Without a Hitch(5)

“Yes,” I say through a locked jaw.

She studies me for an uncomfortably long time before finally shrugging. “I gave up trying to figure people out a long time ago, handsome. Whatever floats your boat.” She chuckles at her inane joke and ushers me aboard.

Relieved to be able to move away from her, I stalk onto the small vessel like a villain in a Bond movie. I choose the bench that’s second from the back and ease onto the hard surface. Bench number two. Even. I wish I could say the same for the ship.

The ferry ride to Block Island’s shore is choppy at best. Motion sickness is a nasty bitch and three people hurl around me as the ship sways. My growing frustration comes to a boiling point when the small vessel shifts, sending us all sprawling to one side.

I catch myself, but my neighbor does not.

“S-sorry,” she whispers. When she looks up, I see the instant her shame turns to interest, and my stomach revolts.

There was a time when I may have found this young woman interesting. Not anymore. I gently shove her back to her side without saying a word.

Twenty minutes later, the ferry docks with an announcement that all trips have been canceled until the storm passes.

Looks like Blake will have a house guest tonight.

The island itself is small, maybe ten square miles, and it’s essentially a ghost town in the winter months. Scanning the near-empty parking lot, I’m relieved to see the black sedan waiting. My name is printed on a worn sheet of paper that sits on the dashboard.

I cross the parking lot, wrench the door open and cram my large body into the back seat.

Removing a folder from my coat pocket, I toss it on the seat next to me. At least the damn thing stayed dry.

“Welcome to Block Island,” the cheery teen in the driver’s seat says with a grin.

I frown. Is this kid even old enough to drive?

He shifts the car into gear, and we lurch forward. Jesus Christ.

“Sorry.” He shrugs while glancing in the rearview mirror. “I haven’t driven this car before. Got my license last month, though, so you’re good.”

“Three Dodger Lane,” I say. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

The flustered kid nods, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep from yelling at him. He could very well hold my life in his hands. I Googled it earlier. It’s less than a five-minute drive. Surely he can get me there in one piece.

“First time to the Block?” His voice cracks, and I grind my teeth.

“No.” It’s the best I can do. Asshole is my default now, but even I can’t be a prick to the smiling, pimple-faced kid.

“Oh, you friends with Mr. Kingston? He’s growly like you, but he’s nicer. He pretends to be a jerk, but mostly just to tourists.”

I tighten my lips to hold back a grin.

When the kid’s brain catches up to his mouth, his eyes go wide with fear.

I give him a semblance of a smile in the mirror. “Mr. Kingston pretends. I’m the real deal.” Even my voice sounds like a villain. Part of me hates that this is who they’ve turned me into, and the other part is grateful. I’ll never again be put in a position where love blinds me to the realities of life.

The car jostles as he turns onto a grass driveway. It’s difficult to see through the sleet coming down like a thick blanket, but the faint glow from the small home up ahead tells me Blake isn’t living like royalty out here.

My driver pulls as close to the house as he can get, and I hand him a hundred-dollar bill.

“Holy crap! I don’t have change for this, mister.”

“Keep it,” I grumble. I’m out of the car and up the steps a second later, pounding on Blake’s front door. Reluctantly, I turn to watch the kid as I wait. He’s attempting to turn the car around in the small drive, and a four-point turn quickly becomes a twelve-point turn. It reminds me of the time I taught Nova to drive, and a genuine smile surprises me.

I return to Blake’s front door with a shrug and knock harder this time. Then I do it again. The prick thinks he can ignore me. Hell, he probably does ignore most unannounced visitors, but not me.

The door is ripped open with so much force I feel the breeze it creates across my palm. “What?”

Blake hisses with all the dominance of a mountain lion, which is fitting considering his current appearance.

“If you want people to leave you alone, you’ll need to work on your delivery. It’s not scary at all.” I clap him on the shoulder and muscle my way past.

“Blaine? What the fuck?”

I unbutton my coat as I walk farther into his space. When I notice the yoga mat in the middle of the family room and a workout video my sister would probably enjoy on the large screen above the fireplace, I freeze mid-step.

“Are you…are you doing bloody yoga?”

Blake bumps my shoulder and points a remote at the screen on his way by. “It’s supposed to be good for meditating or some shit.”

My eyebrows must be near my hairline, and I feel my face transform. I can’t decide if I should give him shit about this or not. He makes the decision for me with his next breath.

“I’m trying to learn how to let go of the hate. It’s insidious and it’s rotting me from the inside out.”

Pure shock swamps me as I shrug out of my coat. “You’re going to forgive your father?” His father is single-handedly responsible for the car accident that took Blake’s family.