Blaze

Forty-Five; Blaise

I keep my eyes trained out the passenger side window as Adair passes by in a blur. Even though she's driving, I can feel Martha's gaze on the side of my face.

"What kind of trouble are you in, dear?" She finally asks, breaking the silence in the car.

"I'm not in trouble. Not really."

I hear her scoff, but keep my head turned toward the window. "Is that why I found you hiding in my bakery in the middle of the night? You two nearly gave me a heart attack, you know that?"

"I'm really sorry about scaring you. We didn't know there was a silent alarm."

"Well, a warning would defeat the purpose of a silent alarm, now wouldn't it?"

I dare a peek out of the side of my eye and she's staring at me intently. A car horn honks and she jerks the car to the right and back in our lane.

"Jesus, Martha. You're going to get me killed!"

She turns her eyes back to the road, but not before they roam from the bottom of my torn dress to the top of my disheveled hair. "Looks like you're doing a good job of that without my help, dear." She takes a right onto Hummingbird Lane. "I think I deserve to know what's going on. It's the least you can do, for all the breaking and entering."

I roll my eyes. "James had a key. There was no breaking, only entering."

"That key was for emergencies."

"Trust me, Martha. It was an emergency."

She glances over me again and her eyes settle on the faint bruise on the side of my neck. She sighs. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

"No. It's just some superficial bruising. It'll heal."

"Is that a handprint?"

"Yes."

She grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

"Who?"

"Wyatt." The car jerks again. She takes a hard right when she should take a left toward Hummingbird Lane.

"Where are we going?"

"The police station."

"For what?"

"To file a report. You were assaulted."

"Yeah, by a police officer. Who do you think will get the blame, one of their own, or the girl that broke his nose?" She sighs before pulling a u-turn and heading back toward Hummingbird Lane.

"You really break that boy's nose?" 

"Yeah."

"Good for you," she grins.

She drops me off at the house and all I want is a hot shower and solitude. But when I return to the kitchen after my shower, I find Martha sitting at the table looking at me expectantly. Brenda is leaning against the kitchen counter, a Virginia Slim dangling from her fingers.

"Please don't smoke in the house. Especially not around Eliza."

"I'm not smoking it. I'm just holding it." She pats the patch stuck to her forearm. "I'm trying to quit, but I miss the feel of it in my hands."

It seems stupid to me, to put yourself in close proximity to the very addiction you're trying to quit. Keeping temptation in arm's reach will never work. She needs space and distance. 

I plop into a dining chair when I recognize my own hypocrisy and rest my head on my forearms. I have to confront Wyatt to end things, completely and unambiguously. And as awful as that will be, a task that seems even more daunting is removing James from my life. He's made it clear that he doesn't have feelings for me, and as much as I want to remain his employee and friend, my addiction to him is too strong. I can't keep him in arms reach. I need space and distance.