Chapter 29
twenty-nine
. . .
Bridger
I’d been in a shitty mood ever since returning home from Paris. A mile-high pile of work was waiting for me, and Emilia and I had called our little French tryst done.
Exactly as we’d planned.
She’d been swamped at the flower shop, and when she was at my house, she was always with workers, as renovations were well underway.
We’d text daily, mostly about the renovation, but she kept her distance.
Normally I would appreciate it. But oddly, it irritated me.
And today was already a crap day.
I always took this day off work to support my mother. The woman who had opened her arms to me after my mother lost her life and my father checked out.
“You seem more glum than usual,” my mother said as we stood at the graveside of my biological mother, her sister.
“Aren’t I always glum?” I grumped as the snowflakes came down around us.
“You’ve got both your mamas here, if you want to talk about it.” She shrugged. I wanted to say something nasty, remind her that no, they weren’t both here. But I didn’t need to be cruel.
I scrubbed a gloved hand down my face. “I’ve just been busy with work.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep.”
She studied me for a few seconds. “It sounded like you and Emilia had a nice time in Paris. Was it just a professional trip?”
“Have you been reading ‘The Taylor Tea,’ Mother?” I lifted a brow before tipping my head back to look up at the sky. The snow was coming down harder now.
“I always read it. It’s my guilty pleasure.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that they print that shit?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I mean, there have been things I haven’t appreciated. But we live in a small town, and it’s the things people are saying, either way. So I don’t take it too personal.”
“It’s a ridiculous column. I’m starting to wonder if maybe Emilia’s parents are writing it. Their sales are up, and they seem spiteful enough to be the ones who are actually pulling this shit off.”
“You’re avoiding the question. I didn’t ask who wrote ‘The Taylor Tea.’ I asked if there was any truth to you and Emilia going to Paris for other reasons than business.”
My mother was someone I’d never lied to. But this was an easy answer because of the way she’d worded the question. “Emilia and I went to Paris to look at a fireplace for the home renovation.”
She chuckled and then turned to face me as the white flakes landed on her black eyelashes. “Did anything romantic happen while you were there?”
“Emilia is a beautiful woman. She’s smart and funny and driven. But we aren’t dating.”
“Avoiding the question again, which means I have my answer.” She turned back to look at my mother’s gravestone. “I know you don’t think you’re worthy of love, but you couldn’t be more wrong, Bridger. You brought love into our lives when there was only darkness. You were the light that saved me.”
“Mom. We don’t need to talk about it,” I said. “I know how much you and Dad love me. I’ve had a great life. I’m not struggling.”
She leaned against me. “Why is it a bad thing if you are struggling, honey? You’ve got to lean on the people who love you, and tell us what you need.”
“Maybe I already have everything I need.”
I mean, in my defense, there would be good reason not to let people in. Look at my track record, for God’s sake. But of course, my mother, the saint of all saints, would never see it that way.
She sniffed a few times, and the chill in the air made it hard to take in a full breath.
“How about we head home. It’s cold as hell out here.”
“Okay. I’ve got your birthday dinner all prepped, and everyone will be there soon. Let’s head home to celebrate you,” she said.
I wasn’t a dude who had any desire to celebrate my birthday, even if you took out the fact that it was also the day that my biological mother died. Or that I spent every single birthday at the cemetery.
I just didn’t feel the need to celebrate the day I was born.
But I did it for this woman beside me. Because it meant something to her.
And she meant everything to me.
“Sounds like a plan.”
She turned back to the place where my mother was buried one last time. “I love you, my sweet sister. You’d be so proud of the man your boy has grown into. He’s so much like you. And I love him enough for the both of us.”
She found my hand and we walked back to where my truck was parked, and we drove the short distance to my parents’ house.
We’d have an early dinner, as no one wanted to be out late in a snowstorm, and everyone was busy, with Christmas being around the corner.
I suffered through all the birthday wishes, and, lucky for me, I wasn’t a cheerful dude by nature, which meant most people couldn’t tell when I was moodier than usual.
I checked my phone to see if Emilia had checked in. I knew she was heading to my house later than usual today, as she’d had a busy day at the flower shop. She had a key to get in the house for the days I was in the city, which was most days.
But I was anxious that I hadn’t heard from her.
The truth was, I missed a woman who wasn’t mine.
A woman who was at my house daily, but she wasn’t in my bed.
Her lips weren’t on mine.
And I missed it. Missed her. Missed her body. Her laughter. Her smile.
I was losing my fucking mind.
Maybe it was the grief speaking for me. I needed to shake it off.
And then I stared down at my phone screen.
Angel
Happy birthday, lover boy. I hope you have a good one. And even if you don’t want to celebrate today, just know that you are loved, Bridger Chadwick. And if you want to be sad today, you can be sad. You don’t have to hide it. XX
That was fucking deep, angel.
Angel
How is the big day going?
It’s torture.
Angel
That sounds promising.
Angel
I’m here at your house, and the guys are still painting. But I got you a little something for your special day and I’ll leave it on the counter for you. I’m guessing you’ll be at your birthday dinner late, but I’ll lock up when I leave.
“I’ve never seen you so enthralled in your phone before. Who are you texting?” Lulu asked, startling me when she came out of nowhere.
I tucked my phone in my back pocket.
“Did anyone ever tell you it’s annoying to sneak up on people?” I asked.
“Yes. But I’ve always beat to my own drum, so I don’t really care for other people’s advice.”
I chuckled. “I get that.”
“So who were you texting? You had a smile on your face, which caught me off guard.” She chuckled.
“It was a work thing.”
She nodded. “I haven’t gotten to talk to you about Paris. You guys had a great time, huh?”
“Yeah. I mean, I worked a bunch. But it was good.” I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck.
“Interesting. Did you know that Emilia met a man while she was there?” she asked.
“Really? She didn’t mention it.”
“She saw him several times. It was quite the Parisian fling.” She smirked. “How about you? Did you meet anyone while you were there?”
“Nope. I was focused on work.”
“Boring.” She shrugged as Henley walked over and handed me a fresh glass of whiskey. She and Easton had already agreed to drive me home, as I was several cocktails deep already.
“What are we talking about?” Henley asked.
“Emilia’s Paris fling.” Lulu waggled her brows, and they both chuckled. “It was life-changing.”
Life-changing. Couldn’t agree more.
“Impressive. We weren’t gone very long, so he must have been impressive.” I tipped my head back and downed the amber liquid.
“Right? It’s like something straight out of a romance book. She said Paris Guy was even hotter than Drake Dune.” Henley sipped her wine.
“Who the hell is Drake Dune?” I asked, hoping it sounded more like a question than the odd feeling of jealousy in my chest that needed to get out.
“We’re reading a new author, and we’re obsessed with her debut book,” Lulu said. “Her name is Hannah Chase, and this book has the best hero we’ve ever read. His name is Drake Dune. But he’s got nothing on Paris Guy.”
“Well, sounds like she’s hung up on Paris Guy.” I lifted up my glass when Rafe asked if I wanted another.
“No. She knows he’s not that guy . He made it clear. And he lives in another country. But it was what she needed to get back out there. We just got her set up on a dating app a few days ago, and she’s getting lots of swipes.” Lulu high-fived Henley, and my free hand fisted at my side.
“She shouldn’t be going out with strange dudes. They could be seral killers,” I hissed.
“She’s a very capable woman. And we helped her screen the guy she went out with last night, and he was fine. She’s still alive and breathing today,” Henley said.
She went on a date last night?
I’m fucking my hand every day in the shower, and she’s out dating?
“Good to know,” I said as my mother called us to the table. Rafe handed me a whiskey, which I downed in one swig once again.
This was the one day a year that I allowed myself to get shitfaced.
The one day a year that I wanted to forget everything.
But now I wasn’t thinking about my fucked-up birthday. I was thinking about Emilia Taylor.
And she was clearly not thinking about me.
“Guess who I saw today?” Rafe said as he passed the spaghetti and meatballs to me.
“Who?” my father asked.
“Wren Waterstone.” He glanced around the table.
Wren was the sister of Collin Waterstone, the dude who had cheated on our sister Emerson with her maid of honor, and lifelong best friend.
They’d called off their wedding after invitations had gone out, and she’d packed up and moved to Magnolia Falls.
Everything had worked out. She met Nash and his son Cutler, and she’d never been happier.
But that didn’t mean we all didn’t still despise that fucker Collin.
Which meant the Waterstones and the Chadwicks were no longer friends.
“I always liked Wren,” my mother said.
“She’s the sister of enemy number one, which means we don’t like her,” I grumped.
“I mean, I’m not big on hating people, but the Waterstones are just not people I will associate with after what that dude did to Emerson,” Easton said. “Even if it all worked out for the best, he disrespected her, and I won’t forget it.”
I moved to the bar and refilled my glass before holding it up once I was seated again. “I’ll drink to that.”
I didn’t miss the looks that were being exchanged around the table.
Yeah, I was drinking a lot tonight.
And I had no intention of stopping.
In true Ellie Chadwick fashion, she made everyone go around the table and tell their favorite story about me, which was the equivalent of being waterboarded.
I hated this shit.
But I listened and nodded and did my best to survive it.
“Unc-ee is my favorite ice cream date,” Melody said. “And sometimes he gets me two scoops of the ice cream and tells me not to tell Daddy.”
“Are you throwing me under the bus, little monster?” I said as she climbed onto my lap.
She placed one hand on each of my cheeks. “I’ll never throw you anywhere, Unc-ee. ’Cause you’re my favorite.”
I felt my heart contract at her words.
“You’re my favorite, too.” I kissed her cheek, and she giggled as I wrapped my arms around her.
My mother brought out the cake, and everyone sang to me. I continued sipping on yet another whiskey as Melody insisted I blow out the candles.
“All right. You can help me,” I said as we leaned forward.
“You need to make a wish, Unc-ee. What do you wish you could have that you don’t already have?” she asked, accentuating every word as it left her mouth.
“I have everything I want,” I said.
“Close your eyes, Unc-ee. You’ll see your wish,” she insisted.
And I squeezed my eyes closed, because she was the one person I wouldn’t deny when it came to this stuff.
And all I saw was Emilia Taylor.
My eyes sprang open, and I quickly blew out the candles.
Melody leaned close to my ear. “What did you wish for, Unc-ee?”
“Something I can’t have, baby girl.”
And that was the damn truth.
Because Emilia Taylor deserved way better than me.