Born To Be Your's

Chapter 11

Blake, Travis, and Liv finally reached the Copper compound, the ancient shopping cart groaning in protest under the immense weight of the stolen boiler. They parked the cart outside the back of the house, near the access doors leading to the basement.

They walked inside, shedding the frigid air, only to find the interior just as cold. Paul, Francis, and Laura were scrambling around the kitchen and dining room, plugging in every portable space heater they owned, fighting a losing battle against the freezing temperatures.

Mark was sitting in his high chair, bundled in a thick hoodie, furiously trying to pull the fabric off his head—his need for order fighting Laura’s need for warmth. He looked up, saw Blake, and immediately reached up his arms.

“Dada!” Mark chirped, his voice muffled by the layers.

Liv, who had been observing the frantic scene with her usual detached, sardonic air, froze. Her gray-green eyes snapped to Mark, then back up to Blake, raising a single, sharp eyebrow.

“You have a kid, Copper?” she asked, the surprise audible even through her flat delivery.

Blake chuckled, walking over to Mark to rub his head. “No, he’s my baby brother. He just seems to think I’m his dad, since I’m the one who's taken care of him besides Laura since he was born.”

Liv smirked, her gaze dropping, trailing slowly over his muscular frame. “Well, it’s believable. The things I hear about you in the girls’ bathroom,” she murmured, her voice laced with s****l innuendo. “I heard you’re… unforgettable.”

Blake’s breath hitched. His cocky smart mouth was primed and ready to return the verbal volley, but before he could deliver a suitably arrogant retort, Laura rushed into the kitchen.

“Oh, B! Did you find one?” Laura looked hopeful, clutching a heavy, patterned blanket around her shoulders.

Blake nodded his head, pushing the s****l heat with Liv aside, forced back to the brutal reality of the house. “Yeah, it’s outside. But I need Paul’s help getting it down the stairs to the basement. It weighs a ton.”

Travis, who had been hovering near the door, cleared his throat. He was terrified of the basement, a fear he never explained but which everyone respected. “I—I’ll go pick up Maddie and Ryan,” Travis stammered, grabbing his jacket and practically fleeing out the back door.

Now, only Blake, Liv, Laura, Francis, and Paul remained.

Mark noticed Liv standing near the doorway and eyed her, his almond-shaped eyes studying her intently. Liv narrowed her eyes back at him. An absurd, silent staring contest had begun between the damaged, hostile teenager and the non-verbal four-year-old.

Blake grabbed an apple off the counter and took a large bite, watching the bizarre confrontation. “You’re not going to win, Liv. He’s the master of keeping his eyes open, and he’s incredibly stubborn.”

Liv walked closer to Mark, dropping into a crouch to get to his level, never breaking eye contact. The two stared at each other, motionless, completely focused on the challenge. Blake just watched, chewing his apple, impressed by their mutual intensity.

Finally, Mark gave in, blinking rapidly, and then erupted into a fit of giggles. Liv chuckled softly, rubbing her eyes. “You almost had me there, kid.” She reached out, gently ruffling his hair. Mark let her—a highly unusual allowance, as he rarely tolerated being touched unless he initiated it.

Blake chuckled softly, the sound of easy warmth, surprised by the sweet moment of connection.

Then the adults returned. Paul, Laura, and Francis came back into the kitchen, Paul adjusting his apron, already smelling faintly of beer and pub grease.

“Alright, Big Man, where’s this furnace you stole?” Paul said, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s do this before I have to go open the pub.” He then turned to Liv, his brow furrowed. “And why aren’t you in school, kid?”

Before Liv could offer one of her dry, hostile retorts, Blake stepped in. “I asked her to help, Paul. We needed a lookout for the haul. She was useful.”

Paul looked from Blake to Liv and shook his head in exasperation. “Fine. Just try not to get yourselves arrested. This neighborhood is bad enough without a crew of delinquent teens.”

Blake threw his apple core in the trash and followed Paul outside.

The task of maneuvering the heavy, greasy boiler down the narrow, icy basement stairs was brutal. Paul and Blake strained, their muscles bulging with the effort of lowering the immense weight.

Liv followed behind them, her gray-green eyes fixed not on the furnace, but on Blake. She subtly checked him out—his big, strong, muscular form straining under the load, the thick veins in his neck and arms slightly bulging with the exertion. He was covered in grime and sweat, a working-class masterpiece of masculine strength.

They finally got the unit into the dank, dark basement.

Paul, breathing hard, clapped Blake on the shoulder. “Alright, B. That’s the hard part. I’m late. Gotta go open.” Paul left, scrambling up the stairs.

Blake stood panting, wiping the sweat from his brow. The basement was dark, dusty, and silent, the only sound their heavy breathing.

He and Liv were alone. His heart was hammering not from the exertion of the lift, but from the realization that they were trapped in the dark, cold basement together.

Blake stood in the dark, damp basement, breathing heavily. The immense physical strain of hauling the boiler was nothing compared to the sudden, suffocating proximity of Liv. He wiped a hand across his jaw, his skin grimy with sweat and dust, and looked at her.

Liv was watching him. Her arms were crossed, but her sharp, gray-green eyes were running over his damp, muscular body—the sweat staining his thermal shirt, the tension in his neck. Her mind, usually a fortress of cynicism, was running wild without her control. She found herself wondering, against her will, what it would feel like to be wrapped in his big, strong arms, to feel the forced stability of his powerful body, his breath hot against her skin. The thought was immediate, dangerous, and completely against the rules of her survival.

Blake caught the intensity in her gaze and chuckled lightly, the sound dry and exhausted. “Like what you see?”

Liv snapped back instantly, the defense mechanism kicking in. “I see a guy who needs a shower and looks like he’s about to give himself a hernia over a five-hundred-dollar furnace. Hardly a masterpiece, Copper.”

Blake turned his attention to the old, cracked boiler, grabbing a wrench. “You don’t have to stay down here, Liv. It’s not healthy breathing the s**t that’s down here. Go up and grab a sandwich.”

Liv knew she should have walked away. She should have left the moment the lifting stopped. But instead, she leaned against the wall, the scent of mildew and Blake’s sweat filling the air.

Liv shrugged, “No, I’ll stay. I want to see if you blow yourself up or not. The explosion might make up for missing school.”

Blake chuckled, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. “Suit yourself.” He handed her a bulky flashlight. “Here. Make yourself useful, then. Hold this steady.”

Liv took the flashlight and aimed the beam precisely at the thick, rusted connection points where Blake needed to work. The light illuminated the tense set of his features, the sheer concentration in his eyes. He started the difficult process of unhooking the old boiler, pulling at the frozen bolts with grunts of exertion. The sounds he made—the controlled, strained noises of effort—subconsciously sent a deep, unwelcome thrill through Liv. Liv watched, the beam unwavering. Her mind, usually rigid and controlled, was starting to spin without her permission. She watched the powerful contractions of his back muscles under the damp cotton of his shirt, the way the veins in his arms bulged and recessed, the deep sound of his strained effort. She couldn't deny the sudden, intense rush of heat she felt. She bit her lip hard, frustrated by the unwanted arousal.

What would it feel like to be in those big, strong arms? she thought, immediately despising herself for the question.

She shifted her boot and stepped on something small. She bent down, retrieving a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out with the flashlight. It was the faded photograph—the two boys, muddy and smiling, holding a football.

“Who’s this?” Liv asked, her voice quiet.

Blake glanced over, straining to pull a copper pipe free. “That was my older brother,” he said, his voice strained and thick with effort, fueling Liv’s desires. “Kevin.”

Liv nodded, studying the happy image of the two boys. “Where is he now? In prison with your dad?”

Blake paused, the wrench suddenly still. The bitterness in his voice was thick and raw when he finally spoke. “Worse. He left for the military as soon as he turned eighteen. Said he’d serve one year and come back for us. That was… six years ago. Married some army Barbie and stayed.”

Liv tightened her jaw. She didn't have to fake the understanding. “Yeah, I know the feeling. That’s why I don’t believe in promises. You only end up getting hurt.”

Blake took a deep breath, the cold truth of their shared abandonment hanging between them. “Ain’t that the f*****g truth.”

Blake finished hooking up the new boiler, ignoring the ache in his hands. He knelt down to the unit. "Moment of truth. Hopefully, we don't blow up the block."

Liv smirked, crossing her fingers for him.

Blake lit the pilot light. It caught instantly. A low, familiar hum filled the basement, and the pipes began to click as the water started to circulate.

Blake sighed with relief, running a hand over his damp, shaggy brown hair. He looked up at Liv. In the dim, dusty light of the single bulb, she looked impossibly beautiful—the dark makeup, the intense eyes, the sharp intelligence visible even in her posture.

Liv looked back at him, seeing how handsome he was, even covered in sweat and grime. His face, usually masked by sarcasm, was raw with exhaustion and relief.

Blake cleared his throat, pushing the heat of the moment back down. “Thank you for your help.”

Liv cleared her throat as well, dropping her gaze. “Don’t mention it, Copper. I’ve got a reputation to keep up.”

Blake chuckled, standing up. They walked back up the basement stairs.

Laura was waiting at the top, relief washing over her face. She was about to hug Blake but stopped when she saw the state of him—covered in grime, cobwebs, and sweat.

“Oh, thank you, B! Go take a shower. You can be the first one to use the hot water!”

Blake chuckled, feeling the warmth of the boiler already seeping into the floorboards. He headed for the stairs. But before disappearing, he looked back. Liv was about to walk out the door with Francis, but she turned, and their eyes met across the chaotic kitchen.

Blake gave her a slight, genuine nod of respect for her help and her silence. Liv returned the gesture with a slight, almost invisible smile, then raised her hand and gave him a perfect, subtle middle finger.

Blake’s smile widened into a genuine, reckless grin. He took the stairs two at a time, his body aching, his mind consumed by the girl who was as dangerous and damaged as he was.