"Their eyes. The way they move. The way Rory drums his fingers just like..." I trail off, watching her face drain of color. "Just like Jack does."
She stands abruptly, pacing to the window. Her arms wrap around herself in a protective gesture that makes my chest ache.
"Mia." I stand and move behind her, close but not touching. "Does Jack know these are his sons?"
23
MIA
I turn away from Blake's question, my heart hammering so hard I'm surprised it doesn't crack through my ribs. The apartment suddenly feels too small, the walls pressing in. I move to the armchair by the window and sink into it, gripping the armrests like they're the only things keeping me tethered to reality.
Blake doesn't push. He just watches me with those warm brown eyes, patient and steady. After a moment, he crosses to the couch and sits across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Waiting.
"No," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Jack doesn't know they're his sons."
Blake's expression doesn't change, but I see something flicker in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. I'm not sure which is worse.
"Tell me," he says quietly.
I close my eyes and let myself fall back into that night. The night that changed everything.
"It was the 4th of July, ten years ago." The words come slowly at first, like pulling splinters from a wound. "My parents threw their annual party. They did it every year. The whole neighborhood came. Fireworks, barbecue, the works."
A small, sad smile crosses my face. "He was the fire chief, you know. He was well-known and loved by the community, so everyone wanted to come to his parties."
I open my eyes and find Blake still watching me, his attention completely focused. It should make me uncomfortable, but instead it feels safe. Like I can finally tell someone the truth I've been carrying alone for so long.
"Jack was there, of course. He was always there. He and my dad were best friends. Had been for years." I twist my hands in my lap. "I'd known him my whole life. Called him Uncle Jack when I was little."
"But you weren't little anymore," Blake says softly.
"No." A bitter laugh escapes me. "I was eighteen. Just graduated from high school. And something had shifted between us that summer. I don't know when it started exactly. Maybe it was always there and I just finally noticed. Or maybe he finally noticed me."
I remember the heat of that July evening, the way the air felt thick and electric. The smell of charcoal and lighter fluid. The sound of my mother's laughter mixing with the neighbors' conversations.
"His marriage had ended," I continue. "He was at the edge of the party, watching everyone else, and there was this sadness in his eyes."
Blake shifts slightly, his muscular frame filling out his shirt in a way that momentarily distracts me. Even now, even while confessing my darkest secret, I notice the way his shoulders strain against the fabric. The way his forearms flex when he clasps his hands together.
Focus, Mia.
“He found me in my dad's study around nine o'clock. I should have left. Should have gone back outside. But I didn't."
The memory plays like a film I can't stop watching. The way his hazel eyes tracked my movement across the room. The gold flecks in his irises catching the lamplight.
"We talked for a while. About nothing important. College plans. The weather. But there was this tension building. This awareness." I meet Blake's gaze. "You know what I mean. That feeling when you're near someone and every nerve ending is on fire."
"Yeah," Blake says, his voice rough. "I know exactly what you mean."
Heat floods my cheeks, but I push forward. "The fireworks started. We could hear them through the window. Everyone went outside to watch, but we stayed in the study. And then he looked at me differently. Not like his best friend's daughter. Not like a little kid. He looked at me like ... a woman."
I can still feel the weight of that look. The way it made my stomach flip and my skin flush.
"He said I'd grown up beautiful. That he'd been trying not to notice but couldn't help it." My throat tightens. "I told him I'dbeen noticing him too. That I'd been thinking about him in ways I shouldn't."
Blake's jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn't interrupt.
"He said it was wrong. That I was too young, and he was twice my age. He mentioned the friendship with my father." I laugh without humor. "I told him I didn't care. That I wanted him anyway."