“Erin. Baby.”
That was all it took to twist her up. Him saying her name. Him calling her the sweet endearment, the one he used when they were tangled up in bed together, so tight and twisted she wasn’t sure they could ever break apart—and she wouldn’t want them to. But this trip, this felt like breaking apart. His home was their cocoon, where their relationship had begun, where they’d fallen in lust and in love.
Of course they’d have to leave it sometime. They were engaged now. If anything, it was late in their relationship to be meeting his parents for the first time.
“I’m a little nervous,” she said on a soft breath.
“Ah, baby. I understand that. I do. But I’m going to be by your side the entire time.”
“I know,” she said, although she didn’t really. His parents came from old money. Heck, Blake came from money. And that was a foreign world to her. A scary one.
He cleared his throat. “Are you worried about it because of your mom?”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t do anything that would give away how even the thought of her mother made her feel. It would only make Blake feel guilty, and he didn’t deserve that. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But maybe his father had.
Years ago her mother had worked as a maid at Blake’s parents’ house. Then one day, she hadn’t worked there anymore. Erin was young, but she remembered her mother crying. She remembered the anxiety, the tension. The fear. At the time she hadn’t understood it fully. She still didn’t understand it fully. All she knew was that something bad happened in that house when her mother had left.
“I just wish she would talk to me about it,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She and her mother had always been close, but her mother had never opened up about that time, even when Erin was old enough to have understood anything. And when Erin had finally confessed who Blake’s parents were, her mother had seemed to shut down over the phone. At least after this visit they were going to visit her mother. Then she could see her in person and make sure everything was all right between them.
Blake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “My parents are cold and manipulative. I’m not close to them, never have been. But I don’t think they would have done…”
His voice trailed off, and they drove in silence for at least half a mile, watching light poles whip by.
Erin had never voiced her fear of what exactly might have driven her mother out of the house all those years ago. It could have been anything. There was no reason to assume it was something truly bad, like inappropriate behavior or even an assault. And yet she couldn’t shake the possibility from her mind.
The fact that it would have been Blake’s father who had done it made her stomach turn over. Not because she would blame Blake—she wouldn’t. He hadn’t even lived in the house at the time, having left for college and never returning. But because some part of her wondered if he’d believe, even want to believe her, if she somehow found out it were true.
The same thing had happened with her only other serious boyfriend. He’d said he didn’t have a problem with what her mother did for a living. But when the truth had come out, that his father had come on to her mother, Doug hadn’t believed her. Would the same thing happen again? She knew Blake was a better man than Doug, a stronger one, more honorable. But she couldn’t be certain he would back her up if the choice was between her and his family. She never wanted to find out.
But she knew very well that history repeated herself. Blake himself had taught her that in his class.
“Erin.” His voice had gone low. In warning? No, in worry.
Could he sense the distance between them? They were leaving his home but on some level it felt like leaving them, the way they were together, returning to who they were apart. “I don’t want anything that happens to come between us,” she said.
“God,” he said, his voice rough. “No, it won’t. Of course it won’t. I wouldn’t let anything come between us.”
That made her feel better, that he said it. That he clearly believed it. But she came from a world of leaky ceilings and broken dreams. She knew that wanting something to last wasn’t enough. She knew that fighting for something didn’t mean she’d get it.
She tried to smile. “I think I’m just overemotional. I didn’t get enough sleep.”
“That was my fault too.”
“No,” she said, horrified she’d said it that way. He would take the blame himself. He’d take the blame for everything if she let him. “You can’t control the nightmares.”
He shook his head, pushing aside what he’d see as excuses. “Rest, baby. Recline the seat and sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”