She shakes her head to reject my words, but I nod to contradict her.
“I’ve heard you talk to your coworkers and have seen you betray yourself almost every time. You downplay your knowledge so you don’t step on toes. You know the answer to every question Heather throws out at you, but you’re petrified to know too much or be too smart because you’ll piss her off. Well, fuck her, Blakely. Goddamn own who you are. Be the woman you are.” Rage eats at me. The kind that stems from wanting to help someone but knowing you can’t do it for them. All you can do is show them the road and hope they fucking drive on it.
“It’s your doubt that kills you, and I’ve sat here and wondered why. Why do you not think you deserve this? The respect? The promotion? The laughter? The admiration? I’ve told myself Paul’s to blame for all of this, for wearing you down and killing your self-esteem. It’s easier than thinking you are choosing to be this person . . . but he can’t be your excuse all the time. You’re the one who has to look in the mirror every day, and until you can like who you face, until you see the same woman I admire looking back at you, you’re going to struggle at your job and you’ll definitely struggle with accepting the fact that I like you, Blakely Foxx.” I take a deep breath and step back as her eyes flash up and meet mine. “I like you, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it because this isn’t like me. I stick and then move. I don’t form attachments . . . but there’s something about you that begs me to figure you out. There’s something in me that’s telling me you’re worth it even if getting you to see it is a pain in my ass.”
I’m not sure if she’s as shocked as I am that I just said that, but there’s a hitch in her breath and her shoulders shudder as if she’s holding back a sob.
I feel like the asshole.
“This is on you.” My voice is low, barely audible. “You want the promotion? Then take it. You want to tell Heather off? Then tell her. You want me? Then love the new Blakely first because that’s who I want to laugh with. Not the one you think all these people want you to be—whoever that is. Just the you from the beach bonfire who was willing to dig her toes into the sand and howl at the moon. Just the you who hates the outdoors and drinks whiskey at a bar after a long day at work and tells off men who try to talk to her. Just the you who is willing to go along with crazy schemes like the one I concocted because I feared I wouldn’t get a second glance otherwise. That’s who I’d pick every time. Hands down. Just you.”
There’s hurt and denial and a myriad of other emotions I’ve drummed up swirling in those eyes of hers, but she needs to figure this shit out.
I don’t give her a chance to respond because I’ve said too much. I’ve called her on the carpet when I have no fucking right to.
Without another word, I slam the tiny door behind me and jog down the steps, needing to clear my own head.
Needing to wrap my own thoughts around my own admissions.
Blakely
You’re right.
Holy shit. Is that how people see me?
Wait. Come back.
All of those would have been reasonable responses to Slade to get him to stay.
But I didn’t say any of them.
Not a single damn word. All I did was sit there angry at him for being so brutally honest, rejecting the things he said instead of owning them.
Just you, Blakely.
All those truths kept ringing in my ears, overshadowing some of the more major ones he said.
I like you, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it because this isn’t like me.
I let him walk out when I should have called after him.
I’m supposed to be finding myself, and every time I really need to be the new me, I can’t seem to summon her.
Like how in the middle of his rant, the new me just wanted to grab him and kiss him senseless. The problem was the old me was scared to death to do so because it’s so out of my norm to take what I want.
And, oh, how I wanted.
So here I sit, second-guessing my actions and frustrated that I am.
There are a million ways the conversation could have gone had I spoken up instead of letting him walk away. Like I could have told him he was absolutely right and that I’m trying hard to to find the Blakely Foxx he is telling me he sees hiding.
“You okay? You seem a little preoccupied.”
I look over to Gemma and smile as I run the paddle of the canoe through the water. “I’m fine. Sorry I’m so quiet. I was just rehashing a conversation in my head. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Rehashing because you’re thinking of all of the things you should have said or rehashing because you gave as good as you got and you’re proud of yourself for it?” She quirks a lone eyebrow above the line of her sunglasses. “I’m typically in the former camp.”
“Yep. Me too.” I laugh. “And yes, that’s exactly what I was doing. Thinking of the million things I should have said instead of the giant nothing I did say.”
“Should I assume you’re talking about Heather?” she asks, lowering her voice and glancing around even though the closest canoe is over a hundred feet away.
I wasn’t, but if the shoe fits.
“I
