Page 22

Blair

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” No.

I didn’t want to subject Cian to my family, especially after learning that his was just as bad, possibly worse, the night before, but the thought of facing them on my own made me want to vomit. More than once on the drive here, I’d caught him wincing, but he’d refused to let me drive, and insisted he didn’t need medication. He was here for me completely.

I used the door knocker, striking the wood three times only, because heaven forbid I exceed what was polite and be viewed as harassing the occupants. A joyful bark echoed through the door, and I allowed myself a small smile at the only light in visiting my parents.

The door opened, letting out a waft of tomatoes, flour, and tobacco as a five-foot-nothing nightmare appeared in a black dress and frilly apron.

“Blair, so nice of you to join us.” Her voice was like ice, as cold and unmoved as her forehead since she’d started investing in botox.

“Hi Mom,” I muttered, subtly squeezing Cian’s hand and receiving a squeeze in return.

“And who’s this?” Her eyes traced over my date. Evaluating him and finding him wanting purely because he kept company with me.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am, I’m Cian.” He held his hand out for a shake and received a sniff in return. Without another word, she turned back into the house, leaving the door open behind her.

“Leave your shoes at the door,” she said over her shoulder as she opened the door into the kitchen. A bang and crash sounded as a mop-haired dog muscled through the gap and barreled down the hall.

“Get ready. This is the only fun we’ll have today.”

I didn’t bother to explain as I lay flat on my back and let the golden retriever crawl all over me in greeting. Bessie was the youngest in a long line of retrievers my parents had owned, dutifully returning to the same breeder whenever the last one passed on. When Georgia and I were younger—before we’d declared ourselves mortal enemies—we’d made a tradition of greeting the dog like this whenever we got home from school.

I giggled as Bessie slipped and slid over me, her tongue knocking my glasses askew and her foot punching into my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

“This seems hazardous,” Cian said with a laugh, hooking me under the arms to pull me to my feet.

“Fun though.” I grinned at him as he scrubbed his hands through the mountains of fur.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, a sad look flitting across his face.

Damn it, he was thinking about his parents.

I was so mad at them. How could they not see that Cian was one of the best people in the world?

How could they know him and not love him?

“Come on.” I took his hand and led him through the house to the back deck where Dad was chatting animatedly with a long-haired blond man, while Miss Perfect herself sat beside him picking at her nails. This must be the boyfriend.

“Holy shit! Cian O’Leary!” Dad burst out of his chair in a rush, his hand leading the way for a firm shake. “What are you doing here? Duckie, you didn’t tell me you were bringing Cian O’Leary to the house. How’s the head, son? That was one hell of a knock you took last night.”

Cian looked slightly overwhelmed, but took it well.

“Nothing a little rest won’t fix. It’s good to meet you, sir.”

Dad took Cian by the elbow, leading him to the table and pulling out the chair beside him. With nothing else to do, I grabbed a couple of sodas from the bar fridge and joined them.

The blond guy offered me a smile as I sat beside Cian.

“Hi, I’m Weston.”

“Blair,” I said, flicking a glance at Georgia.

“How much did you have to pay him to come here?” she asked in lieu of a greeting. Great. Nothing had changed since we last spoke. Still a bitch.

“I didn’t.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she sat back with her wine glass. Weston glanced between us, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Oh! Hey, you play for the Engines, right?” I asked as the answer to where I’d seen his face before suddenly hit me.

“Yeah, I do. I play fullback. Do you watch?”

“Whenever I can, the hockey season keeps me busy though.”

“That’s sport, isn’t it?” We shared a knowing smile, and I ignored the dark cloud beside him. How the hell did such a nice guy get sucked in by the likes of her?

Mom brought out the appetizers, and Cian slid a hand over my knee as she joked he should “Blink twice” if he was being held against his will. I gritted my teeth against a retort as my family echoed the words of internet trolls who had never met me.

Wasn’t family supposed to support each other?

I looked across at Georgia, so perfectly put together with her designer clothing, her immaculate makeup and size zero waist. She picked at her appetizer half-heartedly, and barely touched her entrée as Mom swapped the plates over.

When was the last time we had been comfortable in each other’s company? Let alone friendly.

Not since we hit puberty. Maybe not before.

“Hey, Cian. Do you know why Blair is called Duckie? Tell him, Blair. It’s funny. It’s because she’s the ugly duckling. Get it?”

Maybe never.

She scooped some potatoes from the bowl in the center of the table and, predictably, Mom clicked her tongue.

“Do you really need that, Georgia? You won’t keep your job long if you stack on more weight.”

Weston and Cian looked between Georgia and Mom, their mouths slightly open in horror.

This is my family , I wanted to tell them. Run while you still have a chance .

Instead, we all ate in silence until Mom put her cutlery down with a sigh.

“It really was nice of you to be here with Blair today, but I can’t in good conscience let you get her hopes up. If this is transactional, that’s fine, but if not… this is just cruel.”

“What…do you mean?” Cian asked, his grip tightening on my knee.

“Well, all I’m saying is that if you expect us to believe that an athlete like you would be interested in someone like her, then clearly something else is going on. I don’t like deception and I’d hate to think you were using her.”

I’d never understood what I did to make her hate me. There must have been a time when I was little that she’d acted like a proper mother, but I didn’t remember it. Maybe she’d taken one look at me after birth and decided I was a lost cause.

“That’s enough.”

His voice was low but powerful as he looked around the table.

“None of you appreciate this woman, and I’m not going to let her sit here and listen to you belittle her anymore.”

“You’re telling me you’re not just pretending to date her? Yeah, right.” Georgia sniffed, doing a double take as she noticed the look on Weston’s face.

“There’s nothing pretend about how I feel for Blair. You don’t deserve her. None of you. We’re leaving now, and Blair will decide if she ever speaks to any of you again. In case you can’t tell, I’ll be advising her against it unless you pull your heads out of your asses. Weston, it was genuinely nice to meet you.”

Cian’s hand was gentle as he pulled me out of my seat and escorted me through the house and out to his truck.

We pulled away from the old Victorian building with a squeal of tires and turned toward home. There was no sound in the cab except for the white noise of the tires on the road for several miles, both of us stuck in our own heads as we processed the scene we just left. I glanced at his profile, so proud, still so full of righteous fury and felt a bubbling in my chest.

It forced its way out of my throat in a laugh that took both of us by surprise. Once the dam broke, we were both lost, to the point Cian pulled over to avoid colliding with a parked car.

“Oh, my God. That was so freaking dope! I can’t believe you scolded my whole family. You’re amazing.”

His cheeks were ruddy as he turned to face me.

“I don’t even know why I’m laughing right now. I was so mad. I wanted to punch your mom, and I’d never hit a woman.”

“She’s an asshole.” I sighed.

“They all are.”

“Well, not Weston. He seemed genuinely appalled at their behavior. I don’t know why he’s spending time with Georgia, but good luck to him. He’ll need it.”

Cian reached across and threaded his fingers through mine.

“I didn’t know about the Duckie thing.”

Of course he didn’t. Cian didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and that was why it hit different.

“I know. I don’t mind when you call me that.”

He grunted, squeezing my hand in acknowledgment before he changed the subject to more important things.

“Coffee?”

“Hell yes. We deserve it.”