Page 47 of Unbroken

Blakely followed my line of sight and stood as well. “I should probably get going, too. I didn’t realize the time.”

“Don’t forget,” I said to my mom. “We have that appointment tomorrow morning with?—”

She waved me off and nodded. “I know, I know. Now, go. I’m going to run to the restroom real quick. Say bye before you leave, Blakely.”

Turning back to Blakely, I realized I didn’t know the proper way to tell her goodbye. Two years ago, we wouldn’t have left each other without a hug and a promise to see each other soon. But now everything is different. And saying goodbye made me worry I would never see her again. Because it had happened before.

Blakely made the decision for me. She pushed in her chair, stepped around the table, and lifted her arms to circle them around my neck. The hug was such a surprise that it took meseveral seconds to understand what she was doing and to hug her back.

I stepped into the embrace and snaked my arms around her waist. She squeezed me tightly, and we both relaxed. Her head wedged between my jaw and my shoulder, and she took a deep breath. I felt the rushed release of her exhale against my neck, and every hair on my body stood on end.

My head dipped, and my lips brushed against her temple. My facial hair was likely rough against her forehead, but she didn’t shy away. I pressed my cheek against the side of her head and felt my heart finally settle into a normal rhythm.

Seconds passed, then a minute. All while I ignored every feeling that undoubtedly bubbled to the surface.

“You should probably go,” Blakely finally said. She extricated herself from my arms and stepped back. Her smile was weak.

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking a step back. Until I was waving to her through the open back door and feeling guilty yet again for the twisting in my gut.

TWENTY-ONE

Blakely

The fruittray clutched in my hands was heavy. I’d weighed it down with every type of seasonal fruit I could think of and even made a special dip that I plopped in the center.

I’d spent a lot more time than I normally would have on the simple side dish since I was still trying to ingratiate myself to Hazel.

Whose doorbell I’d just awkwardly rung while trying not to drop said fruit tray.

“Come in!” I heard her call through the door, and I pushed the doorknob down with my elbow. It swung open quickly, and I had to catch it with my foot to keep it from slamming backward.

I bumped it closed with my hip and did it all without spilling the fruit. With a triumphant smile, I turned to see Hazel holding Sadie between her legs.

“She gets in moods and likes to sprint out the door,” she said. She let Sadie go, and the dog bounded to me and hopped around my legs with her tongue lolled out to the side.

“She’ll stop in a second, but you can bring that in the kitchen,” she said, motioning to the dish in my hands.

Their house was beautiful. Wide open floor plan with the highest ceilings I’d seen since my parents’ house.

But unlike my parents’ house, which was cold and only decorated for aesthetics, their house was welcoming with soft, neutral colors. The back wall just beyond the living room was lined with windows that reached almost to the ceiling, and to our right was a kitchen that was just as inviting.

I slid the tray onto the large island and turned just in time to see Hazel wince with her hand on herverylarge stomach. She caught me looking and shook her head.

“Just Braxton Hicks,” she said through gritted teeth. She took a deep breath before she stood.

It took me longer than I would’ve liked to admit to remember what Braxton Hicks contractions were.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, waddling over to the counter where she’d lined up several different juice options in pretty glass pitchers and had prosecco chilling in a bucket.

“I’ll just have orange juice, but I can get it.”

“No, I promise I’m capable,” Hazel said, her tone sharp enough that I immediately backed off. “Sorry. I know I’m pregnant, but I still want to do things. Luke has been a little overbearing. He doesn’t want me to liftanythingor stand up too long or breathe.”

She handed me my orange juice in a pretty, stemless champagne flute with an apologetic smile.

“That’s kind of sweet,” I said.

And she shrugged, filling another glass with cranberry juice and club soda. “I’ll probably look back on it and think it is. Anyway, I’m so glad you accepted my invitation.”

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