Page 105 of When We Are Falling

Trudy pulls me into a hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done tonight,” she says. “This means so much to Blake. And to us, too.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte adds, giving me her own hug. “We really appreciate the way you’ve been there for Blake.”

A shake of my head. “No, it was all her.”

They share a glance, and I get the sense they know something I don’t. Or maybe they see something in me, the changes I’ve been working on. Either way, it makes me smile.

“Well,” Trudy says, leaning in a little closer, “just know that we’re rooting for you.”

I raise an eyebrow, but before I can ask what she means, someone calls out to them and they leave me standing there. Making my way through the crowd, looking for Blake, people around me are having a really good time. It’s awesome how well everything came together.

Then I see her.

Blake.

She’s standing by the stage, talking to one of the volunteers, and the second my eyes land on her, everything else fades away. She’s in a deep blue dress that hugs her curves in all the right ways, her red hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. Her face lights up the entire room, and there’s that familiar ache in my chest, the one that tells me just how much I still love her.

She’s so damn beautiful it almost hurts to look at her, but I take a breath and keep walking closer. When she sees me, her eyes brighten, and that smile—God, that smile—makes my heart do that stupid flip thing again.

“Hey, you,” she says. “Everything’s going smoothly, thanks to you.”

I shake my head, standing beside her as we watch the crowd. “Thanks tous,” I correct, giving her a sidelong glance. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we? And your vision for tonight was perfect. “

Her eyes meet mine, and for a split second, the air between us shifts. There’s a spark there, something burning so bright the entire world could catch alight if we let it.

We spend the next hour working together, moving through the crowd, checking in on the auction, chatting with everyone who turned up. It’s easy, almost effortless, the way we move in sync. It almost feels like old times—like we haven’t missed a beat, even after everything we’ve been through.

As the evening goes on, the band takes a break, and the room quiets. Blake goes to the stage, the spotlight sending brilliant ruby streaks through her hair. Several former foster children are lined up to speak, and Blake introduces them. The first girl, maybe in her early twenties, looks a little nervous as she grips the microphone, but when she starts talking, her voice is steady.

“I was six when I entered foster care,” she says, her eyes scanning the crowd. “I didn’t have anywhere to go. For almost a month I slept in an office while I waited for a home. I didn’tfeel safe, and I didn’t feel like I mattered until I was placed with a family who gave me a room of my own, a bed I could sleep in every night, and for the first time, I felt like I had a future. A place to belong.”

I glance at Blake. She’s standing beside me, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the stage. There’s emotion in her expression—pride, sadness, and best of all, hope. Just as the young woman pauses, a loud, crackling sound erupts from the speakers, and then—nothing. She’s saying thanks, but hardly anyone can hear her, and the crowd starts murmuring, confused.

Blake freezes for a moment, her eyes darting to the stage, then to the back where the DJ looks worried. “Damn it,” she whispers under her breath. “I knew I should’ve double-checked the setup.”

Tension builds in her shoulders, and I place a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Before she can even respond, I weave through the crowd toward the DJ, who’s frantically adjusting dials, but it’s clear the equipment’s fried. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. The whole system just cut out. We’re dead in the water.”

I glance at Blake, who’s gone to the stage and is telling people in her loudest voice that we’ll just be a few minutes, even though she looks less than confident about the situation. I scan the crowd for Jake, find him, and hurry over. “Hey, you still got that portable speaker system in your truck?”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m setting up Jake’s portable system on stage, reconfiguring the mics while Blake watches from the stage. As the final cable clicks into place, the speakers come back to life with a smooth hum, and she picks up the microphone.

“Sorry about that, folks,” Blake says. “We’re back in business. I’d like to welcome Harry Andrews to the stage. He’s themanager of everyone’s favorite Mexican restaurant in town, and a former foster youth.”

As she hands the microphone to a young man with his hair neatly combed back, wearing a pair of slacks and a white shirt, Blake catches my eye and shoots me a grateful look.

Harry clears his throat. ”I spent most of my teenage years bouncing between shelters and group homes after my parents left me and my little brother to pretty much fend for ourselves. Things seemed very dark, very bleak, but when I finally found a foster family, when I had a safe place to sleep... It changed everything. This fundraiser, what we’re doing here tonight, it’s going to give kids like me hope. A chance. And that’s all anyone really needs—a chance."

I move to stand beside Blake as Harry keeps talking about his experiences—I can tell she’s deeply moved. Hell, I’m deeply moved. Hearing these kids talk about what a safe place meant to them... it’s a reminder of why we’re doing this. Why it matters.

The speeches continue, each one more heartbreaking than the last, and as applause fills the room after the last speaker, I turn to Blake. She’s wiping away a tear, quickly trying to compose herself.

“You okay?”

She sniffles. “Yeah. I just... I didn’t expect to have it hit me this hard.”

---