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He’d bare his soul to the world if it meant getting her back.
Once they turned on Old 51 Highway, the traffic all but disappeared and soon, they arrived. Blake parked in such a way that Chloe could capture him and the bike with the picturesque view in the background.
She studied his choice and nodded approvingly. “This will work.”
She removed the helmet and started to retrieve her equipment from the bag. Glancing up at the sky, then back at him, she gestured toward the sun. “We’ll have to work fast in order to take advantage of the light.”
He helped her set up the tripod, then moved the bike a couple inches this way or that as she tried to line up the perfect shot. Once she had the position she wanted, she pointed to his shirt. “Some guys have taken their shirts off completely, others have just unbuttoned them and left them hanging open. The musician wore an open vest with his jeans. It’s up to you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Blake stripped off his shirt without hesitation. With his chest bare, the badge he’d hung from his jeans showed better. They’d discussed whether or not he should wear his gun belt, but decided against it.
Chloe rolled her eyes at his quick disrobing.
“You didn’t really expect me to be shy, did you?”
She shook her head, then bent down to fiddle with her camera. Blake was unnerved by her continued silence. Apart from discussing the photo shoot, she hadn’t engaged in any real conversation. He’d let her get away with that until their work was finished. After that, all bets were off.
She snapped a couple of shots she called testers then nodded approvingly at whatever she saw in the viewfinder. “The crash point on this setup is amazing.”
“Crash point?”
“Sorry. Photography slang. It’s just an expression someone used in one of my classes once that stuck with me. Basically, it has to do with symmetry and the rule of thirds. You are the crash point. Everything in this image draws the viewer’s eye to you.”
She didn’t bother to explain further. Instead, he stood, turning this way and that as Chloe worked her magic with the camera. He was no stranger to being her model. He’d posed for countless pictures that summer so long ago. She had been enrolled in her first photography class and was obsessed with applying everything she’d learned, dragging him along any time she needed a model.
Then he considered her term. They were at a crash point. Everything that had happened in their pasts had put them on this course, until now…all that was left was this moment and the truth.
Blake tried to put all that away, focusing on Chloe’s instructions, letting her call the shots. He teased her about it, saying he’d never noticed her dominatrix tendencies. She pretended to crack a whip, then continued to take pictures.
All too soon, she decided she’d captured exactly what she needed. She appeared pleased, but that look passed quickly, replaced by one of reticence, nervousness.
Once they’d finished packing all the equipment away, Blake locked the bag, securing it to the bike.
“Walk with me.” He held out his hand.
Chloe hesitated and he feared she’d refuse. He raised his eyebrows, silently pleading with her to give him a chance to explain.
She sighed. “Okay.”
She accepted his proffered hand and they walked along the shore, listening to the sound of the water repetitively slapping against the bank. It was quiet for a Sunday afternoon in May. The weatherman had forecasted a late-day shower, so Blake could only assume the threat of impending weather had kept most people away.
He led her to a private spot then gestured at the grass. “Wanna sit down for a while?”
She nodded and plopped down on the soft ground. He joined her and they looked out over the lake.
Crash point, Blake thought once more. It was time. “You asked me why I left. I didn’t have a chance to answer.”
Chloe turned her head, looking back the way they’d come. He’d become very good at reading body language during his years on the force. Every fiber of Chloe wanted to run, to escape. But—in typical fashion—his brave woman resisted the urge. She faced him once more.
“So tell me.”
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, Chloe.”
She rolled her eyes, clearly thinking he intended to charm his way out of answering.
“I mean it. When you grow up the way I did, well, let’s just say, I wasn’t all that familiar with women who smiled and laughed and were so genuinely honest.”
A crease formed in Chloe’s brow. “You never told me about your childhood. You just said you lived with your dad.”
He nodded. “Do you know why I volunteered to pose for this calendar?”
She gave him an impish grin. “Because you drew the short straw?”
“I spent one Christmas in the Blessing House. A social worker found me and my dad living on the street. It was one of those rare, cold-ass winters in New Orleans. She told us about the house, said we could go there for the holiday. My dad told the woman to mind her own business. Actually, I think his exact words were ‘Fuck off, bitch’ but she didn’t listen to him. She just handed me a flyer with the address to the house. Promised me I’d be warm and there’d even be presents.”
“How old were you?”
Now that he’d opened the vault to his past, Blake found too many memories coming at him too fast. Maybe that was good. He could keep the emotions at bay because there wasn’t time to process them. “Eleven. After she left, my dad fell into a bottle of whiskey and passed out. It was cold as shit that night. So, I covered my old man up with my blanket and walked nearly two miles in the dark until I found the address of the Blessing House. I’d been lied to by nearly every adult I’d ever met, so when I knocked on the door, I was more than ready to run in case it was a trap.”
“A trap?”
He shrugged. “My dad wasn’t the most law-abiding citizen. He’d taught me at a young age to always be on the lookout for the law.”
“He told you the police were the bad guys?”
Blake nodded.
“And yet you joined the force.”
He grinned sadly. “It seemed like the best way to stick it to my old man. The guy was a fucking asshole in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”
Chloe didn’t reply. His words had come out too bitter, too strong. Most folks would have accepted that at face value. She didn’t. “He was still your dad.”
“I know. I spent one night in the Blessing House, watching all the other kids—some with folks, some without—and in the morning, there was a present for me and I got a holiday meal.”
“Sounds nicer than the street.”
Blake lifted one shoulder. “I guess. I didn’t stick around. I left the toy I’d gotten—some plastic fire truck—stole a bunch of food from the kitchen and a couple of blankets and took off.”
“You went to find your dad.”
Blake picked up a blade of grass, pressing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah. I got worried about him being hungry.”
Blake looked out over the lake. He hated trudging up all this old shit. It didn’t change anything. His jaw tensed as he fought to beat back the anger. After several deep breaths, he was able to center himself again.
Chloe didn’t seek to fill the silence with questions. She let him find his way through the story at his own pace. He appreciated that she didn’t push him for more.
“I always took care of him. He was an alcoholic. He couldn’t hold down a job for more than a few days at a time.”
“So you became the caregiver.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“It was the same for Zac and Noah. They kept the house as clean as they could while their mom was strung out. Zac made sure Noah did his homework, got something for dinner, put him in bed at a reasonable hour. Parents shouldn’t do that to their kids.”
Blake turned to face her. He’d avoided looking at her for fear of seeing pity in her eyes. There were a lot of things he could take from her, but sympathy wasn’t one. What he saw instead was anger. Strangely that helped. Made Blake feel like they were on the same page. “I’m not making excuses for what I did, Chloe. I’m not playing the poor pitiful me card. My dad was a lousy excuse for a person, but the choices I made were mine. Right or wrong, I can’t blame him for what I did. All I can do is hope to make you understand why I stole the money, why I left.”
She reached out and took his hand in hers, giving it an encouraging squeeze. “So tell me about that night.”
“We’d told your mother we were going to the movies, but we actually snuck into that old shed behind your girlfriend’s house.”
Chloe laughed. “Her family was on vacation. You brought those sleeping bags and threw them on the floor. You’d bought a rose and scattered the petals on them. I thought it was all completely romantic.”
He was glad she remembered that part of the night with fondness. “We were pretty damn horny most of the time.”
“God,” she joked. “That’s a mild word for it. We were ravenous, insatiable. We couldn’t walk three steps without touching and we couldn’t touch without it sparking something hotter.”
“I remember. We did it in two public restrooms, the backseat of your brother’s car, no less than half a dozen times around this lake and God only knows where else.”
