By 10:00 a.m., I was dressed and out. I wore ripped blue jeans and a navy crop top, paired with my black Nike sneakers. I left my hair loose but slipped on a face cap—part shield, part comfort. Grabbing my skateboard, I slipped quietly out the door, unnoticed, as usual.

The morning air felt brisk against my skin, fresh and cold—refreshing, almost. As I skated toward the park, my stomach grumbled, a loud, angry protest I couldn't ignore.

Right. I hadn’t eaten yet.

I made a detour and headed toward McDonald’s. The second I stepped in, the warm, greasy aroma wrapped around me like a hug. I inhaled deeply.

Me likey, I thought, letting a small smile crack through.

I ordered a simple meal and sat at a corner table, pulling out my phone and absentmindedly playing Candy Crush until my tray arrived.

"…Mute?" a voice startled me.

I looked up, blinking at a guy whose name tickled the edge of my memory.

T… something?

“Tyler,” he said, as if he’d read my mind.

I gave a small nod and looked back at my food. Just as I took a bite, he lingered awkwardly beside the table.

“You know, I’m free right now…” He looked around. “Do you need some company?”

I raised an eyebrow, giving him the classic are-you-serious-right-now? look.

“…Or not.” He scratched the back of his neck, offering a nervous smile before walking away.

Sheesh.

After eating, I dropped some cash on the table and left. On my way to the park, Jax’s face or what's his name? suddenly flashed across my mind.

Why him? Why now?

The park was still quiet, just how I liked it. I took off, skating in smooth, fluid circles, letting my thoughts blur with the motion. It was freeing, like flying in my own little orbit where no one could reach me.

But eventually, my legs grew tired and I slowed to a stop, sitting down on the nearest bench. I gulped down some water, my eyes drifting upward.

The sky was so blue it almost hurt to look at—vivid and wide and empty.

Oh Daddy, I thought, feeling a familiar ache settle in my chest. I wish you hadn’t met that horrible woman you called a wife. She never loved you. If she had… you’d still be here with me.

I didn’t notice the tear slipping down until it was already trailing down my cheek.

I closed my eyes and leaned back. Then, I felt it—a soft touch, brushing away my tear before I could.

My eyes shot open.

Jax?

He stood over me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… something about them wasn’t mocking or amused.

It was soft. It was real.

Maybe pity. Maybe concern. Maybe something else.

I shoved his hand away and stood abruptly, grabbing my skateboard. My chest tightened, heat prickling behind my eyes.

Why is he always there? At the moments when I’m too raw to hide?

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I skated away from him—fast, faster—my vision blurring with tears. I didn’t care where I was going. I just needed to leave.

By the time I checked my phone again, it was 6:58 p.m. I blinked, stunned. Had I really been out for that long?

My stomach growled again. Loudly.

Great. I was exhausted, broke, and too far from home. The temperature was dropping fast. My hoodie would’ve been perfect right now, but nope—today of all days, I had to leave it behind.

I sighed and started walking, dragging my skateboard beside me.

Then I heard it.

"Hey."

That voice.

His voice.

I turned slowly, hoping—praying—it was my imagination.

Nope. Jax again.

He walked up to me, both hands tucked into his pockets like some laid-back, casual heartthrob out of a movie.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t trust my words to come out without shaking. I tried glaring at him, but there was no fire left. Just... tired smoke.

I turned away and started walking again.

He caught up easily, matching my pace, saying nothing for a while.

I was starting to forget he was even beside me when he finally spoke.

"I get it."

I froze.

He turned to face me, sincerity written all over his face.

"But I just want to help," he said. “Please don’t keep going like this. Something about you pulls me in, Blair. I don’t even understand it myself. I try not to care, but I do. I keep thinking about you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes.

Typical. Sweet words with empty promises.

I scoffed. “You really get it? What exactly do you get? Tell me!”

His eyes widened at the sharpness in my voice. Good. He needed to see that I still had claws.

When he said nothing, I shook my head. “Exactly,” I spat, and walked away.

Back at home, I threw myself into a whirlwind of getting ready. I wore a pair of black thigh-high pantyhose and layered over them with high-cut shorts and an off-shoulder blouse that hinted just enough at my waist. I tied the blouse at the bottom, letting it flare slightly at the sides. The jacket was more for show than comfort—but I needed something to feel safe in.

Max:

I'm outside your porch.

Me:

k. Be right there.

I crept down the stairs.

Of course. She was waiting.

"Where are you going, hon?" My mother’s voice was sugar-laced, her eyes glistening too fast to be genuine.

"None of your business," I snapped, stepping around her.

"Please, honey… I don’t want you to get your life ruined."

I paused at the door. That word.

Ruined?

I turned to her slowly. My voice was low and bitter. “You can’t ruin what’s already been ruined.”

I stepped outside, slamming the door shut before she could respond.

Max was waiting with the engine running, the usual loud music toned down—thank God. He looked at me and said nothing. That was rare for him, but it was exactly what I needed.

He didn’t ask why I looked so wrecked.

He just drove.

And honestly?

That silence felt like the loudest comfort I’d had all day.