Page 39 of Salvation

Chapter 40

Blake

“Did you seriously tell Haden to back off?” I’m fuming at the sight of Wesley. His go-to black shirt, jeans, and boots adorn his hulking body. Swinging my basement door back and forth to make sure it’s working. I wasn’t entirely sure he’d still be here. Either way, he wasn’t getting off scot-free.

“What are you barking about?” He has the audacity to sound amused, and it only makes my temper skyrocket. I cross my arms over my chest.

“Haden blew off our date.”

He shrugs a shoulder as he shuts the basement door. “Maybe he just changed his mind.”

“Bullshit.” I jab my finger at his chest. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

He smirks. “If he’s the type of guy who scares off so easily, maybe it’s for the best.”

“Stop smirking! We’re in the middle of an argument!”

“I’m not arguing. You are.”

“That was not your decision to make!” I’m yelling at him, but despite my anger and his own seething off him, he doesn’t raise his voice at me. Not once. But my tone does sober up his own.

“He isn’t good for you, Blake.” He pivots away from me, walking to clean up his things.

“Don’t turn your back on me!”

His steps falter for just a beat, but he keeps on walking. “Right, like you’ve never turned your back on me.”

I don’t miss the double meaning in that. But howdarehe? He reaches over to pick up his flannel, hanging over one of the island stools. “That is different." I say firmly, voice rising with each word as frustration bubbles to the surface. "Thisisdifferent. It’s not your responsibility to decide what’s good for me.”

That causes him to straighten, leaving the piece of clothing discarded on the chair beside him. He whirls around to face me. “The girl I knew would have never let someone like Haden take her out.”

"I'm not the girl you knew anymore, Wesley. Stop pretending that you know anything about me." I snap. He flinches. Flinches like I just slapped him in the face.

“Noted.” He picks up his toolbox and flannel up from where they lay and turns his back to me once again. “Doors fixed. Let me know if you have any more problems with it.”

I just watch as he walks out my door, not even slamming it. A part of me hates how calm he is, how composed. I want him to turn back around and yell at me the same way I did to him. And I realize that's a walking contradiction, but it doesn’t change the facts. I turn to grab a water from the fridge, maybe more so to give my hands something to do, but it freezes on the handles when I realize my calendar was haphazardly wiped clear.

***

Today has been one clusterfuck of a day. Watching Gilmore Girls and drinking nearly an entire bottle of red wine by myself has donealmostenough to distract me from Wesley and I’s fight. My mom texted me, telling me that she and Elain were going shopping and that she’d take her home herself. So, I’ve been sitting here stewing, debating on whether I should just walk right over there and slap him or pull him in for a hug and apologize. I know the bigger picture is there, I know he was simply watching out for me. But he and I have way too much history for the words we exchanged not to sting.

Was it fair for me to hurl those words at his face? No, probably not.

Have I even given him a chance to know this ‘new’ me? Am I trulysodifferent from the girl I used to be? Or am I just praying that Iamdifferent?

Sometimes, I think the idea of being that small, breakable girl I was for so many years is terrifying, but she is entirely what’s made me the woman I am today. Maybe trying too hard to shove her as far away from who I want to be, is the problem.

Who knew your twenties would be so fucking confusing.

A knock vibrates from the front door, and I sigh as I must relinquish my wine and pause the TV to go answer it. I swing my legs off the couch and hurtle the blanket off my thighs. “Coming!”

A strong wave of nausea coats my throat at the sight before me. Marshall stands at my door, suitcase in hand.

“You can’t be here.” I swing the door shut in his face, only for it to stop when his hand hits the door.

“Blake. Please.” The way his voice cracks is enough for me to crack the door open just enough to peek at him. Disheveled hair, like he’s spent hours pulling at it. Bags under his eyes that makeit seem like he’s been getting little to no sleep. I let my eyes scour his face, looking for a hint of that spark I felt the first time I met him. Now…now he seems so plain. Nothing like the rugged, hard lines of most of the men in this town. His green eyes that I once believed to be so charming don’t hold a candle to the blue ones—

No.No. I internally chastise myself for even going there when my goddamned ex is standing in my doorway. This isn’t about Wesley.

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