Terms of Agreement

56. Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Aiden

A giant of a man dressed in head-to-toe black nodded his head in my direction, stepping to one side and allowing me to pass by him. I clenched my jaw, forcing my feet to move forward. As if seeing Bridget wasn’t going to be uncomfortable enough, we had to meet here? I shook my head in irritation, glancing back over my shoulder at the behemoth guarding the door. Who wore sunglasses at night? It was December for fucksakes.

Turning, I came to an abrupt halt, startled to stillness at the sight of the neon-pink corridor before me. I should never have let Bridget pick the location. I scrubbed a hand over my face, blowing out a heavy breath before stepping forward and onto my road to perdition.

Rounding a corner, I spotted her at the bar, her seat angled towards the entrance. Our eyes locked, and she stood.

No turning back now.

‘Aiden,’ she said, her arms lifting from her side as if she were going to hug me, but she didn’t.

‘Bridget,’ I nodded, dropping onto the stool beside the one she’d vacated.

‘I didn’t think you’d call.’

‘Neither did I,’ I admitted. I hadn’t planned to. But something about what Louise had said on Saturday night had left me feeling unsettled. She’d come back on Sunday morning to not so subtly check on me, and, while she was almost her usual bubbly self, the shadow of disappointment never left her eyes.

Turns out, I couldn’t stomach that shadow. And so, after typing and deleting several texts, I’d finally given Bridget a call and agreed to meet.

‘Drink?’ Bridget asked, gesturing towards the glass in front of her.

‘No.’

Bridget nodded, and, after taking a quick sip of her own drink, lifted her eyes to meet mine. ‘I owe you an apology.’

‘Yeah.’ The word came out strangled by a laugh and I dropped my gaze. This was stupid. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to this. She was right. She did owe me an apology. But what good would that serve? I leaned forward, resting an elbow on the bar as I rubbed my temple. I shouldn’t have come.

‘I’m sorry, Aiden,’ she whispered, her words pulling my gaze from the wooden bar top and to the face I’d once loved. ‘I’m so sorry for hurting you.’

‘Why?’ Bridget blinked, but I continued. ‘Why did you do it?’

It’d been two years, and I still couldn’t figure it out. What I’d done wrong. Because it had to have been me… Was I not been attentive enough? Fit enough? Exciting enough? What was it about me hadn’t been enough?

‘Okay,’ Bridget said, nodding slowly, her whole body rocking with the movement. I watched, heart in my throat, as she fingered the stem of her glass. ‘Okay,’ she repeated, turning to face the bar before she spoke again.

‘A few months before we—before I—did what I did,’ she paused, draining her glass before she continued, ‘I was late.’ Late? She turned towards me, watching me as the reality of what she’d said sank in.

‘What?’ My heart stopped as panic flooded my chest.

Bridget nodded, setting the now empty glass down in front of her and centring it on its cardboard coaster. ‘It was just a scare,’ she continued, speaking to the glass. ‘But it got me thinking, you know?’

I nodded mechanically, not sure of what else to do as my mind reeled. She’d thought she was pregnant. And she didn’t tell me? My chest tightened and hurt clogged my throat.

‘We’d been together for so long—made so many plans.’

That brought me back.

‘And what?’ I snapped bitterly, the sting of her secret piercing through the pain it had caused. ‘You just decided you didn’t want them anymore?’

Bridget shook her head, and I reared back.

‘I don’t think either of us did,’ she whispered, her mouth curling into a sad smile. ‘Not really.’

I scoffed, shifting my body away and putting what little distance between us I could. How fucking dare she? Who was she to speak for me? For what I’d wanted. For years, all I’d wanted was her, and she had the nerve to—

‘Aiden.’ Bridget’s fingers landed on my forearm, pulling me out of my spiral of shock and indignation. ‘I loved you,’ she insisted. ‘I did. But we weren’t happy. Not really. Not towards the end.’

I looked at her then and she held my gaze unflinchingly. And my eyes roamed her face, searching for the lie that wasn’t there. Eventually, she removed her hand from my arm and caught the attention of the bartender, motioning for a refill.

We sat in silence until it arrived.

‘That last year,’ she spoke at last, fortified by the bellini in front of her. ‘Aiden, we were content at best.’

I scoffed, shaking my head even as I tried to remember that last year, digging deep into the recesses of my mind to where the memories laid buried under the hurt and betrayal. Filtering through my memories, I ignored the bigger events of that year, focusing instead on the times where it was just the two of us. And I blinked with surprise as I struggled to find the joy in all of the silence of that year, the silence I’d been so sure we’d shake off, eventually.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked eventually, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck. ‘We could have talked about it.’

Bridget snorted into her glass, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Talking had never been our strong suit. Until we broke up, we’d never even had a fight. Not really. If one of us was upset or we disagreed about something, we’d just… get over it. But surely, we could have talked about this.

‘You didn’t have to cheat,’ I said, not bothering to conceal the hurt in my voice.

‘I know,’ Bridget whispered, dipping her head as a tear spilled down her cheek and onto the counter in front of us. ‘And I’m so sorry. But at the time, it seemed like the only way out. We’d been together for so long; our lives were so… embroiled… it felt like the only way out was to destroy it.’

‘I get it.’ I did. Still didn’t agree with it, but I understood.

And somehow that was enough.

We sat together for a long time after that, neither of us saying anything as the past stitched itself together in the silence. I doubted we would ever see one another again, but for the first time in a long time, the idea of the future I’d lost and the woman I’d left behind didn’t fill me with regret.