I don’t know what to say, but thankfully he just keeps going.
He shifts his weight and pulls out a small, paper box from under the seat. He opens it up, revealing a slightly smooshed slice of chocolate cake. He rifles through another pocket and shoves a candle in the top, before he realizes he doesn’t have a way to light it, and just looks up at me with an adorably apologetic look.
The corner of my mouth turns up just a little. “You remembered that it’s my birthday?”
Blair gives me a smile. “Yeah, of course I did.”
I couldn’t be more surprised.
Somehow, looking down at the little slice of cake in its box makes the tears well up and spill over again. Blair freezes up and frantically starts patting my shoulders awkwardly.
“What—what did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” I wail, my voice wracked by uncontrollable sobs. I bury my face back into his jacket. His hands slowly close in around me again, holding me tight until I can speak. “I … I h
ave nowhere to go.”
Blair moves around until he spots the plastic garbage bag on the ground. He leans over and picks it up without letting go of me.
“What did you think I was here for?” he asks. “You’re coming with me.”
I can’t bring myself to look up. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, willing myself that this is real … not some new, twisted, cruel joke he’s playing on me.
He starts shoving my things under his bike seat, then shifting around like he expects me to just get on the bike and ride off into the figurative sunset without delay.
I stand up and take a step away to look him over.
Blair runs a hand through his hair and grins. “What is it, Bunny? Has it really been that long that you’ve forgotten what I look like?”
“Is this a joke?” I ask, bluntly.
His grin fades, and suddenly he’s standing and at my side, the bike forgotten. He grabs my shoulders and looks me plain in the face.
“Never again,” he says. “Not like that. Not from me.” He nudges me. “I promise.”
I look up into his face, and as much as I know I shouldn’t, I believe him.
I have to.
Relief floods through me and I lean forward so my forehead rests against his chest. “So, what’s the plan?”
Blair tells me he’s staying at his parent’s condo in Manhattan while they’re on vacation in the Cayman Islands. We’ll have the place to ourselves until he takes us both up to school on Monday.
It’s all too good to be true. It’s a dream, and as much as I know somehow, I’m going to end up waking to realize it was a nightmare … that doesn’t stop me from taking the helmet from him and strapping it securely under my chin.
I take one last bitter look at the foster home where I’ve lived the last few years. It doesn’t matter where Blair takes me, I realize, because I was wrong. All those years I was wrong. This was the worst.
Blair gives the motorcycle engine a rev, and we shoot off into the night; my arms tight around him, my cares gone with the wind that’s ripping past us, and relief turning into happiness until it pours out of me.
Manhattan truly is the city that never sleeps. It’s the wee hours of the morning when the bike roars over the bridge and the place is still hopping. It’s like no one knows they should probably be in bed. I’ve never been here before, but I feel an immediate connection. The busy streets, the constant noise, the rush of people and traffic and trains. The bright glitzy lights and the vibrant hum of energy that constantly pulses through it all. It’s enlivening to the soul, and it’s been a while since I was able to enjoy anything. This is the sort of place where I can just disappear into the crowd, and I’m so glad to be disappearing with Blair.
He pulls into the parking garage of a super high rise building on 5th Avenue, and we take a private elevator up to the penthouse. I knew his family had some money, but I had no idea it was this kind of money. I’m no real estate expert, but I’m pretty sure this place is in the double-digit millions.
When the elevator opens into a gorgeous and elegant foyer, it’s like I’m looking out at a scene from a James Bond film. It’s all modern contemporary, all big windows and New York City skylines that would fit better in an interior design magazine spread than it would any place I’m allowed to set foot in. There’s a grand piano in one corner of a wide-open area that encompasses a living room, dining room, and balcony with a pool.
I’m still fairly sure I got hit by a car while waiting out on that curb and am in some sort of coma-induced hallucination while Blair gives me the grand tour. I keep reaching out to touch things, just to re-assure myself all through the massive pristine kitchen, the bar, the study and library, the theatre and entertainment room, and four bedrooms as well as five full bathrooms.
There’s a hot tub by the pool outside and a small kitchenette and bar, for entertaining on the patio.