Page 15 of Trusting Blake
“No. LeAnne told me herself. Straight to my face,” I spit, remembering that awful night after the bonfire when she drove me home and broke the news to me that she was once engaged to Dad. I didn’t deserve to find out that way. It might have happened way before I was born, but surely my parents shouldn’t have kept that a secret. Surely they realized information like that would find its way to me eventually. I would have much rather heard the truth from Mom and Dad than from a stranger, one who obviously holds a massive grudge against them still – and, by extension, me.
Dad stands up, furious. “How dare she! How the hell did the two of you even end up in conversation?”
“I met her at church,” I say quickly, because I don’t dare to mention Blake yet. Ididmeet LeAnne at church, so it’s not a lie. The way Dad seethes even at the mention of her name makes it pretty clear that Sheri and Popeye were right – he will not be happy to find out that Blake and I are. . . something.
So, for now, I’m keeping a secret too. I learn from Dad, I guess.
“That woman is. . . She’s out of her mind,” Dad grumbles, angrily shaking his head. “She’s got some nerve talking to you.”
“But why shouldn’t she talk to me? And she told me the truth, right? Youdidcheat on her with Mom,” I say, still cross-legged on the grass and staring up at him as calmly as I possibly can right now.
Dad groans and places his hands on his hips, his stance wide. “That was twenty damn years ago, Mila. It’s history.”
“History that’s repeating itself.”
“Mila, please don’t. It’s not your place to throw things in my face.”
Now I get up from the ground. I rise to my full height, dust myself down, and take a step closer to Dad. We are face to face, sun burning down over us, our tempers even hotter.
“You know what I think, Dad?” I growl. “I think you’re a coward and a fraud. You sent me out here because you were scared that I might stir up bad publicity, but the only person ruining your image isyou.”
And because I don’t think I can maintain my composure for a second longer, I spin around and storm away before I burst into tears in front of him.
I leave Dad in the long grass by himself and race back to the house, seething. A hot mess of tears and fury and confusion. Too much damage has been done, and I don’t know what it will take for me to forgive him, let alone trust him, again. One conversation is nowhere near enough to fix things. There is a lot to sort out, and it’s going to take time, and it’s not always going to be civil.
As I head back inside, Mom and Sheri glance up from the dining table, apparently waiting to hear how my little talk with Dad went, but I barely even look at them. I head straight for the stairs and disappear into the safety of my room.
All of these difficult conversations, all of this suffocating tension, all of the family drama, not knowing which way to turn for the truth. . . it’s as far from a carefree summer as possible.
I don’t want to be here. I want to escape.
And thanks to Blake, I know exactly how.
Grabbing my phone, I pull up his number and call him. As the dial tone sounds, I dash around my room, shoving my wallet, my remote for the gate (for backup), and some lip balm into my shoulder bag.
“Good morning, Mila,” Blake answers cheerfully, evidently pleased to hear from me so soon after our late-night talk in the moonlight.
“I need out of this ranch,” I say without missing a beat. “Please meet me at the wall.”
7
I’ve got splinters in my fingers and can feel myself sweating with exertion as I drag an old wooden ladder through the fields toward the far corner of the ranch.
Blake should be here soon. He promised to leave the minute he hung up, and it doesn’t take too long to drive over here.
When I reach the spot where Blake and I spoke last night, I set the ladder up against the wall and wipe the dirt from my hands.
A few minutes later, I hear the purr of an engine and the soft roll of tires through the grass pulling up on the other side of the wall. I can’t see anything, so I’m praying it’s who I want it to be – not one of those vultures at the gate. The engine dies and a car door opens.
“Mila, are you there?” Blake calls over the wall.
“I’m here,” I say, my chest relaxing with relief. I’m actually getting out of here, and most importantly, getting out of hereundetected.At least by the press. My parents and Ruben, on the other hand? Yeah, I expect trouble from them when they discover I’m nowhere to be found within the ranch boundaries.
“I’m glad you called,” he tells me, just as I hear the thud of what sounds like him leaping into the truck bed. “Did you find a ladder, by any chance?”
“I did! It’s right here.”
“Okay. Hang on.”
