Chapter 23
Bridger
It wasn’t even anger I was experiencing. Not even fury. Rage, maybe. No. Something worse than that. Something heavier and darker.
Wrath. Pure fucking wrath. Red was all I saw. I could have sworn I could hear it too, there in my ears, thick and loud and wet and I was on that pathetic old fuck a second later, one hand on his shoulder as I hauled him off Juliette and pushed him to the marble floor.
His eyes widened. “Who the—”
I cut him off with a fist to the jaw. Then another. Then again and again. My fist, his face. Nose. Eyes. Mouth. Jaw again. The sides of his fucking head. Every last part of him.
My left hand stayed there on his collar, holding him in place as my other hand got to work.
I wasn’t even seeing straight. It was just flashes of red there in my eyes.
His blood pouring right out of him. From his mouth, from his nose.
Good. I wanted more. I wanted him soaked in blood for fucking thinking for even a second he could put his goddamn hands on her.
I wanted him dead, and he would be, but I was going to take my time with him.
I was going to make sure he felt every last second of suffering and pain.
More blood, more bruises. I was going to deliver it to him.
I could see it in my head. The vision wouldn’t leave me.
Juliette on the floor, her eyes wide with tears, his fucking hands on her throat.
Those sounds too. Her coughing, choking, him muttering shit to her about her painting, about destroying it.
It made me punch him harder. Again and again and again.
I had to do more. Make him feel more. A cracked jaw.
Crooked nose. Busted lips. Broken fucking skull and everything in between.
I was going to kill him.
I heard it then. A little cry. The softest of whimpers.
Juliette. My fucking girl. My hand stayed there on Gordon’s collar, the other paused mid-air, mid-punch, looking over my shoulder at her.
She was shaking, leaning up against the counter, eyes big and wet, arms wrapped around herself like she had no one else to comfort her but herself. Not anymore.
“Bridger,” she whispered. “Bridger, please.”
She needed me.
I let go of Gordon, letting his skull hit the marble with a careless thud, and then I was moving to her, feet fast and heavy on the tiles—fucking unstoppable—as she stood up slowly and shakily. My hands found her waist. Hers found my shoulders.
Our lips found each other for the first time in half a decade.
We crashed together, my tongue slipping into her mouth and meeting hers.
My lips stayed sealed to hers, not wanting or needing any air in that moment, just her.
It was heated. Rushed. Wild. Like we were trying to catch up on five years of missing each other.
Five. Fucking. Years. Of anger. Of needing her.
Of aching for her. I never stopped fucking aching.
She whimpered and I groaned, one hand reaching up to cup the side of her face, keeping her steady against me as our tongues kept dancing. My other hand stayed pressed to her back, making sure she stayed flush against me, her own hands there on my shirt, tugging at the material.
I was breathless as I kissed her. I was fucking starving for her.
God, she tasted good. Like home. Like she was mine, and she fucking was, she was my girl no matter what her last name was.
I fucking devoured her, kissing at her harder, faster, my tongue not able to leave hers as she kept making the sweetest of noises. How had I gone five years without her?
She pulled away from me with a pant that turned into a choked sob, that sound sharp and loud. I moved a hand to the back of her head, keeping her to me, cradling her. She was safe here with me. Always.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Juliette. It’s gonna be okay, honey.” The name rolled off my tongue before I knew it, but fuck it, I didn’t even care. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I promise. I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I always have.”
“I wish we were married,” she said suddenly, voice all strained and choked. “I wish I hadn’t wasted five years with him. I wish it was you. It should have been you. It was always you for me. Always, Bridger. I never stopped loving you.”
My eyes closed at her words. I loved her too. Had never stopped. Not even for a second. Not even when I was in that damn cell sleeping on cement.
“I don’t want him,” she let out. “I never did. I never wanted him and I never loved him and I hate him, I hate him so much. Why did everyone have to keep us apart? I hate them all too for keeping us apart.”
“I know,” was the only thing I could manage to say.
“I…” She exhaled too shakily for my liking, her fingers pawing at my shirt, clinging on to me like I was the only thing keeping her from falling. “I can’t be in this room. With him. I can’t, Bridger, please.”
For the quickest of seconds, I looked over my shoulder. Gordon was still a mess of blood; his eyes shut, knocked out after every deserved fist to his face. I’d deal with him later. Until then, I had to look after Juliette.
“I’ve got you,” I said. I picked her up with ease, keeping her face pressed there in the crook of my neck, moving her into one of the million other rooms in the house. One of the living rooms.
I sat her down on the couch and kept myself kneeling, finally getting a proper look at her. Swollen red eyes, trembling lips, hair a mess. I hissed and cupped the sides of her face, my thumbs softly running under her eyes to wipe away those tears that wouldn’t stop falling.
“My… My dad told me the truth,” she said, eyes locking to mine.
Those words halted me. “About what?”
“That… That letter. That wasn’t from you.” She gave her head a wild shake. “And you got one from me. One that you thought was from me. He made sure we both got one. The cherry on top was him getting me to hate you and you to hate me.”
“Juliette.” I sighed sharply. “What else did he tell you?”
“You didn’t ruin my painting.” A choked sob left her lips. “That wasn’t you.”
“No, honey.” I gave my head a slow shake. “It wasn’t. I’d never do that to you.”
“All I ever wanted was you, Bridger. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.
You never lied to me, and I threw that all away.
I wanted it to be you. Just you. You were it for me, and now look at me, look at my life, look at what I’ve become, what I let him do to me, how much I’ve changed.
” Eyes fluttering shut, her head shook wildly. “I never wanted to be this person.”
And then there was a cry so sharp I felt my heart ache right then and there. She buried her face in my neck and I quickly but gently pulled her into me, cradling her as softly as I could.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay, princess, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry you were stuck in prison for two years. I don’t blame you for hating me. I don’t.”
“I don’t hate you, sweet girl,” I said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I could never hate you. You know I love you. You know I could never stop loving you, baby.”
“I wish you were mine, and I wish I was yours,” she said. “Do you want that too?”
“I do, honey. I’ve always wanted that. God, of course I want that.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You should hate me for not believing you. You shouldn’t even care about what Gordon did to me. You should send me back in that kitchen and let him hurt me more.”
“Don’t say that,” I said again.
“I never loved him. Never. Not even a little bit. He doesn’t love me either. Whole stupid marriage is a mess. I hate it. I hate him so much, Bridger. He saw that painting and he lost it. I wish he was dead.”
I would make that wish come true.
“He’s not like you,” she said. “All the best things about you… Even just one? He doesn’t have that.
He never has. I wish I had never met him.
I wish I had run away with you five years ago.
It should have been you. I’m so tired of him, Bridger.
I can’t do this anymore. I had a break from him hurting me when you injured him, but he’s recovering quick and getting his strength back—”
“Wait,” I said suddenly. My whole body stiffened. “What did you just say?”
“He’s… He’s recovering fast and—”
“No, no. Before that. You said… You said you’ve had a break from him hurting you…” I pulled away from her so I could get a good look at her. At her eyes. I needed to look at them when I asked her my next question. “This isn’t the first time he’s done this?”
She sniffled softly. “No.”
“Juliette…” I pulled in a breath, trying to prepare myself for her next answer. “How long has this been going on?”
Her bottom lip trembled. “Since we got married.”
I was pretty sure I stopped breathing when she said that. My hand instinctively moved to the holster I wasn’t even wearing, ready to pull out my gun, ready to put a bullet in the back of his head like I should have done the first night I showed up at Juliette’s place.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, pressing my hands to the sides of her face, her skin wet with tears. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me the second I saw you? You think I wouldn’t have helped you? You think I wouldn’t have got you out of here?”
“What was I supposed to tell you?”
“He’s fucking dying tonight,” I said, teeth grinding together. “He’s dead. That’s it.”
“I know you really wanna hurt him, but can you please just…”
“What, baby?”
“Please just hold me like you used to.”
That was all it took for me to move. I pulled her to me. I didn’t even know where to put my hands. I wanted them everywhere. I wanted her feeling safe.