Cracking open his heart and spilling his soul to her had rocked Blaise to his core, but telling Hadley about his past had been the right move. He knew that with pulse-pounding certainty.
The way she’d held on to him had given Blaise strength to continue, to find more closure, something missing for too long. He couldn’t change his past, but he also couldn’t allow himself to be ashamed by what happened.
It wasn’t his fault.
He knew—had known—that logically.
His parents hadn’t been forced to try drugs. They’d chosen to take them. Not once, but over and over again. That choice had led to a disease—an addiction they couldn’t beat.
Blaise had done what he could, as a kid and as a teenager, to help, but their answer to him had always been the same when he’d wanted them to get help.
I can’t.
Except he’d heard something different all those years ago.
I can’t because you’re not worthy of my love.
I can’t because you’re not a good enough son.
I can’t because you’re not as important as the drugs.
After talking with Hadley the other night, however, his heart finally understood and embraced the truth. His parents had saidI can’t, but he was the one who had filled in the blanks back then. No longer.
Not. His. Fault.
The three simple words lifted the two-ton weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying all these years. He had also learned something else.
He’d made a wrong decision, one that had been shadowing and mocking him for years. Keeping the past bottled up wasn’t helping him. Refusing to share what happened with even his closest friends had fixed nothing. But telling Hadley…
Her easy acceptance, the way she’d praised him, gave him a sense of peace that had eluded him for too long.
After turning off her television and telling her goodnight later that Monday night, he’d stayed awake. He’d thought about her, his mom and his dad, and himself.
Maybe Blaise feeling like an outsider was his perception colored by his past, not reality. Maybe he should trust his friends with more of his story, not assume how they would react and reject him. Maybe he need to chill.
On Tuesday, Blaise had called his once-former high-priced therapist’s office and made an appointment. Now he was freaking out. He could reschedule. People—patients—did that all the time.
Blaise considered it, but he wasn’t stupid. Postponing would only delay the inevitable. He needed to go. He just hadn’t imagined Dr. Alvarez adding an appointment slot so he could speak with Blaise.
Today.
In less than an hour.
He flexed his fingers to keep them from curling into fists.
His phone buzzed, a welcome relief from the silence. Maybe his appointment was being rescheduled.
Wishful thinking.
More like hopeful.
He grabbed his phone off the desk. Text messages filled the screen. None from Dr. Alvarez’s office. One, however, caught Blaise’s attention.
Robyn:Hadley feels up to sitting in the family room so I’m making her a bed on the couch. Should I wait to serve her dinner or are you working late?
Blaise:Wait. I’ll be home on time.
Robyn:Working from home on Monday. Now dinner at home for the second night in a row? Methinks Hadley is good for you.
