Chapter 45 45
The word came out stronger than he intended.
She looked up at him, startled.
He swallowed, choosing his next words carefully.
Lucas’s voice stopped her halfway to the door.
“Then tell me,” he said quietly, “why you never chased your dream?”
Blair froze.
Her hand was still on the handle.
Slowly—too slowly—her eyes shifted to the side, unfocused, dragged backward by a memory she never allowed herself to touch.
That night.
The bathroom light too bright.
The test shaking in her hand.
Two lines.
Positive.
Her breath caught.
No… no…
The room spun as the memory sharpened without mercy—
Her sister’s face hard with betrayal.
The shouting.
The accusations.
The door slamming.
Get out.
Don’t ever come back.
Her stomach twisted violently.
Blair’s fingers began to tremble.
Then her hands.
Her chest tightened, breaths coming too fast, too shallow.
How am I supposed to tell you? her mind screamed.
How am I supposed to say you ruined my life?
Her throat burned.
I hate you, the thought followed—raw, furious, soaked in pain.
I hate you for that night. For not remembering. For leaving me alone with everything.
She pressed her palm against the door to steady herself.
“Blair?” Lucas called, concern creeping into his voice now. “Are you okay?”
She forced a breath. Then another.
When she turned back, her face was carefully blank.
“I just… realized,” she said softly, managing a small, brittle smile, “that some dreams don’t survive reality.”
Her hands clenched behind her back to hide the shaking.
“I should go,” she added quickly. “The café’s busy.”
Before he could say anything else, Blair slipped out of the office.
And Lucas was left staring at the closed door, a strange ache spreading through his chest—
Blair trudged back into the café, head low, coffee apron still tied tightly around her waist.
She slid behind the counter, fingers brushing over the worn wood as if it could steady her thoughts.
“Why, Blair…” she whispered, voice trembling. “Why do you keep going out of control?”
She pressed a hand to her forehead, shutting her eyes tightly.
Because he’s… he’s a monster, she muttered in her mind, replaying every sharp word, every cold glance, every memory of that night five years ago.
He left me. He abandoned me. And now… now I’m here, and he—he makes my chest feel like it’s breaking all over again.
The café bell jingled softly. The last customers had left. The barista wiped the counter, nodding toward her.
“Time to close up, Blair,” he said gently.
She nodded silently, locking doors, turning off machines, stacking chairs.
Alone now, Blair leaned against the counter, exhausted in every sense—physically, mentally, emotionally.
I can’t let him see this… I can’t let anyone see this, she thought bitterly, staring at the empty chairs. I have to keep running. I always have to keep running…
Blair hurried through the door of Maverick’s daycare, heart still tight from the café.
“Mav!” she called softly.
A little bundle of energy ran toward her, arms wide.
“Mommy!”
Blair knelt down just in time to scoop him up.
“Still mad at me?” she asked, voice cracking, tears already threatening to spill.
Maverick blinked up at her with big, watery eyes and a soft, pleading smile. “No, Mommy,” he said, sniffling. “I missed you.”
His small hands clutched hers as he pressed into her chest. Blair hugged him tightly, burying her face in his hair.
He wiggled something small into her palm.
“It’s for you,” he whispered.
Blair opened her fingers and gasped. A painting. Vibrant colors, messy strokes, but unmistakably their little world—Maverick and Blair together.
Her heart ached.
But something stopped her. She noticed this time, something missing. Usually, in every painting, he’d add a small figure next to them—the father. But this one? It was just the two of them.
Her throat tightened. The truth hit her like a fist.
What I said… about him not having a father… it got to him.
Her tears spilled freely now, hot and unrelenting. She pressed her face into his tiny shoulder, crying silently.
I’m the monster, she thought, clutching him. I ruined him. I ruined everything.
Maverick looked up at her, his little hands patting her back.
“Mommy… why are you crying?” he asked softly, voice innocent, eyes wide.
Blair sobbed harder, rocking him gently.
“Because… because I love you so much,” she whispered. “And I’m so sorry, baby… I’m so sorry.”
Maverick hugged her tighter, as if he understood, as if he could carry some of the weight she felt crushing her heart.
Blair and Maverick stepped onto the curb, the crisp air brushing their faces.
Suddenly—a car came barreling toward them.
“Watch out!” a voice shouted.
Before Blair could react, a strong hand yanked her and Maverick backward. The car swerved just in time, tires screeching against the asphalt.
Blair’s heart raced, her chest heaving. She turned and saw him—standing there, calm but intense, eyes scanning her and Maverick for injuries.
“Hope he’s not hurt,” Alexander burke said, bending slightly to check Maverick, his hands gentle yet firm. “That was close.”
Blair’s legs felt like jelly. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze shifted to her, sharp and piercing.
“How can I ever repay you,” she added, still shaking, “for… risking your life?”
The words hung between them.
Alexander's jaw tightened. His thoughts raced
If only you knew, Blair… the extent I could go for you. The lengths I’d cross, the rules I’d break… just to keep you safe. Just to keep him safe. Just to keep you alive.
Alexander took a slow step back, still holding the space between them, his gaze sharp yet controlled.
“I… I’m Alexander Bur—” he began, about to say the last name, letting the weight of it settle between them.
Then he paused, memory flicking like a warning. His detective’s voice echoed in his mind: Sir… she hates rich men.
Alexander’s jaw tightened, and he stopped mid-sentence.
Instead, he softened slightly, forcing a neutral tone. “I’m…
Alex,” he said, just enough to introduce himself without the burden of wealth or legacy hanging in the air.
Blair blinked, taken slightly aback. Not the full name. Just… Alex.