Just My Type(52)

She’s not coming right out and saying it, but I can tell by the pause and the serious look on her face across the table from me that she wants to make sure I’m not fucking around.

“Has he even thought this through? Does he really want to be with a single mom with a shit-ton of baggage?” I ask, crossing my arms and jamming my fingers under my armpits, my knee bouncing up and down under the table.

The fear that rushes through me as soon as I vocalize those words out loud tells me that Blake doesn’t have to worry. I don’t think I’m fucking around either. I’m worried Baker will realize that me trying to warn him away about being a mom wasn’t necessarily a waste of time. I’ve got baggage. I’m still angry at my situation. I spend a lot of time making sure my son still has two feet on the ground, when his father likes to keep him up in the clouds by spoiling him with stuff. It’s a full-time job, even though I’m only with him fifty-percent of the time. Even more so lately, since Brandon has been flaking more and more when it comes to his son. Showing up late, forgetting to show up, not showing up at all. Dating me means dating me and my baggage.

“Did my brother tell you about our Uncle Butch?” Blake asks, leaning back in her chair and mirroring my pose by crossing her arms in front of her.

“He told me about how he came out to visit after Baker came home from overseas, and took him to his first boxing gym, which gave him the idea for The Barracks,” I tell her, Baker and I never getting a chance to discuss him more at the birthday party, since after that kiss, work clearly wasn’t on either of our minds.

“He’s our mother’s brother. And the only family member who didn’t disown me when I told them I was gay,” Blake explains, my throat getting tight and my eyes welling up when I think of how painful that would have been for her. “Uncle Butch was career military. Devoted to his job, never got married, never had kids of his own. Baker and I were his kids. Uncle Butch isn’t a hugger; he doesn’t talk about feelings or how much he loves you. Every time you complain about something, his response is always, ‘Back in my day…’, and he flat-out calls you a pussy for bitching about anything being hard.

“When Baker got hurt, he came and he stayed until we didn’t need him anymore. That’s just the kind of person he is. Old, crotchety, retired Marine, who doesn’t have time for anyone’s bullshit, but when we needed him, he dropped everything and he came. My dad hung up on me when I called to tell him what happened to his son. Uncle Butch knew I couldn’t take care of Baker on my own, knew I wouldn’t understand what kind of personal hell Baker was going through, and knew I wouldn’t know how to give him the kind of take-no-bullshit, kick in the ass he needed to help him recover and move on.”

Blake pauses, and I quickly get up from the table, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge, handing one to her as I sit back down. I wait for her to take a drink before she continues, too distracted by the things she’s telling me to do anything with my own water bottle but pick at the label.

“Uncle Butch invested in The Barracks, because he believed in what Baker was doing. And Baker doesn’t take that lightly. My brother eats, sleeps, and breathes that gym,” Blake tells me, spinning the cap to her water bottle on the table. “Uncle Butch made Baker pull his head out of his ass after he came home. Made him stop feeling sorry for himself, made him want to be better and do better, and do something to show he was grateful for the second chance he’d been given. When I tell you my brother had no life before he met you, I’m telling you, he had no life. From the minute the idea for The Barracks started turning into a definite possibility, that gym was his life. And as great as what he’s doing is, it’s also stressful, and depressing. Months could go by without getting so much as even an amused smirk from him. He definitely never laughed.”

I know what’s coming before she even says it, some kind of intuition making my heart beat faster and my palms start to sweat.

“Until the day I caught him in his office, chuckling out loud like a jolly fucking elf, grinning like a fool. Which I later found out was because he was reading an email from you,” Blake finishes, my heart stopping its erratic beating to melt into a puddle of goo.

“Baker is the strongest guy I’ve ever met. Bubble baths, and love affairs with porn star hedgehogs aside,” she adds with a small laugh. “He needs a life outside the gym. A life that makes him forget his job can get a little frustrating and depressing, and makes him chuckle like a creepy elf and smile like an idiot. But that job, it helps him forget he has a shitty knee. That’s the whole purpose of that gym—for everyone to forget their shitty parts. He needs the same thing in his personal life. He needs to feel just as strong and just as powerful as someone without a shitty knee, which means he can be a little bossy.”

“I’m sending a car for you. You are not riding the goddamn train.”

“Cancel the fucking pinky swear.”

“We’re going out tonight. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

I smile to myself, thinking about things Bakers has said to me, and how right Blake is.

“He knows you have baggage. And he doesn’t give two shits about it, because he knows he’s strong enough to help you carry that baggage wherever you need it to go, for however long you need to lug it around,” Blake continues, my chin starting to quiver as I try to hold back my tears. “Let him carry your fucking baggage, Ember. He’s a strong guy. He can lift it. Plus, it will give him a chance to show off his guns, like he always wants to do.”