Chapter 5 #2
That was Bridger Underwood. Boys like that turned into the man sitting before me.
“What are you doing in here?” I finally asked. “You already stole from us. You got what you wanted and you left. Why are you back? To torment me some more?”
Bridger shook his head. “I didn’t get to see you properly last time. Not when we were rushing like that. Had to see you up close without anything or anyone in the way.”
“And?” I threw my hands up. “Are you done looking?”
“Not yet. You look different.”
I couldn’t work out if he meant that in a good way or a bad way. I didn’t care to find out, either.
Hands crossed over my chest, I stood at the foot of the bed. “You’ve had your fun, Bridger. You need to go now.”
“You still look beautiful, but…” His head tilted, eyes scanning along my body slowly. Calculatingly. “So fucking boring now.”
A scoff left me at the insult, but I couldn’t help but look down to observe my outfit. I had on a black and white tweed dress, the neckline high and a few gold-toned buttons in a straight, perfect line along the front. It was Chanel. It was old money. It was cliché. It was boring.
I blushed. “Gordon’s going to be home in a few hours—”
A deep chuckle fell from Bridger’s lips. “You think he scares me, princess?”
“You should be scared of him,” I said. “And it wasn’t exactly a fair fight the last time you were here.”
“Call him up,” he said, smoke escaping his lips. “Get him in here if you really wanna see how that ends.”
“He’d win that fight easily,” I said, but even I didn’t really believe my words as I said them out loud. And from the glint of amusement in Bridger’s eyes, I could tell he wasn’t buying them either.
“Rich guys don’t know how to fight,” he said, voice scarily calm and confident, that cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “I’ve killed enough of them to know that.”
That made me still, my heart stopping for what felt like a good minute.
Bridger getting into fights was old news.
Violence didn’t scare or phase him—he seemed to thrive on it back when I was his.
Fist fights, schoolyard brawls, one on one with cops.
He had always been incredibly skilled when it came to defending himself.
But killing? How much had he changed since I last saw him?
“He seemed real happy only caring about himself the other night,” Bridger continued. “Didn’t really seem that concerned with what happened to you.”
My eyes found the carpet. “He was scared.”
“So were you.”
“What’s your point?”
“You’re with a man who can’t protect you.”
“We made it out alive, didn’t we?”
“No thanks to him. Do you know hard it was to not kill him that night?”
I held in my gasp. “And why would you do that?”
“Sounds like a fun idea,” he said far too casually. “Is he what you wanted?”
“What?” I let my eyes flicker up to meet his gaze.
Bridger moved. One foot hit the floor, followed by the other.
Long legs strode over to me and I couldn’t bring myself to move an inch away from him.
He had grown so much. Something fluttered in my stomach as he moved closer, not stopping until he was standing right in front of me, towering over my body.
There he was, all big and broad and tall.
So much taller than before, than Gordon, than what I was used to seeing and being around every day.
“I said… is he what you wanted?” he asked lowly. “What you wanted in a man? Does he make you happy?”
My throat cleared. “We’re very happy together, thank you very much. I appreciate the concern.”
“What do you like about him? How much money he has? His job? This house he got for you?” Closer.
He moved in closer. As close as he could get without touching me, his lips right by mine as he leaned down towards me.
“Princess got the mansion and the rich husband and the closet full of expensive shit, but are you happy?”
“Stop,” I managed to let out.
“Are you really fucking happy, or are you still looking for something else?”
My knees trembled that tiny bit, and it was a sign that I needed to get away from him. It was too much too fast, and I didn’t want him to know how many butterflies were in my stomach right in that moment.
“You need… You need to leave, Bridger,” I said, trying to force a direct tone to my voice. I could have sworn I felt a headache coming on. Only Bridger Underwood could give me a headache in three minutes flat. “Go home. Wherever that is, go back there. Please.”
“It’s so good seeing you again, though,” he said, head tilting as he eyed me up and down.
“Good for who?”
“You aren’t enjoying this?”
“Not at all.”
For a long moment, it felt like his eyes had darkened.
Like he was seeing right into my brain, and he had no right to do that—he lost that right the second he destroyed everything we had.
But he wouldn’t stop. The room felt hot and so did my skin, my body, everything.
I wasn’t supposed to want him back then, and I certainly wasn’t supposed to want him now, and I didn’t.
I couldn’t. Even when he kept looking at me with that stupidly penetrating gaze.
“Ugh. Don’t look at me like that!” I spun around, heading for the bathroom. My steps were quick and I was utterly desperate to put some distance between the two of us.
Heels clacking against the tiles, I moved over to the counter. A shaky hand reached down to pull open one of the drawers, eyes scanning the contents until I found the little white bottle I had been seeking.
The throbbing pain I had in my head wasn’t going away anytime soon. I was just about to let two pills hit my hand when I heard footsteps. My eyes flickered up to the mirror that stretched right across the wall. There Bridger was again, and it felt like looking at a goddamn ghost.
Those deep blue eyes kept scanning me up and down.
As if he had any right to stare at me like that.
I wasn’t his and he knew it, but there he went, barging into my home for a second time without permission.
We both stayed silent, my breathing stupidly uneven as he directed his attention to the drawer I had left open.
I was about to reach forward and shut it, but Bridger had always been faster than me.
One big hand landed on something inside the drawer.
A white container filled to the brim with pregnancy tests.
There were at least twenty in there, maybe twenty-five.
With a raised eyebrow, he stared at them and then back at me while my lips stayed firmly pressed together.
Bridger wasn’t supposed to—quite literally—dig his dirty hands through my life, but he had never been one to keep said dirty hands to himself.
“What are you doing?” I asked, throwing the painkillers into the sink. But then Bridger grasped at something else. At another container. The one stacked with all of Gordon’s vitamins. Fertility vitamins. The ones I had to pretend like he didn’t take. “Don’t go through my stuff!”
“Your stuff?” Bridger asked, holding the container in one hand while the other lifted up one of the orange bottles of pills. “What’s with the fucking pharmacy in your bathroom?”
“None of your business!” I snapped, stepping forward to try and grab everything off him. An annoyed sigh left me as Bridger took an easy step back.
“Male fertility, huh? You got a lot of these in here. And enough pregnancy tests to stock a whole fucking aisle.” And then there was a spark in his eyes so bright you could see it from space. “Oh, princess, don’t tell me…”
“Stop. Whatever you’re about to say, just stop.”
He gave me a pout. “Is Prince Charming shooting blanks, honey?”
“We are not having this conversation.”
“But it’s so much fun.”
“Shut up.” Yanking the items from his hands, I shoved them onto the counter. “Just… Just stop talking, okay?”
An amused laugh left his lips, all rough and low. “He can’t get you pregnant?”
“Bridger. Don’t.”
He was in front of me before I knew it. Hands either side of the counter, he had me caged in, his broad chest far, far too close.
Not touching. Not up against me. But close enough to make me shudder.
He leaned into me, lips ghosting over my neck and his breath on my skin while my nails scratched at the marble behind me.
That woodsy smell was right there again and Bridger being so close was leaving me no choice but to breathe it in and remember how much I loved it. We were close. Too close. With his stupid ocean blue eyes locked onto mine, but I couldn’t—even if I wanted to—push him away.
“I bet you I can do it,” he murmured, lips hovering by mine. “Bet you I can knock you up in one fuckin’ go.”
I hated him for making me think of him like that. Of that image of him doing that to me. It was too vivid in my head, so raw and real and detailed. Shaky hands found Bridger’s chest as I shoved him back, hating that confident smirk on his face.
“Leave and do not come back,” I said. “You are not a guest here. You’re an unwanted visitor, Bridger, just like you were the other night.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“Then why are you even here? Hm? You want to destroy something this time instead of just stealing it?” The words shot out of me before I could stop them. “Like before?”
That glint of amusement that had been in his eyes disappeared in an instant. Shaking his head slowly, Bridger suddenly looked far too serious for my liking.
“You still think I did that, huh?” he asked.
“I know you did. I should have stayed away from you. Like the idiot I was, I did the opposite. That was where everything went wrong in my life.”
“Where everything went wrong?” He scoffed. “You were real fucking happy being with me from what I remember.”
He was right about that, but all I could do was give him a weak shrug in response as I kept my hands on the counter behind me. I was pretty sure it was the only thing still keeping me standing.
“I was a dumb, delusional eighteen-year-old,” I said.