Running on Empty (12 page)

“Well, Alex,” he says nervously clearing his throat. “Um, that’s actually
my
fault. I invited him.” Trace stops to let it sink in that I just ripped into my best friend for no reason…then continues.

“I knew Harlow was inviting you, and Blake and I have been friends forever, so I invited him. I had no idea you guys had any kind of history. He’s never mentioned you. I thought you guys would hit it off,” he says chuckling. “But obviously I was wrong. Honestly Alex, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

Trace and Blake were friends? Like long time friends? And he never mentioned me? At all? Like, ever?

Well, jeez…

Don’t I feel like a narcissistic asshole.

In an effort to not completely ruin the rest of the evening, I figure it best to stay and let Harlow and Trace have some time to catch up. Obviously, having already reached my drinking threshold, I drink only water for the rest of the night. While rehydrating, I do manage to get Trace to tell me Blake’s top secret location.

Although staying with his parents really isn’t groundbreaking news, Trace seems extremely hesitant to give up the information…most likely because of my unfortunate outburst earlier in the evening. However, approximately three shots later – shots that I bought by the way – I’m able to wrangle it out of him. I do this knowing I have some major damage control to take care of in the morning.

Harlow is refusing to really engage in any conversation with me, understandably so. After a while, I ask if it’s okay if I just take her car to my house. Since I haven’t had anything to drink since my run-in with Blake, which was two beers and three hours ago, it’s safe to say I have no more alcohol in my system. And I kinda don’t want to watch her flirt with Trace anymore. Some things are just better unseen.

She immediately responds with an enthusiastic “Yes!”, since that leaves her “needing a ride”. With the delighted look on her face, I’m pretty sure that all is forgiven between us.

Nancy calls to let me know that she’s already taken the girls to her house and encourages me to sleep in the next morning.
Yeah, right.
That would be wonderful, except I really don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight or tomorrow morning. I have plans to be up early.

Leaving the bar and finally making my way to the house, I find my thoughts wandering to my earlier outburst with Blake. The look on his face when he first saw me was one of complete shock, so I’m pretty sure he had no idea of Trace’s matchmaking scheme. But it was the look of outrage on his face right after I first approached the table that wouldn’t leave my mind. It actually sends a jolt of pain to my heart. Even in my slightly inebriated, obviously ill-tempered state, it hurt to see that he was
that
angry with me.

With the memories of the last day of summer that Blake and I shared still lingering in my mind, I start to really allow myself to think honestly about the past. I feel completely…well, I feel at a loss. Had I been so completely callused to not even acknowledge Blake’s gift to me? Did I even bother to discuss the charm with him? Ask him what it meant? What he was trying to say?

No, I didn’t.

My lip starts quivering as I begin to remember how much Blake was actually involved in my life. Time that I chose to dismiss. It’s weird, because now that I think about it, Blake was always there. Blake and I had been best friends. We grew up together. We did everything together. But after I met Derek in junior high, I just left him behind…without even a second thought. No more phone calls, no more fishing, no more movie nights. Nothing.

No wonder he wants nothing to do with me.

I start to feel anger rise in my bloodstream, but not at Blake this time. This anger is reserved for me. I had become so wrapped up in Derek and the infatuation that started the day I met him, I completely disregarded any prior history with Blake. Thirteen years worth of history. And I continued to do it through high school. I never attempted to make contact with him during college or even to call him when we moved back to Waco. What kind of person does that make me?

No wonder he never mentioned me to Trace. And here I was convinced that he came back to Waco to save
me
. To be
my
hero. To fix
my
life…

Utterly disgusted, I walk into my house knowing that the first thing I’m going to do tomorrow is go to Blake Morgan and apologize for the person I was. And the person I have evidently become.

The drive to Mr. and Mrs. Morgan’s house is a familiar one. And it’s a good thing it is, because I’m finding it extremely hard to concentrate on where I’m actually driving at the moment. I am, however, breaking down every possible scenario that could happen when I knock on that door. Good news is, as each and every scenario plays out in my head, they all end in one of two ways. He either speaks to me or he doesn’t.

That’s a 50% success rate. Not bad when considering my actions last evening…that and those many years I spent dismissing Blake entirely.

Memories begin to flood my mind as I drive up to the red brick two story house I spent so much time at while growing up.

…Blake and I climbing the huge oak tree in the front of his house to get to the tree fort we built together when we were seven years old.

…Both of us playing hide-and-seek in the garden by the side of his house with me yelling at him for cheating...there’s no way he could count to one hundred that fast.

…The time we made a bike ramp and tried to jump the fence…definitely not one of our best moments. I find myself grinning widely at that memory. Mainly because Blake couldn’t make the jump, ruined his bike, and had to ride his sister’s very pink Barbie bike until he
learned his lesson
(as his parents put it). I tortured him with that one for years.

Parking my car in the drive, I look at the front door and breathe a heavy sigh. I glance down at my hands as I remove them from the steering wheel – they’re slightly trembling. I shake them in an effort to get rid of the obvious nervous energy and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I run my hair over my ponytail to smooth any fly-aways and exit the car. Looking down while straightening my “Goonies Never Say Die” t-shirt, another memory surfaces.

Blake and I used to make homemade t-shirts all the time together. Mine were always way better than his,
of course
, but at least he tried. My favorite one of his was this army green,
G.I Joe
“Knowing is Half the Battle” t-shirt. He wore it all the time. So much so that the iron on letters started falling off and it eventually read “Koin is alf Bat.” God, I would laugh every time he would wear it. I think that’s why he wore it so much.

I look back at my hands. They are still shaking. It seems that even with the comfort of old memories running through my mind, I still can’t shake off my nerves. Making my way to the front door, I mentally chastise my anxiety. “This is ridiculous, Alex. You’re a grown woman. Act like it,” I mutter while walking up the porch steps. I note there’s only a motorcycle parked in the driveway, which bodes well in my favor. This is going to be difficult enough without having a parental audience.

Approaching the door, I raise my fist to knock, pausing for another second to take in a cleansing breath. Breathing out, I say a prayer and knock loudly.

I hear his heavy footsteps coming towards the door, followed by the sound of the deadbolt unlocking. I watch nervously as the handle turns, but when I look up, I’m completely unprepared for what is standing directly in front of my face.

As the door flies open, so does my mouth. Blake is standing in front of me, shirtless, wearing only his red and navy plaid pajama bottoms, bare feet on the floor. His light brown hair is all over the place, but incredibly sexy as it falls messily over his forehead and flips out from behind his ears. One look at this man’s stomach renders me momentarily speechless, and I have to fight to keep myself from running my hands over every single hardened ridge of his abs. So instead, I place my hands over my open mouth and start giggling like a ten year old little girl.

Mid-giggle, I notice the door starting to close. I quickly jump into action. I immediately put my foot in the doorjamb and my hands on the door, using all of my weight to keep him from being able to close it – a trick he taught
me
by the way.

Shaking his head at me through the opening that I’m desperately trying to maintain, Blake emphatically states, “Nope. Mmm-mm, Alex. It’s too early for this right now. Go home.”

I start to say something when he cuts me off. “There can’t possibly be anything left for you to say after the drunken tantrum you threw last night. You remember? The one you decided to throw in the middle of a bar? The one in which you embarrassed the shit out of yourself?
Very
classy by the way…”

Jeez…obviously I wasn’t the only one who got zero sleep last night.

“Blake, ple–” I start to say, but as I try to push as hard as I can to keep the door open, he shoves the door making progress in his attempt to shut it and I’m thrown backward a bit, cutting off my words. “I don’t want to talk right now, Alex.” I push back with all of my might.

“Well…
too bad
. You need to hear what I have to say, Blake!”

Quickly turning my back to the door, I push as hard as I can, using my legs for strength. I extend my arm and wrap my fingers around the side, to get a better grip. Unfortunately, at the same time, Blake finally manages to slam it shut.

I swear I hear four separate crunches before I can get the words out of my mouth.

“Blake! My fingers! Damn it, open the door! Now!” I’m sure my fingers have fallen straight to the floor. I don’t even want to look.

The door jerks open and I hastily pull my throbbing fingers to the safety of my chest. Moisture gathers in my eyes as I move my hand in front of my face to examine the now very red, very flattened sections of my fingers where the door caught. My whole arm is shaking as the pain pulsates clear up to my shoulder. I pull it back into my chest and protectively cover it with my other hand, and turn to glare at Blake through the tears.

“Shit, Alex. Let me look at ‘em,” Blake says angrily. I’m not sure if he is mad at me or at himself for hurting my hand. But just in case, I continue my glare. He whips open the door and steps out onto the porch.

Oh.

My.

God.

He looks even more gorgeous in the sunlight. Almost like that day on the lake, with the sun peeking through his messy hair. If I wasn’t in excruciating pain right now, I would be really enjoying the view.

Alex, control yourself
.

I attempt to clear my mind from all potentially naughty thoughts. Then I remember my situation and gather my wits.

“Really, Blake? What the hell?” I ask in annoyance. “I get that you’re pissed, but can you at least act like an adult about it? Slamming the door in my face? Real mature,
jerk
.” I try bending my fingers. They’re stiff, but I can bend them a bit. I grimace and suck in a breath as pain shoots up my arm.