Because of Blake

Because of Blake Christine Layne Edited by NICE GIRL NAUGHTY EDITS Edited by D.P. Lehan Cover Designer COFFIN PRINT Formatting Christine Layne Because of Blake Copyright © 2023 Christine Layne This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, locations, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotation in book reviews. For more information, address [email protected] FROM THE AUTHOR Because of Blake Christine Layne Because of Blake if a full-length, stand alone that features strong language, mature situations, and explicit sexual scenes. Reader discretion is advised, and this book is intended for readers age 18 and up. This book is dedicated to my husband— My very own Blake. Chapter one I jump as my cell phone trills in my pocket, barely managing to keep my afternoon coffee in its mug. Even after three years and countless ringtones, the sound still rattles me. It’s an inconspicuous reminder of that one life-changing phone call, and my heart races every time it rings. Seeing my best friend’s name on the screen, I relax, sagging against my chair. “Hello, Michelle.” “Hey, Mags. What are you doing?” “Sitting at the table, enjoying a cup of coffee. You?” “Nothing. I was wasting my Sunday afternoon on social media when I remembered I have an actual friend to talk to.” A smile creeps across my face as the image of Michelle pops into my mind. Snuggling under a blanket with her phone in one hand while the other twirls her long, blonde hair between her fingers is how she wastes time. I waste mine drinking coffee with my wavy brown hair tied into a messy bun. “So, Mags, I need to know if you’re going to send the post office a change of address, or if I’m going to keep getting your mail until we die?” I smack my forehead with my palm. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll do it this week.” She laughs. “It’s alright, Mags, I’m just giving you shit. Moving is stressful. I don’t blame you for forgetting. Speaking of, how’s the new house?” “Coming along.” I take a sip of my coffee, letting my gaze float around my new kitchen, still littered with the moving boxes I should be unpacking. Swallowing down my drink, I get up from the table to continue on the box of dishes I started earlier. “The kitchen is almost unpacked.” “How much do you have left to do?” “A lot.” I sigh. “It’s taking longer than I thought it would.” “Mags, you’ve only been there a week. Give yourself some grace. Like I said, moving is hard, especially when you leave behind a house you’ve lived in for a decade.” My bottom lip works its way between my teeth, and my toes wiggle against the tile floor. The house isn’t the only thing I left behind. All the memories are there, too. I wonder how long it’ll take before they’re replaced with new memories, new experiences. How long do I have before I forget? Michelle clears her throat. “What about the kids? Aren’t they supposed to be helping you?” I blink my eyes and shake my head to clear it. Setting down a stack of plates wrapped in newspaper, I peek through the patio door into the backyard. “Oh, yes. They’re a lot of help when all they want to do is play in the Slip ‘N Slide.” “Those little shits.” “Michelle!” She laughs again, probably happy to get a reaction from me after my silence a moment ago. “Easy, Mags. You know I love them. In fact, they haven’t had a sleepover with Aunt Michelle in a while. Let’s set one up.” “We’ll see. They start school soon and we haven’t been supply shopping yet.” “School? Already? It’s only the middle of August.” “And school starts the 23rd.” As I unwrap the plates and load them into the dishwasher, I take a breath, huffing it out with puffy cheeks. “I go back to work tomorrow.” “Oh, yeah. Part-time, though. I bet it feels good knowing you won’t have to see that intern you like so much every day. What’s her name?” “Abbey.” Her name comes out tight. “Yes, that’s one of the perks, but I’m looking forward to more time with the kids, and having a day to myself here and there.” Which reminds me, I should call my therapist and set up an appointment now that I’ll have a couple weekdays off. Maybe I can kill two birds… “Michelle, can I come to–” The patio door slides open. “Mom, can we have popsicles?” Dylan, my nine-year-old son, asks as he pokes his sopping wet dirty blond head inside, dripping water all over the floor. “Sure, sweetie. There’re some in the freezer in the garage, but towel off first, please.” I roll my eyes. “So, Michelle, can I–” “Put me on speaker, Mags. I want to say hi.” With a groan, I press the speaker icon. “Say hi to Aunt Michelle, Dyl-pickle.” “Hi!” He doesn’t even glance in my direction as he rushes across the room, disappearing into the garage. I laugh and turn off speaker phone, grabbing some bubble-wrapped glasses from the box. “So much for that.” “What a punk. Where’s Syd?” Glasses in hand, I crane my neck to see around the backyard, glimpsing my eleven-year-old daughter, Sydney, lying in the grass under a tree with her nose in a book. “Take a guess.” “I don’t remember reading so much when I was her age.” Sydney has always been a different type of kid. As a young child, she preferred to play alone, using her imagination in some wild ways, but as she’s grown, she’s gained an affinity for reading.