✔️The Greaser and the Skirtchaser [18+]

37. That Time Petey Kept His Promise

TW: death mention, suicidal themes

"Petey? What—what are you doing here?" Blake blushed, now suddenly embarrassed to be seen like this in front of Petey, stuffed in a bow tie and calling people sir.

"Blake." He smiled like Blake had come back to life or something. "You're really here!"

"Uh... I am." Blake rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what to think about Petey's reaction to him. "What, has it been a year or so? Two?"

"Two. It's been two years." He pulled off his scarf and draped it over his arm. "You have no idea how long it took to track you down."

"You—you were looking for me?" Even though they hadn't spoken since Petey found out he was a queer.

Petey seemed to be remembering that very fact as he looked off to the side with an unreadable expression. "Yeah."

He was very different, and Blake's smile withered off. Petey was so very, very different.

"I spent a long time looking for you, Blake." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I had to ask a lot of different people about you in New York City to get any hints until I found someone that seemed to know where you might have—"

"Who did you ask?" Blake asked slowly. His hands were all clammy. Damn these nerves. "Listen, Petey, whatever you've heard—"

"Jennifer Hayesworth."

He blinked. "Jenny?"

"Yeah. She, uh, she should be coming down here in a few minutes." He put a hand over his mouth. "Oh, darn. I was supposed to wait for her before seeing you."

"Wait, you're saying that Jenny's coming—coming here?" Blake looked toward the doors, but he skidded to a stop and exclaimed, "Darn? You say darn now?"

Petey didn't have a chance to explain himself because a woman in brooding black, gold, and white prowled in right off a high-fashion runway, and those green eyes could've passed for venomous when they were trained on Blake. "Albany, Blake?!"

He sputtered as she marched right up regardless of how everyone was staring and grabbed him by the collar. "Jenny—"

"Don't 'Jenny' me." She nearly dragged him over the counter. "You ran a hundred miles the complete opposite direction north to Albany. You madman, I told you I would be in New York City. You could've called and driven down! How dare you? How dare you!"

She was shaking him. "What? Jenny, what are you talking about?"

"You should've come to me for help," she hissed before she let him go. She looked away, and the blaze became embers in a flash. She looked burnt-out.

Blake felt guilty as hell. "I'm... sorry. I would've called if I'd known you'd be worried."

"Would you?" she bristled quietly. "Blake, don't lie to me."

"I... I didn't mean to worry you."

"Then, what did you mean to do? What was the point of dropping off the face of the Earth without a call or a note about where in the world you were going if it wasn't to worry me to death?" She leaned forward over the bar top. "Did you think I'd forget? You think I'd forget all about you and just leave you to rot? You lunatic, how dare you? What do you think I am?"

Blake's throat tightened up. He couldn't say anything. Jenny and Petey were such saints to go through all this for Blake, but he couldn't help feeling terrible anyway. How long had they spent looking for him? How much time, money, and effort just to find Blake like this?