Flee (11 page)

“And then, out of the blue, you show up and it's like I let out a deep breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I can almost feel myself healing in your presence. Why is that? You seem to soothe my traumatized soul. Life is beginning to make sense again, to feel like it's worth living. I've been holding tightly on to pain. I guess I felt like if I didn't hurt, then I was dishonoring my parents and forgetting how much I loved them, so I didn't let myself heal. You know when you pointed out that I don't eat enough?”

I nodded, stroking her hand with my thumb.

“It really got me thinking. It's not just that food has no taste. I think it's that I've been trying to punish myself. As if enjoying anything anymore is wrong. And then
bam
, I look into your eyes and I want to enjoy life again. I want to laugh. I want to live. I look back on what I was letting myself become, and I'm horrified. My parents would be horrified. In trying to honor them, I was doing the opposite.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don't want to be that person.”

Blake paused to wipe tears from her face with the hand I was not holding. “I don't understand how or why you've had such an effect on me, but I'm glad. You anchor me to reality. I want to be with you all of the time. You calm me. I can sleep around you. I'm not afraid anymore.” She stopped again, her breathing shaky, her eyes darting back and forth for an instant before focusing on mine.

“What did you say to me in Spanish?”

She was completely vulnerable and beautiful. I had no option but to speak truth. Boundaries could hang.

“I said that you're the reason the sun rises in the morning. That I want to spend the rest of my life driving that haunted look out of your eyes and making you laugh. That you're beauty itself, and I'm blessed to be in your presence.” So much for maintaining distance. I just couldn't with her. I needed her. She needed me. It was that simple. Decision made, I decided to lay it all on the table.

“I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think I love you.” I stopped when she began to cry, and then sob, quickly crossing to her side of the table and taking her in my arms.

“Why are you crying?” I was truly confused. This was not the response I had been expecting.

She struggled for a moment to get control. I held her and waited until she could speak.

“I was so scared that you didn't love me. I'm not very lovable, you know. I'm a big mess. And if you didn't love me, I was so scared I was going to crawl back into my hole and forget how to live. I guess I'm crying because I'm relieved.” She reached blindly for a napkin, her face buried in my arm. I placed one in her hand, and she wiped her face with it. “I love you, too,” she whispered, taking my breath away with the vulnerable and trusting look in her eyes. “So, now, what does this mean?”

I laughed and reached up to brush the tears off her face with the back of my hand. “You like to have things all nailed down, don't you? Well, it means we need to have a serious conversation. There are things about me that you should know before you make any kind of commitment to me.”

“Too late. I'm already committed to you. I can't seem to function without you. It isn't a choice.” She gripped my shirt so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“I know, and that scares me. I'm not exactly what you think I am. I'm not sure I'm entirely what you need. I want to be, though.”

She looked at me seriously for a minute and then smiled. “I don't know what you're referring to, but I was taught to judge someone by their heart and character, and yours is pure and good. I can't imagine that you could say anything that would scare me away.”

“Even so, we need to talk. But not here and not now. Come on.” I pulled her to a standing position. “My mom is waiting to meet you. I'll throw away our trash while you blow your nose. You're a little, uh, blubbery.”

“Blubbery? Great, I'll add that to the list of negative adjectives you have used to describe me since we met.” She grabbed some napkins off of the table. “You know, you're going to have to say a whole lot nice things about me to balance all of that out.”

“That shouldn't be a problem.” I tossed our trash and turned back to witness the end of her nose blowing. “Only you could make that look cute. See, how was that for a start?”

Blake shot me a dirty look.

“Besides, I never said blubbery was bad. Maybe I like my women all wet-faced and phlegm-filled.”

“Okay, that's gross. I'm beginning to change my mind. Maybe you can scare me away.” She threw away her tissue and turned back to me. Her face was puffy, and her eyes were red-rimmed, but her expression was peaceful. I had never seen her look like that. It both thrilled and scared me. Was pursuing this crazy? Was I dangerous to her?

I took her hand, and we walked to the truck. A man I recognized from the security team stood up from a table near the parking lot and subtly followed. Blake didn't seem to notice. Shoot, I wouldn't have if I hadn't been looking. I opened her door and shut it after she had climbed in. Deep in thought, I slowly walked around the back of the truck to my door. My plan to help her but encourage a safe emotional distance between us had failed. How committed to it had I ever really been? There had been a strong magnetic pull between us, present from the moment we'd made eye contact. I don't know if either of us could have resisted it if we had tried. One thing I did know, I would not let who I was endanger her. The safety and happiness of both my mother and Blake were my number one priority. I was certain I would willingly give my life for either of them. I just hoped I wouldn't ever have to.

Blake

I could breathe, really breathe. Deep satisfying breaths. I closed my eyes and let the oxygen flow into every cell in my body, filling them and energizing me in a way I hadn't experienced in a long time. Mateo loved me. I felt like I had nothing to fear anymore. I was still a mess, still raw and wounded. But my physician sat beside me, and I knew I'd recover. His presence and goodness were my miracle drug. How quickly things could change. It was a frightening thought. Could they change back just as quickly? I laid my head back against the leather headrest in the fancy truck and focused on what was good and right. Mateo was quiet beside me, lost in thought, but his hand still held mine. I was tethered to it. Was it possible to go through life without ever letting it go?

About fifteen minutes into the peaceful drive, the car began to slow, and I opened my eyes. Mateo looked over at me, pulled my hand gently to his mouth and softly kissed it. I shuddered and then blushed, embarrassed by my reaction. It was hard, after so many months of feeling pain and trying to disguise my vulnerability, to suddenly feel so happy and try not to hide any emotion. I felt exposed, but not in a bad way. I trusted him. It was just such a strange new sensation, and I was having trouble adjusting to it.

We stopped in front of a big solid wooden gate that slowly opened, revealing a beautiful modern Tuscan-style house. The Austin skyline was visible in the far distance, lights twinkling in the tall buildings like stars. Mateo pulled in front of the garage to the left of the house and parked. I reluctantly released his hand and rubbed the still-warm spot he'd kissed. I climbed out of the truck and then froze when I saw what occupied the left side of the lawn.

“No way! You have your own soccer field?” I jumped down and walked toward the miniature field. Mateo shrugged.

“I have two brothers and athletic parents. We like to play together.” He jogged over to the nearest goal and picked up a ball, booting it to me. I trapped it, and he grinned.

“You know, I've never seen you play, Soccer Boy. How ‘bout a little one-on-one?”

“How ‘bout we wait until we aren't stuffed? I don't think I'm capable of much running right now.” He picked up the ball I had kicked back to him and tucked it under his arm. “Tomorrow?”

“Chicken,” I replied. “And how are you stuffed? I'm still hungry. That was such a small serving of food.”

Mateo chuckled and took my hand. “It was a huge serving of food, and you ate every last bite. But I'm glad you're still hungry. I have a surprise for you.” We walked around the house and onto the back patio. The covered space was stylish and comfortable with a fireplace and outdoor kitchen. Plopped in the middle of the all-weather sofa was the most adorably fluffy chocolate-colored dog I'd ever seen. He jumped up when he saw us, running to Mateo's feet and sitting expectantly. Mateo reached down and scratched his ears.

“Doodles, this is Blake. Blake, Doodles.”

I laughed and reached down to pet him. “He's cute. Does he run with you?”

“Only to chase a tennis ball. I'm afraid he lives quite the life of leisure around here.”

Mateo walked to the back door and opened it, motioning me in. A woman rose from the couch and approached us, smiling warmly. She was petite, in startling contrast to Mateo's tall frame, and ivory-skinned, but other than that there was no mistaking she was his mother. Her slightly curly dark hair, cut into a stylish bob, her piercing blue eyes and her kind expression were all him. She looked at him adoringly for a second before turning her eyes on me. A wave of unexpected sadness washed over me.
Momma, I miss you so much
. I gritted my teeth and blinked.
Hold it together.
Mateo's hand found mine and squeezed it. Was there anything he missed?

“Blake, this is my mom,” he said, his eyes not leaving my face. “Mom, this is my Blake.”

Mateo's mom's head snapped up to look at his face at the same time I did. She seemed surprised but not upset. He had said
his
Blake. I did belong somewhere. Mom and Dad and Brody were gone, but I wasn't lost and alone anymore. The thought calmed me. I pulled my hand free of Mateo's and reached it out to shake his mom's already extended one. Mateo's hand found its way to the small of my back, a soft casual touch reassuring me of his presence.

“It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Reyna. Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you, Blake. It's a pleasure to have you here. And please call me Meg.”

She motioned us farther into the family room. The colors of the room were mostly soothing, soft spa blues, with splashes of brighter fun colors. Playful art decorated the walls. The overall effect was fun and comfortable. I relaxed even more, sinking into the overstuffed couch. A man entered the room then, speaking Spanish into a cell phone, and I was instantly charmed. In his black pants and shirt, his shoulder-length hair tied up in the back, he looked so much like a Mexican hero I halfway wondered if he had his mask in his pocket. He hung up his phone and approached us, greeting Mateo in Spanish and then looking at me.

“Blake, this is my Uncle Hector. Hector, this is Blake. She's a bit of a sucker for the Spanish language, so please refrain from using it around her. I don't want your machismo distracting her from me.”

I blushed, embarrassed for a moment, before thinking of a comeback. “I thought you told me Hector was your dog. The one you go running with who can never keep up?”

“What? Oh, you are asking for it, muchacho.”

Hector was over the couch in one bound, narrowly missing Mateo, who instantly sprang up from his seat and rolled, landing in a tucked position across the room. He was laughing, his body tensed for Hector's next move.

I knew my mother would have been horrified at such activity in her living room, but Meg was smiling and rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

“Come on, Blake. Let's exit the battleground and go to the kitchen. I hope you saved room for dessert.”

She took my hand and guided me out of the playful chaos. Hector and Mateo were taking boxing jabs at each other now, intentionally missing but talking a lot of smack.

“Boys are always boys, no matter how old their outer shell gets. Mateo is my third son. When he was born, I gave up hoping for some calm and balance in the house and just learned to embrace and love them for who they are. That doesn't mean, however, that we have to sit in the middle of that. And they do know,” she spoke louder now, directing her voice back toward the sparring men, “that if they break anything in there they will live to regret it.”

Meg gestured for me to sit down at the bar, and Mateo materialized beside me, his hair disheveled.

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, but his eyes twinkled. He turned toward Meg. “I'll get dessert, Mom. You sit.” He gathered plates and forks and glasses, whistling as he did.

Meg sat beside me at the bar. “I've had to smell this all day. I thought you would never get here.” She bounced on her chair like Benji did when he was excited about something.

Mateo laughed. He set a cake dish in front of us, removing the lid and revealing a single layer chocolate concoction.

“Simmer down, Mom. It's just a cake.”

“My favorite cake in the whole world, and you only make it for me once a year, so this is an unexpected treat.”

“You made this?” I asked him, surprised, as he cut a piece for me and covered it in a creamy sauce.

“Before you get impressed, you should know it's one of the only things I can make. I'm not real good in the kitchen.” He put a piece in front of Meg.

“That's not true,” Meg replied. “You're very talented in the kitchen, just mostly in the consumption of food, not production.” She placed a bite in her mouth. “Mmmm. You haven't lost your touch.”

I sat, staring at the cake in front of me, nervous. Mateo had made this, and I wanted to have the appropriate response. But what if I couldn't taste it? Should I fake my enthusiasm and spare his feelings? No, I decided. I never wanted to mislead him in any way. But I also did not want to disappoint…

“Hey.” His voice was soft in my ear, his hand resting casually on my shoulder. “It's just a piece of cake. All that matters to me is that you consume those calories. I don't care if you like it or not. I won't take it personally.”

Was he a mind reader? I watched him in awe as he turned away, cutting a piece of cake for Hector and chatting with his mom, his eyes carefully avoiding me.
He's giving me privacy
. How silly that I need privacy to take a bite of chocolate, but somehow I did, and he knew. I placed a bite on my fork and slowly put it in my mouth. It tasted like… chocolate. Rich and creamy and delicious. I began chewing with more enthusiasm.

“You okay?” Again, his voice soft in my ear, his arm encircling my shoulders. I realized with some embarrassment that I had tears running down my face.

“It's just really good,” I mumbled, taking another bite and trying to hide my face behind my hair.

“Don't worry. Mom had the same reaction the first time I made this cake for her. Cried like a baby.”

“I did.” Meg laughed, handing me a tissue. “Mateo made it for my birthday when he was eight. It was pretty awful, but it was the first time any of my boys had made anything in the kitchen for me. You should have seen the mess. All over the kitchen. All over Mateo. Even the dog was covered in cocoa powder. And there he stood, proudly holding his partially collapsed cake in the middle of that mess, such an adorable expression on his face. I burst into tears over his thoughtfulness and then ate every bite of that awful cake. Practice makes perfect. It does help when you don't forget to add sugar.” She ducked Mateo's gently thrown dishtowel. “I'm just sayin'…”

This is my new happy place, I realized, as I sat there savoring every bite of the rich, fabulous chocolate. Mateo's arm did not leave my shoulders. He stood beside my barstool, talking and laughing with his mom and Hector as I ate. Meg finished her piece of cake and then placed her hand gently on my knee. Her eyes stayed on Mateo's face, but she seemed to be sending the signal that she was there for me. Mateo must get his compassion from her. I was both grateful for and saddened by her sweet maternal touch. Hector sat on the other side of Meg, giving up just halfway through his piece of cake.

“
Mijo
, that is too rich for me. How do you eat a whole piece?”

“Nothing is too rich to a true chocoholic, Hector,” Meg replied. “You are just a wuss. Or maybe it's that you're not a chocoholic.” She sighed, as if that was a terrible thing to wish on someone. “I guess that just leaves more for me and Blake.”

She spoke my name proprietarily, as if Mateo's claiming of me had allowed her to do the same.
I'm happy. I don't ever want to leave here. This is a good and safe place
. Something deep inside of me relaxed.

Then Hector spoke, and my hastily claimed contentment shattered.

“So, Blake, what do your parents do?”

The tension in the room was immediate and intense. I froze. Mateo tightened his hold on me until I almost couldn't breathe. Meg gasped. Though the sound was barely audible, Hector caught it and immediately looked both confused and chagrined. If I hadn't been suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, I would have found his
What did I do?
look comical.

“It's okay,” I whispered, looking down and struggling for composure. After all, we couldn't ignore the elephant in the room forever. This was part of who I was, how I was, and I wanted Mateo to know and understand all of me.

“I think it's time I filled in some background information on myself.” I looked at Mateo, stared into his concerned eyes, trying to gain strength. “I don't want to have any secrets from you,” I whispered. Meg and Hector silently rose, trying to make a discreet exit.

“No, please stay.” I loved Mateo, and this was his family. I wanted a family. I suddenly wanted
this
family.

“I want all of you to hear.” Was that asking too much? Was it okay to unload some of my darkness on these nice people? I bounced my feet on the rung of the barstool, nervous and uncertain. “Unless of course you don't want to.”

Meg rose and hugged me. “Of course we want to, Blake. We want to be here for you.” Her eyes were as intense as Mateo's. “Why don't we move back into the living room where it's more comfortable?” She led the way and Hector followed, still looking confused.

I didn't move at first, until Mateo gently lifted me down from the bar stool, his eyes questioning mine. “You sure? You don't have to share anything you don't want to. I don't want you reliving anything hard.”

“No, I need you to hear this. Just be patient.” I had been able to tell the whole story only once, and then only with the counselor Joe and Mary dragged me to. “It may take me a while.”

“I have as long as you need. Don't worry.” He took my hand and led me to the big cushy sofa, where he sat and tucked me in next to him, one arm around my shoulder and the other holding my hand. Meg and Hector had already taken chairs opposite the couch.

I took a deep breath, which shuddered as I exhaled. Could I do this? I had relived that night, like a constantly looping scene from a horror movie, in my head for months. I couldn't find the off button. At first I hadn't wanted to. I'd wanted to suffer, to feel all of the pain. When it had gotten to be too much, I'd learned to look away, distract myself until I had to look again. But I couldn't turn it off.

Lately, since Mateo, I'd been better at the distractions. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't a distraction. It was like he'd stepped in front of the screen, and I could no longer see it. I sometimes forgot it was even there. And now I needed to look at it full force. And I did need to. If I didn't face it, I couldn't turn it off. And I wanted to turn it off, to end the horror show and concentrate on the good memories. It was time.