By the time Murphy gingerly walked out of Montgomery Ink, a silent Graham following behind, Blake was ready to go home. She was only working a half-day today, and thankfully, when she left, there were only two of the floater artists in the shop. She quickly gathered her things and made her way to her car before Maya or another Montgomery showed back up to grill her about her association with the Gallaghers. Not that she thought she was the center of attention or anything, but it was damn hard not to be curious about those kinds of things.
She drove home, tension in her shoulders that refused to go away since Graham had first walked in, giving her a headache. As soon as she pulled into her spot, she shut off the engine, grabbed her things, and hurried up the metal stairs to her apartment. Hopefully, soon, she’d be able to afford better, but this place was at least safe.
When she opened the door, the scent of cooking meat and peppers filled her nose and her body relaxed.
“Mom!”
Blake dropped her crap on the floor and opened her arms as her daughter Rowan ran toward her, slamming into her front hard and taking her in a tight hug.
“Hey, baby girl. How was your day at school? Half-day fun?” She kissed the top of Rowan’s head, running her hand over her baby’s natural curls, and walked toward the kitchen hand-in-hand with her daughter as Rowan went through her day, step by step.
Rowan never let a word go unsaid if she could help it.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gonzales,” Blake said as she kissed the older woman’s papery cheek. “Half-days are killer for work.”
The older woman waved her hand at Blake and hugged Rowan before gathering her purse. “It’s no bother at all. Since my children are all grown and taking their time making babies, this fills my need. You call me anytime, Blake. You know that. I put makings for carne asada in the crockpot for you. It’s not my best recipe, but it works in a pinch for leftovers, which I know you like. I’m off to watch my shows since my DVR is talking to me! Bye, darlings!”
And with that, the nicest older woman Blake had ever met walked out of the small apartment, closing the door behind her.
“Mom? Can we eat now? I know it’s not dinner time, but I’m starving.” Rowan exaggerated the last word and placed the back of her hand on her forehead.
Blake laughed and shook her head. “How about we eat some cheese and fruit instead while we wait for dinner time. Because if we eat now, we’re going to be hungry again before bed.”
Rowan gave a big sigh but smiled. “Okay.” With that, she went right back to the story of her day as if they hadn’t paused at all.
Blake watched her daughter move around the kitchen and pressed her lips together, emotions overwhelming her. There were reasons she stayed behind her barriers, reasons she was the way she was.
And she’d be damned if she risked it all for a scowling man behind a beard.
She’d learned the hard way once before.
Never again, she promised herself. Never again.
3
Graham knew things would go to hell soon, it was only a matter of time. Of course, the why of it would forever elude him, he was sure. He’d been a bastard not once, but twice in as many days, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if this Blake Brennen had ever done anything to him, and yet he couldn’t help acting like a grunting asshole whenever she came around.
His brother had laid into him once they’d driven back to Murphy’s place, and Graham hadn’t said a thing to defend himself. He had been a jerk to her and didn’t have an excuse. Yet he wasn’t sure he’d have done anything differently if given the chance.
The first time, she’d surprised him on the jobsite, and the second, he had been the one to surprise her at her place of work. And yet, for some reason, she rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew he was going to have to figure it out if he had any hope of looking at himself in the mirror anytime soon.
Once he’d gotten Murphy set up at home to heal, he’d gone back to his place to relieve some stress. While he’d thought about beating one off, he figured punching something would work a little better, considering he was trying to keep his mind off the woman in very tight jeans.
He’d gone down to his basement to work out some of the tension radiating through his body with his punching bag, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d hit the treadmill. He might be pushing forty, but he tried to keep in shape.
He’d gone to bed exhausted and still imagining Blake in that tank that told him to kiss her ink. The hell of it was, he wanted to kiss all of her ink.
Even if she confused him all to hell.
She’d come from money—that was clear from the estate itself—but now worked as a piercer at Montgomery Ink and wore clothes to fit each persona. He didn’t like not knowing which was the real Blake, and because of that, he’d come off surly.