I haven't exactly kept this budding relationship with Reeve a secret, but tonight's the night I'm going to formally tell Mom. And Jake, David, Riley, and Julie, since we're all meeting up at her place for dinner like usual.

I was hoping Reeve would be able to come, but he's taken a lot of days off recently and couldn't find anyone to cover for him. He already put a request in to take Tuesday night off next week, so I'll introduce him to everyone then. Even if he's already met my mom, it's a little different to meet her as the guy her son's dating.

For now, though, I'm excited just to share the news, and a large part of that is the fact that I've actually had time to enjoy it.

If Blake's still in Glen Springs, he's staying far away from me. I haven't gotten a text or a call from him, and I definitely haven't seen him or heard any rumblings of him skulking about. Between that, the beefed-up security, and the fact that I'm spending so much time with Reeve, I've barely had to think about Blake for the past week, and I definitely haven't succumbed to any of that paralyzing fear he put me through in the past.

Things are as they should be, and if all goes well, I can just put Blake out of my life completely and never have to worry about him again.

I pull up to Mom's house around seven, and I'm the last one there, as usual. There’s a football game on, and I can hear the girls shouting from the living room. It'd probably be enough just to serve wings and chips and other things people can just grab and eat, but I know Mom too well to think she's going to leave it at that.

I let myself inside, a case of beer under one arm, and I'm instantly greeted by four voices. Jake and David are curled up on the couch, and Riley and Julie are on the love seat, sharing an afghan.

"Hey, how's it going?" I ask with a smile.

"Bullshit turnover after bullshit turnover," Riley says. "Really light on calls, too."

"Fun game so far, though," Julie says, and that's enough to stop Riley's grumbling.

It's sweet. Julie's so soft-spoken and mild-mannered, and Riley reminds me a lot more of myself at that age. Outspoken. Angsty. Prone to fits of emotion that aren't desired or explained. The two of them balance each other out, and I guess the same could be said for Reeve and I.

"Oh, Eric, you're here," I hear my mom call from the kitchen. "I need your opinion."

I set the beer down on the table and head in there to find she's got the place set up like a battle station. Groceries all over the counter, pots and pans laid out in rows, various cooking implements strewn about.

So basically a normal Tuesday.

"On whether this is way too much food for six people? Yes, yes it is."

She scoffs at that. "You don't even know what I'm making."

"Please, enlighten me." My lips quirk into a smile.

"It's a Tour of Tapas," she says, a devilish grin stretching wide.

Oh, brother.

"I'm going to fine you every time you use that word without serving actual Spanish food.” I narrow my eyes at her, fake-glowering to the best of my ability. She ignores the act completely.

"I made a seven-layer bean dip and some fresh tortilla chips earlier. They're already working on that."

I glance back into the living room. Judging from the depth of the scoop David just made, they've torn it up.

"I'm making sliders next, but I can't decide: Cheddar or bleu cheese stuffed?" she asks, pointing to the aforementioned cheese.

"Bleu cheese will melt better, but cheddar's got more of the flavor profile you're looking for. Here's a crazy idea: Do you have any Velveeta?"

She grins up at me, reaching over to give my arm an excited squeeze. "I like the way you think."

Because of this multi-stage appetizer deal she's got rolling out, she actually lets me help her in the kitchen. Working alongside her, trading jokes and getting my hands dirty, it feels a lot like it did growing up. I've missed this, and I know she has too, but we get a harsh reminder of why it doesn't happen much anymore when her hip starts to give her trouble.

I pull up a chair for her and she works on peeling potatoes, dropping the skins into a trash bag and putting the cleaned potatoes into a pot to sit. I can't help but think of my little foray into cooking instruction with Reeve.

"So I started seeing someone," I say, not having much need for any preamble.

"That security guard. It's about damn time." I give her a look, and she shrugs. "If you think Dana doesn't tell me things, you're wrong."

I let out a dramatic sigh. "I knew I had a spy in my midst."

The sliders are cooking in a cast-iron grill pan, and I flip them over once the bottom gets a nice, brown crust.

"So what's he like?" she asks.

The question is innocent enough, but I know her too well not to be on my guard.

"A little hard to get to know at first, but he's kind of a teddy bear once you get past everything." Or more like a snuggly bulldog. I grin just thinking about it. "He's a good guy. Funny, attentive, a good listener, too."

"That's all well and good, but how is he in bed? He looks strong. I bet he's a lot of fun once you get him riled up."

A smirk touches my lips. I knew that question was coming, and of course she just keeps on peeling potatoes like she's asking me something as innocuous as what he does for fun.

"He is, and that's all you're going to hear about that," I tell her.

"From you."

I laugh, because the idea of her just casually asking Reeve this question is hilarious. I don't think a lot of things knock him off balance, but I have a feeling this definitely would. I almost want to encourage her just to see it happen.

But then she asks me something that stops me in my tracks.

"Does he treat you well?"

She looks right at me, almost through me, and for a second I can't breathe. Does she know about Blake? Has she known all along? But no, there's no way. I've never known her to be subtle—if she knew about him, she would've told me.

It's just a question like any other, and she doesn't need to know it hits way too close to a mark I've tried to keep hidden from her.

"Yeah, Mom. He does," I say with a soft smile.

That seems to appease her, and for a while we just go about our tasks. The rhythmic scrape of the peeler and the sizzle of the burgers fills my ears, and every now and again that relative silence is crashed as our guests react to a play.

Eventually, Mom says, "Oh, before I forget to tell you." She hands me the pot of potatoes and I run them under cold water. "One of your schoolmates came by today."

My brow furrows as I try to remember all the kids I went to school with who could've dropped by. Most everyone who went to school in Glen Springs is still here, which means they've come by the diner at least once since I took over the place.

"Anj?" I think he ended up studying abroad. "Sophia?" She went to film school in California. But I've talked to her on Facebook, so I'm not sure why she'd come here.

Mom shakes her head. "No, this one was from college. Sweet boy. Very nice. Clean-cut. Said his name was Blake. Didn’t you date a Blake for a little while?"

My hand stills underneath one of the sliders and I grip the spatula like it's the last thing in the world keeping me sane. There's no chance for me to be rational here—to tell myself some pretty lie about how it could be someone else—I know it's him.

And this is exactly the sort of thing he'd do. Go off the grid for a few days and then strike back in the most impactful way possible. He might not have done anything to my mom, but the very fact that he was here was meant to send a message.

Take me back, or else.

Bile rises so swiftly in my throat that I have to force my mouth closed and fight back my gag reflex to keep myself from just being sick on the spot. I turn away from Mom so she can't see me, and set the spatula down with a shaky hand.

"Can you flip these for me one last time?" I ask, willing my voice to stay steady. "I gotta run to the john."

She's not blind or stupid, so of course she realizes something's up. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just… I was trying to prove to Tony that some of the milk we had in the back of the fridge wasn't off just because it was past the expiration date. Guess I lost the bet."

The lie comes easily, and it's enough to get me out of that kitchen. I make my way to the bathroom and close the door behind me. The retching happens immediately, and before long I'm slung over the toilet bowl, tears blurring my vision just like that first night.

It was stupid of me to think Blake had just gotten bored and wandered off. He came here for a reason—to fuck up my life. And since he can't get a direct line to me, he's decided he's going to go through the people I love.

And I'm not going to fucking stand for that.

Once I'm able to stop retching, I reach for my phone and text Reeve. I know he'll leave work if I ask him to, but I don't want him to have to do that. I'll just swing by once I make it through this.

If I can make it through this night, because somehow I have to go out there and pretend like nothing's wrong. I have to put on a smile while wondering if Blake's lurking around somewhere right now, just waiting for his chance to make a move.

I refuse to live in fear anymore, though, and I refuse to let the people I care about live that way, either.

Pushing myself to my feet, I wash out my mouth, gargle with Scope until my gums start to burn, and put on my face to the best of my ability.

I'm done being scared. It's time for me to end this.