Paper Parachute | Celebrity Romance

33.

Soft light streamed in through the window of Blake's mothers guest room. The gentle light was enough to wake him and he blinked furiously for a moment as he got his bearings.

Part of him had wished for the day before to have been a dream. Anger still coursed through him but it was dulled now by the pain he felt from the words he'd so carelessly thrown at the woman he was in love with.

He'd worked so hard. So hard to become a better person to prove that he was more than just the incredulous asshole everyone assumed him to be. She'd always seen the best of him and he'd repaid her by proving all his naysayers right.

He was a damn fool.

He didn't regret fighting with her, per say, she had been incredibly out of line talking about his family so candidly. She hadn't offered any extraneous details but her answers had led to reporters digging up
information they'd not bothered with before and he hated that he hadn't been in control of that conversation.

He was terrified to read any of the bullshit he was sure the press had spewed about his father. His dad's legacy was that of a war hero, a family man, and Blake had considered him his best friend. He couldn't bear to see that reputation ruined in headlines because of how his life has ended.

Blake reached across the bed blindly grabbing for his phone. He finally felt it and pulled it to be in his view. He groaned at the sight of the shattered screen and the devices inability to power on. He huffed in annoyance and through it across the room where it collided against the wall with a thud before falling again to the floor.

He'd have to get a new one.

He needed to get up. He couldn't avoid his responsibilities forever.

He rifled through the chest of drawers, in the room that was always his when he crashed here, and grabbed out a T-shirt and pair of sweats. He was thankful his mom still kept clothes for he and his brothers around.

He trudged down the stairs and found her sipping a cup of coffee, seemingly lost in the pages of a book.

"Hey." She said softly, looking up as he appeared in the living room.

"Morning Ma." He greeted with a small smile. It was all he could muster.

"You feeling any better this morning?" She questioned.

"No." He started. "Well, yes. I don't know." He shrugged. His mind spun with all of his thoughts from the past twenty four hours.

"I know you, so I know you've done some thinking. What have you come up with?"

He sighed and leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"I don't know. I'm still fucking pissed that she talked about Dad." He said, unable to keep the anger out of his words. "But at the same time I overreacted and said some really cruel things to her that she didn't deserve. I know her weaknesses and used them against her."

"What do you mean?" His mom pressed and he felt his cheeks grow red from embarrassment.

"You know how I told you about her parents and how dreadful they are and the law suit?"

"Yes." Andrea responded, drawing out the word.

"I—well I, sort of, told her that I understood. That I understood why they're so terrible to her."

"Blake Matthew Everett!"

"I know, I know, Ma! I told you it was bad."

His mother's glare told him he'd do best to keep his mouth shut.