Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(102)

I walked to the door slowly, not wanting her to be frightened or scream.

“Blake?” I said quietly as moved into the open doorframe.

I startled her, but she covered her mouth. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. Her mouth was open behind her hand and she sobbed. Her eyes overflowed, it was like they held back an ocean and her eyes fissured, leaking behind her lids.

“Shhh,” I said shaking my head. My stomach lurched at the poor sight in front of me. As I crouched before her in her white gown, I felt all of the pain that this whole thing had caused her.

She knew. She felt it as much as I did.

Her chest heaved silently, stifled by her perfectly manicured hand. She wore false nails. I don't know why that struck me and resonated, but it did. Blake bit her nails. If she was nervous, she bit them. When she was anxious, bored, troubled, she mauled her fingers until they were a mess. Slapping some false shield over one of her personality traits—something so telling about who she was and what she was thinking—made me think irrationally.

She was uncomfortable.

She was a mess, but she didn't have her nails to show it.

Fake nails, for a fake wedding. At least to me, it all seemed fake.

“Don't do this, honeybee. Look at yourself,” I urged her. “You don't have to do this to yourself. You don't look like a woman about to get married. You look devastated. Please, stop crying. Talk to me.” I rubbed my hands soothingly up and down her thighs, trying to give her some comfort.

Her hand fell away and her eyes clouded over, an eerie stillness came over her face. She took a few breaths, holding a hand out in front of my face. Palm-side out. But she didn't look into my eyes. She hadn't since I crouched in front of her.

“Stop. Just stop.” She hiccupped and sniffed. “Why are you here, Casey?”

I didn't answer. Surely she knew damn well why I was there.

“Why don't you ever just leave me alone?” Her voice broke as she whispered a scream, “Leave. Me. Alone.”

“No. Talk to me.” I hadn't expected her to be so angry, so livid. I guess I hadn't thought about it all the way through. There were things that I still had to know. “Why him? Why not me?” My hands found my hair and I pulled it in frustration.

“You know why,” she said with heated venom, reminiscent of the Blake I was used to. But then it iced over just as fast when she continued, “Don't act like this was something that it wasn't.”

“Not wasn't,” I shouted, a little louder than I should have. Then softened, “Is. It still is.”

“This isn't a f*cking love story, Casey. This is life.” She huffs, then choked back a sob. I try to think of something to say to that. Then she continued, “We met in a bar and we had a one-night-stand.”

I was grinding my teeth. My jaw ticked hearing her blasé description of a night that meant so much to me.

I defended, “One-night stand? Woman, there's nothing about that night that was ever going to be just a one-night stand.” I shook her leg, and my teeth set to clench again. “Now. Call. This. Shit. Off!”

A fleeting spark danced across her brown eyes. “It's too late.” Her words gentled. “We can't do this anymore. I can't take it. It's too hard. I'm too tired. Please, leave me alone. Just go, Casey.” Her stupid mouth must have made her heart mad, because the hands that had been hanging loosely at her sides were now balled into fists.

Then she shoved me back with them. At first weakly, then she came at me again.

I stood up, taking her with me grabbing her with my hands. My shaky fingers wrapping easily around her small wrists.

Her nostrils flared and her breasts rose and fell in fast succession. The white lace of her dress raised and lowered with each hit of air her lungs stole from the room. She stared at me. Her eyes clear and so resolute.

“Fine,” I let her go. “Hit me. Blake, kick me out! You've always been good at that. Go ahead. Get mad. That's all you, but you're not fighting me.” I stepped back feeling my own temper rear its head again. Like a tidal wave every time my mouth moved, I couldn't hold any of it back anymore.

What was the point?

“You're. Fighting. You,” I said slowly. And I punctuated it with my finger in her chest. Not hard enough to move her, but enough for her to feel me and know I was going to fight back. “You f*cking love me. Not him!” I shouted.

“It's too much!” she yelled. “Oh, God what have I done?”