Page 27 of Trusting Blake
Without a word, Dad sprints back to take Popeye’s other arm, and together with Sheri, they shepherd him toward the door.
“MR. HARDING, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR SON’S AFFAIR?” someone yells amid the clamor of what feels like hundreds of other questions.
For the tiniest of moments, Popeye searches for the voice among the crowd, and his lips move as though to form words, but then he thinks better of it. I get the sense that there’s a lot Popeye would tell the world if he could, but it’s a line I don’t think he’d ever cross. He has his pride, and Dad is still his son, despite everything.
“They are dirtbags!” Sheri spits as she, Dad, and Popeye reach us inside and pull the doors firmly closed behind them. It shuts out the crowd, but their collective voices can still be heard.
“Shhh,” Popeye hisses. He shrugs Dad’s hand from his arm and points his bible in the direction of the main hall, then shuffles off ahead of us, clearly annoyed about being late and the undignified nature of our arrival, not to mention having intrusive questions thrown at him.
“I’m not sure about this,” Mom whispers only to me. She is so unnaturally pale, she may as well be a ghost.
Our footsteps light, we follow Popeye to the main hall where the service has, indeed, begun. The preacher is introducing today’s theme from behind his lectern: redemption.How relevant.As always, the pews are packed full, but we silently emerge from the back of the hall and into the empty last row. The sound of late arrivals stirs up some curiosity that causes heads to turn.
You can see it in their expressions as recognition dawns on them. That look of disbelief followed by a rise of the eyebrows as they turn to nudge the person next to them. More people tune out the preacher to crane their necks to see if it’s true that Everett Harding has really turned up at their local church service. A quiet rustle of gossip rises steadily until the preacher silences it with a glare.
Dad sinks down in the pew and has yet to remove his sunglasses. He stares straight ahead at the preacher, but I know he senses all the eyes on him.
My gaze scans the audience, row by row, until I spot the Bennett family. Savannah has her eyes on us, and she’s staring with her mouth hanging open in complete fangirl mode. I grimace at her to show my discomfort at this very public family outing, and then continue searching. Up near the front, as always, I find him.
Blake appears to be paying attention for once, but with all the commotion, he gives a quick flick of his head to see what’s going on. The perfectly trimmed hair around the nape of his neck has me envisioning running my hands up through the tousled locks, but I shake off the tremor of desire. I’m inchurch.Next to myparents.
And Blake is next to his mom, obviously. I knew she would be here, and now there will likely be a very uncomfortable encounter between her and my parents after the service. It’s a ticking time bomb. Through the entire service, I am wiping beads of panicked sweat from my brow. Maybe I should have texted Blake and warned him, but so far, LeAnne hasn’t looked back over her shoulder. It’s such a politician move, keeping her focus so deliberate despite everything unfolding around her.
When the service ends, people get up a lot quicker than they usually do and become a tidal wave of bodies heading for the rear of the hall. I expected us Hardings to have slipped out first, but Dad thinks we’ll be able to throw the paparazzi for a loop if we all split up and head for the van individually. So that’s exactly what we do, except for Popeye and Sheri, who stick together. I weave myself deep into the thick of the churchgoers heading for the door, until someone grabs my arm.
“I know we’re in church, but. . .” Savannah blinks, starstruck, as she whispers, “Oh my God!” She points through the crowd to Dad’s head, even more distinguishable because he’s the only fool wearing sunglasses indoors. “He’s right there! Like, in the flesh! That last pew? I’ve sat there before! I’ve sat on the same pew as him!”
“Savannah.” I take her hand between both of mine and squeeze hard to snap her out of her obsessed rambling. “He’s my dad, and I’m beyond angry at him right now, remember?”
“Oh! Of course,” she says, biting a nail in embarrassment. “Such anasshole,” she whispers, and I give her a little smile of approval. She’s right, but I wouldn’t have expected Savannah to swear at church.
“Better,” I reply. “I gotta go. Warning: It’s crazy out there.”
Outside, no one makes a speedy getaway today. People are lingering and milling about, trying to pretend nothing is out of the ordinary, but there is far too much to talk about – the bizarre presence of paparazzi here in Fairview and the fact that Dad is somewhere in the crowd. The paps lined up on the edge of the lot ferociously scan the crowd for his face – and those of the rest of us Hardings, I guess. A few people approach Dad, some to shake his hand, others clearly to try to engage him in conversation. I skim the crowd quickly.
Sheri’s van is not far now. I squeeze my way through bodies toward it—
“Mila! You guys are stealing the show today, aren’t you?”
“Blake,” I gasp.
His hand touches my hip as he closes in on me. Of course, I knew he was here, and despite how badly I would love to hang around and mingle with him like our previous Sundays, I need to slip away unnoticed. I need to get to the van, like,now.But Blake’s dazzling smile shines and all I can think is howhothe looks in his dress pants and shirt with a loose tie. I wish more than anything that I could just grab hold of him and escape somewhere just the two of us – no paps, no family drama, just me and him together.
“What’s up with all the cameras?” he asks with a pointed nod over my shoulder. “Did they follow you here?”
“Sort of,” I say, ducking down slightly. I’m not tall enough to be noticeable over the heads of everyone else, but this pink hair of mine isn’t exactly subtle. “I need to leave. I’ll call you—”
A firm hand latches onto my shoulder. “Mila, come on!”
The sound of Dad’s voice directly behind me has me praying that a sinkhole will swallow me up right here and now. I clench my teeth and shut my eyes, horrified, and Blake retracts his hand from my hip.
“Oh. Hey, Mr. Harding,” he says in a low, nervous voice. I peek through half-closed eyes and see him gawking at Dad, unsure how to react at bumping into my celebrity father.
But Dad barely notices him. He grips my shoulder harder, steering me around, and I can sense panic radiating through his fingertips. He wants to get back into the relative safety of the van, and at this point, so do I. This is absolutely not the time to introduce my dad to Blake.
Just as Dad is guiding me away, another familiar voice, one that grates on me immensely, calls, “Blake!”
Everything suddenly feels like it’s moving a million miles an hour, so many people and a hubbub of gossip and camera flashes and paparazzi lurking across the lot, and then LeAnne Avery comes into perfect focus.
