Page 25 of Dating After the End of the World
“That was a long time ago, and I don’t know what your combat skills are like now. Plus, when was the last time you even fired a gun?” He tilts his head.
I haven’t shot a firearm since I was eighteen, but I’m not going to tell him that. Does he not realize what I went through yesterday to get here? Not only that, but I also got here in one piece all by myself. He’s treating me like I’m fragile, like I could just shatter at any moment, but he’s the one who forced me to be strong. It was the only thing he would let me be. And now he doesn’t trust that I am. What was the point of all the training if I’m never going to be able to use it?
“Dad, my combat skill are fine. I literally took out three burners yesterday.”
“Burners?” Blake furrows his brow. “Don’t you meanzombies? This is exactly why you can’t come. You don’t even know what we’re dealing with.”
I step toward him, positioning myself just a foot away from his face, showing that I’m not intimidated by him in the slightest. I don’t care that he’s nearly a foot taller than me or that his biceps are practically the size of my thighs. I jab a finger in the center of his chest. He doesn’t flinch. I don’t care that it feels like I’m poking a rock right now either.
“No, I don’t meanzombies, Blake, and I know exactly what I’m dealing with ... a complete and utter dickhead.” I thrust my finger into his chest as I say each syllable.
“I think she’s talking about you, Morrison,” JJ simpers.
Blake rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, I’m aware.”
“I know this area like the back of my hand. I did eight years of combat training, graduated from medical school,andI’m a resident doctor. So, you know what that means? I can navigate better than you, can survive just as easily as you, and if someone gets hurt, I can actually do something about it.” I stare into his eyes, waiting for his response.
“Were,” he says.
“What?”
“Youwerea doctor in residency. Now you’re just a pain in my ass.”
Rage thrums through my veins, churning inside me. My hands become fists at my sides, and it takes everything in me not to throw one at his jaw. He’s the one who’s a pain in the ass, not me. This is my house. I belong here. He’s just ... an intruder.
“What are you even doing here, anyway? No one wants you here, Blake.”
“I was asked to be here.”
“By who?” The betrayal is already seething through my body, and I have no idea who to direct it at.
“Dale,” he says with a smirk.
I turn to my father, who stands by idly, letting the argument play out before him. I thought Blake just fled here. I had no idea my dadinvitedhim. How could he do that to me?
“Why would you invite him to live here?” I plant myself squarely into the earth, bracing myself for whatever nonsensical reason is about to escape his mouth.
“Because . . . we’re friends.”
My eyes dart between Blake and my dad. So Blake wasn’t lying when he said they were friends. But how? My dad’s a fifty-some-year-oldprepper who keeps to himself. And Blake is my age, and I assume his only hobbies are bullying and lifting weights.
“How in the hell did you become friends with him, Dad?” My eyes are so narrow, I can barely see my father.
He slides his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels. “Well, this place wasn’t easy to maintain alone, Casey, and I needed help with some of the bigger projects. So I put out a for-hire ad in the paper about a year and a half ago, and Blake was the most qualified applicant. He started out as my employee, but we became fast friends.”
“A year and a half!? You’ve been chumming it up with Blake Morrison for a year and a half?”
“What’s the big deal, Pearson?” Blake asks, cocking his head to the side. “Just ’cause your dad and I have spent more time together in the past eighteen months than you and him have spent together in the last decade doesn’t mean you need to—”
“Shut up, Blake!” I snap.
“Casey, don’t be like that,” my dad interjects. “It just worked out this way, and I didn’t realize this was the same Blake from when you were kids until you mentioned it last night.”
“How many Blakes do you think there are around here, Dad?” My annoyance with the both of them is building by the minute.
“Do you really expect me to remember that? The last time I heard anything about Blake was when you were thirteen,” he says.
I sharply exhale. I mean, it was a long time ago, and I did stop confiding in my dad about how horrible Blake was to me, only because his answer to the problem was either talking to Blake’s parents or reporting it to the school. I knew that would make it worse, so I just pretended like everything was fine, and I dealt with it on my own. Dad doesn’t know that it went on for years, all the way up until I graduated high school and got out of here. So I guess I can’t be mad at him for not knowing. But I can be mad at him for being the reason I left this place. The only connection I had with my dadwas prepping, and I hated prepping. But it was all he cared about. It was the only thing on his mind, so it was impossible to connect with him. Now he’s taking Blake’s side, after he spent years training me, preparing me for this exact situation. It’s bullshit, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting Blake boss me around.
