Page 4 of Trusting Blake
“Yesterday.” My tone is devoid of any emotion. I can’t meet her gaze, but I don’t think she’s trying to look me in the eyes either. “What time is it?”
My phone has been turned off since yesterday, so I can’t tell if it’s entirely broken or if it’s only the screen that’s damaged, but I’m not ready yet to switch it back on to check. Ruben, Dad’s manager, is still controlling my social media accounts, so I don’t have access to them even if I wanted to. Right now, that’s probably for the best. That fuzzy image of Dad and his co-star, Laurel Peyton, will be circulating all over Instagram. Their names will be trending on Twitter. Their fan pages on Facebook will be chaotic.
“Just after nine. You’ve been out cold since yesterday afternoon,” Sheri says. She sits down on the edge of my bed and awkwardly straightens out my comforter. “And I suppose that broken phone of yours explains why a very persistent boy has been blowing up the landline for the past hour.”
I perk up in surprise, giving her all my attention. “Blake?”
“Yes. Blake,” she says, and I only now notice how tired she looks. Unlike me, I don’t think Sheri has had much sleep at all. “He’s worried about you. He thinks you’re leaving town.”
“Did you tell him I’m not?”
“I didn’t tell him anything, other than that if you want to talk, you’ll call him back.”
I exhale a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about things yet.”
“That’s probably a good idea right now,” Sheri agrees, and I think she, too, knows to keep her mouth shut over the next few days. We Hardings really do need to maintain a low profile more than ever. “Your mom will be here soon. She’s on the first flight out, and your grandfather and I have agreed that it’s best if both of you stay here for a while.”
“You don’t mind?” I ask, surprised. Mom has never visited without Dad before, and considering the relationship Sheri and Popeye have with Dad, I’m not sure what that means for Mom.
“We’re not letting you stay in hotels. We have room enough here,” Sheri explains with a kind smile. “Besides, it’s not your mom I have issues with. It’s your asshole of a father—” Mortified, she quickly stops herself. “Sorry, Mila. I shouldn’t talk about him like that in front of you.”
“But you’re right,” I say. “Heisan asshole.”
“Hmm.” Sheri rises from my bed and tucks a loose strand of curly hair behind her ear. “You must be hungry. Grab yourself some breakfast, and then how about we order takeout for lunch?”
“That sounds nice.”
There is a very big elephant in the room, one that we are tiptoeing around the edges of, but what can we possibly say? Until more details emerge of Dad’s alleged affair, there is no point discussing it. Right now, there are too many questions that need answers, and neither of us can provide them.
Sheri gives me a brief hug. “We’re downstairs if you would like some company,” she says, then leaves me to be by myself again.
Moving over to the window, I set down the mug of coffee Sheri gave me and gaze out over the ranch’s well-maintained fields that sit beneath a clear blue sky and a blazing ball of sunshine. Another beautiful day,of course.Beyond the stone walls, I wonder what exactly the world thinks of Dad right now.
What are Savannah and Tori saying about such a Hollywood scandal that revolves around my parents? What about all the local Fairview High students I’ve interacted with over the past month? What about Blake?
I feel nauseous at the thought of my dad’s name being on everyone’s lips.
And maybe it’s my twisted curiosity, or just the need to believe it for myself, but I take a deep breath and, elbows propped up on the windowsill, switch my phone on. The screen may be lined with thick cracks, but the device still works. It boots up while I wait with bated breath, and then, all at once, a thousand different alerts sound out as the smashed screen fills with notifications. Missed calls, unopened text messages.
There are missed calls from Mom, from Sheri, from Ruben, from my closest friends back home in LA, from Savannah, and even from distant relatives I haven’t spoken to in forever. There are none from Dad, but thirty-seven from Blake Avery. They range from yesterday afternoon up until early this morning, when I guess he decided to give up trying my cell in favor of the Harding Estate landline instead.
He thinks I’m leaving. I thought I was going to leave too. What exactly I would have done once I got home, I don’t quite know. I just don’t want to be kept in the dark about anything more than I already have. I want to be there. I want to comfort my mom. I want to confront my dad. I’m old enough now to be told the truth.
But I don’t need to go home anymore, because Mom is coming here, to Fairview, to the Harding Estate where the towering walls will shield her. I am staying exactly where I am. . . and I want Blake to know that.
I hesitantly return one of his thirty-seven missed calls. I perch myself on my windowsill and draw my knees in tight to my chest, my lip caught between my teeth in trepidation. I don’t really want to talk to anyone right now, and I’m not quite sure what to say, but Blake at least deserves some reassurance that I am, in fact, not going anywhere after all.
He answers on the second ring, as though his phone is already in his hand, expecting my call.
“Mila,finally,” he says with deep relief in that gorgeous accent of his. He exhales loudly, and I picture him running his hand through his hair.“Are you okay?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“Of course – sorry, that was a stupid question,” he groans, and then, nervously, he asks, “Have you left Fairview yet?”
The obvious concern in his voice makes me feel, surprisingly, a little better. While the world is focused on Everett Harding, at least Blake is only worried about me. “I’m not going home,” I tell him. “I’m staying here for now.”
“Wait. You are?”
