Born To Be Your's

Chapter 10

Blake woke to Laura yelling his name, but what truly startled him was the deep, bone-aching cold. He worked up in a shiver. He’d left the window closed and sealed the night before, but the temperature inside their cramped room felt colder than the snowbank he’d landed in after escaping Claire’s house.

“Blake! Get up!”

Blake swung his feet off the cot. The floor was icy. He threw on a thick cotton t-shirt over his thermal and grabbed a flannel shirt. Travis, a lump of blankets in the top bunk, surfaced, rubbing his eyes.

“Why is it so cold?” Travis mumbled, his breath fogging.

Blake shrugged, already pulling on his jeans. “About to find out.”

He walked out of the room and downstairs. The kitchen, usually the warmest room due to the ancient stove, was freezing. Laura was standing near the thermostat, frantically flipping the switch, her face pale with worry.

“We have no heat, Blake,” she said, her voice strained. “And no hot water. The pipes aren't frozen, but nothing is turning on.”

Blake sighed. “Did you pay the gas bill? It’s been tight.”

“I paid it! I took the extra cash you gave me and paid it Friday morning. It has to be the boiler.” Laura started pacing, her hands clutched to her chest.

Blake slipped into his heavy work boots. The boiler was ancient, a cast-iron monster that should have retired before he was born. “I’ll check the basement. Keep the kids bundled up.”

He descended the crooked, rotting steps into the house’s foundation. The basement was pitch-black even with the weak, single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It smelled heavily of mildew, mold, and rot—the natural scent of their poverty.

As Blake navigated the gloom toward the back of the foundation, his boot kicked an old cardboard box containing relics of their parents’ short-lived domesticity. It collapsed, spilling dust and ruin. A few faded photographs scattered across the dirt floor.

Blake stopped. He saw a picture of two boys, smiling fiercely, their clothes muddy, a football tucked under one arm, standing in front of a park goalpost. Blake slowly knelt down and picked it up.

It was him and Kevin, his older brother. Blake was maybe ten, and Kevin, then eighteen, looked invincible. Before the uniform, before the escape, Kevin was the one Blake had looked up to. They were thick as thieves, literally and emotionally. Kevin was supposed to be his permanent backup; he’d promised Blake he’d come back after his 'stint' to get the military retirement money and pay for college. But the military had offered Kevin structure, stability, and, eventually, a partner, and he never came back. He had just disappeared, leaving Laura to inherit the wreckage.

Blake’s jaw tightened, the familiar, icy resentment rising up and freezing the already cold air in his lungs. He was here, looking at a broken furnace, and Kevin was God knows where, warm and safe. Blake crumpled the photograph into a tight, hard ball and tossed it over his shoulder into the darkness.

He reached the boiler. He examined the dusty, rusted pipes, tracing the cold metal to the unit’s core. He didn't need a diploma to know it was done. The old unit had simply died.

Blake ran a hand down his face, dragging his fingers through his messy hair. “f**k,” he muttered, the word heavy with finality.

He climbed the stairs, the bad news waiting at the top. Laura danced anxiously around the kitchen, fueled by stress.

“Well? Is it fixed? Was it just the pilot light?” she pleaded.

Blake shook his head, pulling her away from the children and lowering his voice, knowing the full truth would crush her.

“The whole thing needs to be replaced, Laura. It’s too old. It finally gave out.”

Laura froze. Her face went slack, the life draining out of her eyes. She turned to him, clutching his thermal shirt. “We can’t afford that. Blake, we just paid the rent. We don’t have thousands for a new boiler.”

Blake grabbed a clean mug, pouring himself a cup of the cold, leftover coffee. He knew the cost.

“We don’t need to buy one. We just need to borrow one,” he said, his voice hard and cynical. “Travis and I are skipping school today. We’ll find a working unit in one of the abandoned houses near the old auto factory, strip it out, and haul it back across the river. It’s heavy, but we can do it.”

Laura squeezed her eyes shut, hating the idea of her brothers committing a major felony and missing school, but knowing the alternative was freezing their siblings. She nodded slowly, defeated.

“Okay. Just… be careful. Please.”

Blake took a deep sip of the cold coffee. “Always,” he promised, though he knew the promise was a lie.

The morning routine was short and silent. Blake and Travis had already told Laura they were skipping school to find the replacement boiler—a felony they presented as a necessary errand. Mark was dropped off quickly at Headstart.

Blake, Travis, and Liv were the last ones walking toward the school complex. The cold air was biting, and the mood was tense, thick with the unsaid exchange from the night before. Liv tried to keep her distance, maintaining a rigid two-foot gap, but Maddie, who had been picked up earlier from Ryan's detention chaos, was relentless.

Maddie tried to weave between Travis and Liv, attempting to hold Liv’s hand and detail her plans to trade her unicorn stickers for candy. Liv kept her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her black jeans, offering the child only the briefest acknowledgment.

They reached the brightly colored elementary school.

Blake stopped, taking a deep breath of the freezing air. His mission was time-sensitive and dangerous. He needed Liv out of the way.

“You’ll have to walk the rest of the way to Northwood alone,” Blake informed her, his voice clipped and flat. He didn’t soften the delivery. “Travis and I have to do something.”

Liv stopped, her gray-green eyes snapping up to his. She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, challenging his sudden shift in plans. “Really? And what’s that, Copper?”

Blake gave her a dismissive, utterly unconcerned chuckle. “It’s none of your business. Just get to school, and if anyone asked just tell them we're sick.”

Liv raised both eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest, which emphasized the fit of her sweatshirt. The move was pure defiance. “You’re telling me what to do, Copper? You think you’re in charge?”

Blake smirked, leaning in slightly, using his six-foot height to dominate her. “Yes. Now run off to school, little one.”

Liv narrowed her eyes at him, holding her ground. Her stance was rigid, hostile, and utterly unyielding. “Make me.”

The two teenagers stared each other down, the tension a palpable, electric current humming between them. Blake’s dark, intense gaze held hers, neither willing to back down from the petty challenge of dominance. Liv was beautiful and entirely predictable in her refusal to comply, and Blake felt the unwelcome surge of fascination mixed with irritation. He had a tight schedule, and she was deliberately wasting his time.

Travis, who had been shifting nervously from one foot to the other, gently tugged at Blake’s jacket sleeve. He spoke quietly, not wanting to break the high-stakes moment, but offering a logical solution rooted in their immediate needs.

“Blake,” Travis whispered urgently. “We could use her. She’s smart. She could be a lookout. We need the help with the weight, and she knows how to run.”

Blake's eyes never left Liv's. He saw the corner of Liv’s mouth twitch upwards into a small, cynical smirk. She had heard Travis’s suggestion and knew exactly what they were planning—something risky, illicit, and involving manual labor. Her expression clearly communicated that she was well aware of his desperation and was amused by his need for her.

Blake held her gaze for a beat longer, acknowledging his defeat. He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation and annoyance, and dropped his eyes from hers.

“Fine,” Blake muttered, the concession tasting like ash. He pushed his messy hair back with a frustrated hand. “Just try not to break anything or stab anyone before we get the boiler.”

Blake, Travis, and Liv cut away from the main road, heading deep into a run-down section of the city. The neighborhood was worse than their own—a grid of derelict houses, skeletal trees, and yards choked with frozen garbage. These houses were empty, stripped bare by decades of poverty and desperate scavengers, making them the perfect targets for their current needs.

Blake pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the smoke a thin white plume in the freezing air. He stopped outside a crumbling house, its windows boarded up with splintered plywood, and turned to face Liv.

He took a puff, then held the cigarette out to her—a grudging peace offering. Liv took it instantly, placing it between her own lips.

Blake leaned down slightly, using his height to ensure his instructions were clear and intimidating. “Your job is simple, Liv. You keep an eye out for cops, or anyone who looks like they’d call a cop. Don’t look suspicious. You look like you’re waiting for a bus or scrolling i********:, not staking out a felony.”

He pulled her phone from her hand and quickly punched in his number. “If you see anything—and I mean anything—call my cell phone. Don’t f**k it up. We’ll be in the basements.”

Liv took a deep drag of the cigarette, her eyes fixed on his handsome, intense face. Her lips curled into a slow, challenging smirk. “If you just wanted my number, Copper, you could have asked.”

Blake tightened his jaw, ignoring the heat of her challenge. He snatched his cigarette back, gave her a curt nod, and turned, walking toward the back of the house with Travis trailing behind.

They broke the flimsy lock on the back door and descended into the dark, damp basement. The air was heavy with the smell of decay. They found the boiler—an ancient metal cylinder—but Blake was immediately disappointed.

He ran a gloved hand over the casing. “s**t. Look.” The metal was marred by a massive, visible crack running vertically down the side. “That one’s no use. It died years ago.”

They repeated the process on two more abandoned homes. The second house was entirely empty; the third had its boiler removed years ago by professionals or previous thieves. Frustration was tightening the muscles in Blake's neck. They were wasting precious time, and Laura was waiting in a freezing house.

Finally, in the fifth house, after breaking a heavy padlock and nearly slipping on the rotten steps, they found it. The boiler was dented and grimy, but the casing was intact, and the copper piping looked serviceable.

“This is it, Trav,” Blake said, already pulling tools from his bag. “It’s heavy, but we can strip it and haul it.”

It took twenty minutes of brutal, wrenching effort, but the two brothers managed to disconnect the heavy, cylindrical boiler from the wall, scraping the metal casing against the concrete floor. They stood over the detached unit, breathing hard, sweat running down their temples despite the basement’s cold.

Travis wiped his forehead. “Okay, now what? We can’t carry this thing a mile and a half back to the house, Blake. It must weigh three hundred pounds.”

Blake ran a hand through his damp, messy hair. He hadn’t factored in the weight, only the necessity. “f**k,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t think about that.”

Just then, a voice, low and dry, cut through the quiet dampness of the basement stairs.

“Looks like you boys need a hand.”

Liv stood at the top of the stairs. She was leaning against the peeling wall, looking impossibly serene, and beside her was an ancient, rusted shopping cart, its wheels barely turning. She had somehow found it, repaired it, and hauled it through the abandoned streets in the few minutes they had been downstairs.

Blake stared at the sight—the beautiful, hostile girl and the utilitarian theft equipment.

Blake grabbed the lip of the heavy boiler. “Fine,” he conceded, his voice grudging. “Trav, let’s go.”

They struggled, grunting with effort, to push the boiler up the basement steps and into the yard. Liv watched their struggle with a detached smirk. Once they wrestled it out, Liv grabbed the edge of the cart and helped them heave the heavy, cylindrical boiler onto the rusted metal frame.

“You know, for a girl, you’re surprisingly useful,” Blake quipped, unable to resist the sarcastic compliment.

Liv smirked, planting her hands firmly on the handlebar of the cart. “The trick is knowing what parts are salvageable, Copper. And you were clearly missing a key component.”

Blake felt a flicker of grudging admiration. She was fast, ingenious, and she knew exactly how to twist his words back on him.

They started their long, slow journey home. Blake took the front of the cart, pushing the immense weight, Travis walked alongside, helping to stabilize the load, and Liv—the ingenious lookout—sat calmly on the front of the cart, her black boots dangling over the side, watching the dilapidated world roll by.