Chapter 5 #3
“I think it’s funny that you think everything went wrong for you when I was the one who got sent to fucking prison,” he said, jabbing a thumb to his chest. “What, was life hard here in this house? Is it too small? Not enough bedrooms? The maid doesn’t do a good job making your bed for you?”
“You know nothing about my life or what’s happened to me.”
He laughed at that, all dry and bitter. “What happened then? Tell me. You married some rich asshole and moved into a bigger mansion than your old mansion, Juliette. Was that difficult for you?”
My teeth clenched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If you want to talk about difficult, we can talk about me in that fucking cell. Me being stuck in there for years, me not able to look after my dad—”
“How is he?” I cut him off, eyes widening at the thought of Bridger’s father. It had been so long since I had seen him. His mother too. “Is he okay? And your mom? How’s she?”
“You treat me the way you fucking did and have the audacity to ask me that?” he asked with gritted teeth.
“Is he alright? Is he… Is—”
“Is he dead?” Bridger bit out. “Is that what you want to know?”
I blinked at him, my heart sinking at the thought. “I…”
“It’s not like you care, Juliette.”
“I do care! Of course I care!”
“Me and Mom were the only ones there to look after him. And then I get sent to fuckin’ jail and she’s all on her own to make sure they had food on the table and that the lights stayed on and that the water stayed running.
And you,” he said, gesturing to the room, “were in your nice comfortable mansion fucking your husband who can’t knock you up. ”
“I just wanted to know if he was okay!” I cried out. “You think I don’t care, but I do. I cared about both of them and I worried about both of them. I never, ever wanted anything to happen to your parents. God forbid I ask, Bridger. God forbid I even—”
“They’re both fine,” he said roughly. “They’re both okay.”
Hands trembling, I nodded slowly. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.”
His head tilted. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“No one was there to help them when I was gone, Juliette. I was all they had. When I got carted off to prison that was one less paycheck coming in, and in case you fucking forgot, there was only one paycheck coming in to begin with.”
“Do you seriously think I wanted things to get harder for your parents? Do you think I liked the idea of you in jail or something, because I promise you I didn’t, I promise—”
“You didn’t?” He cut me off. “You didn’t visit me once. Not fuckin’ once, Juliette.”
“What was I supposed to say to you?” I snapped. “What were you expecting after what you did to me? After how badly you hurt me?”
Groaning, his eyes found the ceiling. “Oh, here we go again with that shit. Didn’t take you long.”
“You don’t even care about what you did. You didn’t care then and you obviously don’t care now.”
“I didn’t touch your painting.” He pointed a finger my way. “I didn’t go near it. You know I didn’t.”
“You ruined it. You destroyed it. I worked on that painting for months and months and months only to walk into that classroom that morning to see it slashed to pieces,” I said, and I really hated that my eyes were tearing up at the memory alone.
My brain was forcing me to not just think back on the moment, but to relive every last second.
“You don’t get to stand there and lecture me after what you did, Bridger. ”
Teeth grinding together, Bridger rubbed his face with his hands. “I didn’t touch it.”
“You had to ruin that one. The only one that I needed. The only one that mattered. The one that was going to get me out of Chicago and into a school and…” My lips trembled, and suddenly, it was too hard to talk.
“You know what my parents were like. They didn’t want that for me.
They would never let it happen. I needed that scholarship.
And I needed that painting for that scholarship and I worked so hard on it, and then… ”
“Exactly.” His brows raised. “Which is why I would never do that to you.”
“Your ability to still lie about it is impressive. And you know what? Being with you will always be the biggest mistake of my life.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, and for a moment, I wondered if I had just taken a knife to his chest. That had been a hurtful thing to say.
Cruel and mean and unforgiving, but I hadn’t exactly forgotten what he had left me feeling that day.
We paused, the both of us staying silent for a long, too quiet moment.
“Is that right?” Bridger finally asked.
I nodded stiffly. “That’s right.”
His eyes darted to the side for a second. “Why haven’t you called the cops?”
“I should,” I said. “I’m going to. If you don’t leave, I will.”
“I meant about the other night. You know my name. My face.” His eyes found mine again. “You know exactly who I am, but I haven’t had any cops knock on my door…”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to tell the cops?”
“I’m sure you’d love to see me back in prison.”
“You got what you deserved, Bridger.”
A sharp, sarcastic laugh fell from his lips. “Two years in prison for a crime I didn’t fucking commit? I deserved that shit?”
“You’re still a liar.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“I think it’s so funny that you think you’re trustworthy, that you think I can believe anything you say.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he snapped. “Ever. When the fuck have I ever hurt you, Juliette? Never. Not once. But you sure as fuck seemed okay hurting me.”
It was my turn to laugh, the sound dry as I held a hand to my chest. “I hurt you? I hurt you? You’re saying that after what you did?
And then you barge right back into my life—literally—to rob me and my husband.
I don’t even know what the hell you’ve done with all the things you stole.
Oh, and you still haven’t given me my bag back, by the way. Where is it?”
“What bag?”
What bag? Like it was some dumb little material thing, like it wasn’t the most important thing in the world.
“The bag,” I said. “You know which one.”
“You’ve got more of ‘em. I’m certain you do.” A smile slowly grew across his face as he pushed a hand into his jeans pocket, pulling out a ring. My ring. “This thing, though? You only had one of these, right?”
I reached forward, my fingers brushing across his hand for just a second, and I hated how good that felt. It was a jolt of electricity that surged right through me, hot and fast and heavy, but he snatched his hand away from me before I could feel that any longer.
“You want it?” he asked lowly.
“Yes, Bridger, I want my ring back,” I said. I wondered if he knew that I was lying right to his face, that it felt like heaven to have that heavy thing off of me, but maybe I wanted him to feel a little pained and jealous.
“Tell me why you haven’t gone to the cops yet and I might consider it.”
“Does that really matter to you? Is it that important?”
“Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Pushing his other hand into his pocket, he pulled his phone out, holding it out for me. “Call the cops.”
There he stood, giving me the easy option. The option I should have been taking but couldn’t quite push myself to choose. My eyes moved to his, wishing they weren’t so blue, so dark, so able to draw me in to him.
“I’m not playing this game,” I said.
“Why haven’t you told them? They’d be here in five minutes. Little rich girl getting robbed? No way they’re not sending every last cop in the city to put cuffs on me.”
“I told you: I’m not playing this game.”
“Tell me why.”
“Is that why you came here?” I spat out. “To ask me that? To interrogate me?”
“I’m just curious.”
“You’re so…” My eyes closed, and I could see it too clearly in my head: that night.
The flashes of red and blue lights and the loud voices of policemen and the boy I loved being hauled off the couch as they shoved handcuffs on his wrists.
That night haunted me. It stayed with me.
I had nightmares about it. I hated the idea of Bridger being in prison.
Cold, alone, scared. I couldn’t watch that happen a second time.
I wouldn’t survive it. “Go home. Go. You want to steal something else? Take it and leave.”
“Tell me that one thing I wanna know, Juliette,” he said, voice low.
“Bridger.” I exhaled sharply. “Leave.”
“Tell me.”
“Go home.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t want to see you.”
“Call the cops then.”
“I don’t want to hear your voice.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t want you to go back to prison, okay?” I finally blurted out. “There. Happy?”
“So fuckin’ happy. That’s so sweet,” he cooed, head tilting. “Where was that when I got sent there the first time?”
“It’s not my fault you’re a criminal. That’s on you.”
“You seemed to love that, though,” he said, voice deep and gravelly.
“You seemed to really love that about me, princess. That I stole. That I got into fights. Broke shit, stole shit, busted lips for you. And you made me do shit I hadn’t ever done for a girl.
” Slowly, he tucked his phone and the ring back into his pocket and stepped forward, his hands back on the edge of the counter, trapping me once again.
“You were always such a good girl for everyone else. Got all the good grades and wore those pretty pink dresses and were always so damn sweet and polite with your ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’. Meanwhile, you were sneaking out to see me, sitting in the backseat of my beat up car getting your pussy filled to the fucking hilt with me.”
My knees buckled that tiny bit, my breath hitching in my throat as I remembered those nights far too vividly. Him deep inside of me, taking me, making me his as I cried out for him.
I scoffed, shaking those thoughts away, my hands on Bridger’s broad chest as I gave him a push back. “I don’t remember any of that,” I lied.
“Is that why you’re blushing?” he asked, a subtle smirk on his lips.
“Go away. Just give me my ring and go away,” I said. I still didn’t care about it. That dumb petty part of me wanted him to think that I did, though.
“You’re not getting it.”
“You said you’d give it back if I told you!”
He reached into his pocket, tossing the ring up carelessly with a lazy smile as if it didn’t cost two million dollars. “Scumbag liar, remember?”