Page 33 of Ransom

I remain silent, my gaze fixed on a spot on the wall. I can feel their eyes on me, waiting for a response, but I've got nothing to give. How do I explain that Blair isn't just my foster sister but the woman I've measured every relationship against for the past twenty-five years?

Nick breaks the awkward silence. "So, what now, Ransom? Five million clearly isn't going to cut it."

Mav nods. He trades glances with the others, then looks at me hesitantly. "Maybe it's time to stop. We've tried everything short of kidnapping her and forcing her to sign."

I feel a muscle twitch in my jaw. "You're right," I say, my voice low and controlled. "It's time to stop."

They all nod, relief evident on their faces. But inside, I'm far from done. I'm going to get that paperwork signed myself. More than that, I need to see her face, hear her voice. I need to know,once and for all, that she hates me as deeply now as she did that night. Maybe then I can finally close the door on us.

"I've got some things to take care of," I say abruptly, turning on my heel. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

As I walk away, I hear them muttering among themselves, probably wondering what the hell just happened. But I don't care. My mind is already racing, planning my next move.

I head straight for my office, shutting the door behind me with a bit more force than necessary. I slump into my chair, the weight of years of feelings pressing down on me.

My brothers have no clue what I'm about to do, and that's exactly how I want it. They'd try to talk me out of it, tell me I'm being irrational. Maybe they're right. But I can't shake this feeling that I need to do this, that I need to see Blair face to face.

It'll be simple. A couple of hours to drive out there, a few minutes to talk to her, get the paperwork signed, and I'll be home before midnight. Easy.

But as I start gathering my things, that hope rears to life again.What if she doesn't hate me as much as I think she does? What if there's still a chance?Logically, that's the last thing I want. My life is here, in this city, with my family. Going back, making a life anywhere but here, is not in the fucking plan.

No. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the dangerous thought. I'm going there to end this, not to rekindle something that died years ago. I need to see the loathing in her eyes, hear the venom in her voice. Then I can finally let go of the ridiculous hope that's been haunting me for more than half my life.

This isn't about us anyway. It's about Robert. And I always keep my promises. That's why this is so important to me. I need to fulfill Robert's dying wish. That's the only reason I'm going.

It's not because I want to see Blair. And I sure as fuck don't want to see if there's still that same spark between us.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself as I grab my keys and head for the door. But deep down, I know the truth.

I'm terrified of what I might find in Badger Falls, but I'm even more terrified of spending the rest of my life wondering, "What if?"

12

BLAIR

"Come on, you stubborn piece of—" I grunt, giving the winch another go.

"Piece of shit!" Mr. Johnson chimes in, his weathered face creased with frustration.

The tow truck's engine roars, straining against the suction of the earth.

"God dammit!" we both yell at the tractor. Mr. Johnson snorts and sets me to laughing too. When you're up to your knees in mud, what else are you supposed to do? We both had hissy fits, as my dad would call them, twenty minutes ago. At this point, it's gone past frustrating and into cartoon silly.

With a final heave and a wet sucking sound, the tractor breaks free. We both throw up our arms, cheering, mud-splattered, and grinning like idiots.

"That'll teach me to plow after a rainstorm," Mr. Johnson chuckles, wiping his brow.

I unhook the tow cable, my boots squelching in the muck. "At least it's out now. There's no more rain in the forecast, so you should be able to get back at it in a day or two."

Mr. Johnson nods, then takes a few sucking steps toward me. "Why don't you come in for supper, honey? Ann made her pot roast."

I hesitate for a moment, but only out of habit. These aren't strangers; they're practically family. "You know what? I'd love to. Maggie's at some school thing with Max, and I was planning on eating cereal." I like cereal a lot. But the sugary kind, my favorite kind, always leaves me with a headache. Maggie says I should just eat less of it, but who the hell can just have one bowl?

Psychopaths. That's who.

Inside, Mrs. Johnson fusses over us, tsking at our muddy clothes but smiling all the same. She's a farmer's wife. This isn't the first time she has mud-splattered company at her table. I do my best to clean up at the wash sink on the porch, but there's not much point. The mud's off my face and hands but I can't do much about the splatters everywhere else.

We settle at their round kitchen table, and Mrs. Johnson serves me up a more than generous helping of everything, and after a quick prayer, we all dig in. Dad and I used to pray before supper. We didn't go to church much, but that's one habit that hung around after grandpa died.