12. Bridget
Bridget
Light streamed through the window, and I lifted both hands over my head, groaning as I contorted into a full-body stretch.
Through the crack in the door, the scent of frying bacon reached my nostrils.
Arizona must’ve beaten me awake because if I was the first one into the kitchen in the morning, I handled breakfast—my little way of saying thank-you for letting me crash here unexpectedly.
I swung my legs over the side of the mattress, my bare feet easing onto the hardwood, and I reached for the oversized cardigan discarded on the armchair, slipping it on over the secondhand pajamas Arizona had secured for me from her friend’s shelter.
Even though I knew this house was safe and secure, my heart rate kicked into high gear as I turned the knob, pulling the door open a fraction of an inch to peek into the hallway.
All clear.
Logically, I knew it would be, but deep in the back of my brain, I couldn’t shake the fear that Aiden would pop up out of nowhere when I least expected it to drag me back into Hell.
Venturing from the guest room, I made it exactly one step before halting.
There, slumped against the wall, was Cole. I hadn’t seen him when I first checked because I didn’t think to look for someone on the floor.
He was still dressed in a suit—though he was missing the jacket and tie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone—his head lolled to the side so that his ear kissed his shoulder. The uncomfortable position made me rub the side of my own neck as a phantom crick took up residence there in sympathy.
He could have just as easily gone home last night, slept in his own bed, then come to retrieve me in the morning. But he hadn’t. Instead, he chose to be close to me, even with a door separating us, and that made butterflies take wing inside my chest.
There was no doubt that Cole was one of the good ones.
I reached out to brush the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead, but I retracted my hand before I made it halfway there. That was a familiarity reserved for lovers, something we hadn’t been for a very long time.
Instead, I clutched my cardigan tighter to my chest and knelt beside his sleeping form.
“Cole.” Given that it was morning, my voice was rough from disuse, but when you combined the lingering damage to my vocal cords from Aiden’s attempt to choke me only days ago, his name came out inaudible.
After a few rough clears of my tender throat, I gave it another try. This time there was slightly more volume, but it was still raspy and hoarse.
Thankfully, it was loud enough that Cole’s lashes fluttered before lifting. His brow furrowed, his eyes slightly unfocused as he scanned the area.
“Wh-where am I?” There was a note of confusion in his tone.
“Levi and Arizona’s house,” I explained.
“Right . . .” He drew the word out slowly, as if he were working to put the pieces together.
A door unlatched further down the hall, and we both turned in that direction. Austin appeared in the open threshold of his bedroom, stopping to eye us critically from behind the lenses of his glasses.
“Did you sleep on the floor?” he asked Cole.
Smoothing a hand over the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, the man in question replied, “Yeah.”
Shaking his head, the teen stepped by us, muttering under his breath, “Grown-ups are freaking weird.”
The second he was out of sight, a giggle burst from my chest. Then another. And another, until I fell into an uncontrollable fit of them. It wasn’t long before Cole’s snickering joined in, layering over the sound of my own amusement.
Heaving breaths rattled my ribcage in my attempt to calm down, and I braced one hand against the wall to keep from toppling over, gripping my aching side with the other.
“Man, I haven’t laughed like that in years. Feels good.”
Cole’s sparkling gaze peered up at me, a dopey smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You always did have the most beautiful laugh.”
Cue the blush. And the reminder that I’d long ago forgotten how to take a compliment.
Rising to my feet, I extended an arm to where he sat. “Need a hand?”
His palm slid against mine, and he used the leverage I provided to push himself upright with a grunt.
When I released my hold, he placed both hands on his lower back, twisting until the satisfying crack of his vertebrae echoed in the air.
“That’s better,” he remarked.
We walked side by side down the massive staircase, and I said, “You know what I’ve heard is good for preventing stiff joints?”
Cole turned to give me his full attention. “What’s that?”
“Sleeping in a bed.”
He cracked a wide smile. “Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Is that”—I jerked my chin back toward the second floor—“going to become a habit?”
Lifting one shoulder, Cole said, “Probably. Unless it bothers you. In which case, I’ll stop.”
“What bothers me is that you come home hurting after a game, and passing out on the hardwood floor is wreaking even more hell on your body.”
“Will it make you feel safer if you know I’m out there?” I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off. “And don’t say what you think I want to hear. Tell me the truth.”
My shoulders slumped as I admitted, “Yeah, it will.”
“Then that’s where I’ll be.”
I sighed. “Cole, it’s too much.”
“Truth is, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. I wish I could do more, but I know the heavy lifting in healing is mostly up to you. So for now, I’ll be waiting on the sidelines, ready and willing to jump in whenever, however, you need me. All you have to do is say the word, and I’m there.”
God, could this man be any more perfect, maintaining a supportive presence while giving me the space to figure out this next part on my own?
Most days, it felt like I was walking on a tightrope, paralyzed with fear, knowing that one wrong move would send me careening into the dark abyss below. But maybe I would be brave enough to take a few baby steps if Cole was there to catch me if I fell.
“Whatever you’re making smells delicious,” Cole remarked as he entered the kitchen.
“Sit down at the table,” I instructed over my shoulder. “Dinner’s almost done.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave a mock salute, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes as he dropped onto one of the wooden chairs, taking care to place the cloth napkin over his lap.
Moving hot food from the pans on the stovetop to ceramic dishes, I carried our meal to where Cole sat waiting, setting his portion down in front of him before taking a seat myself.
Growing up, my mom was adamant that her kitchen wasn’t a restaurant where everyone could order individual entrées. So during hockey season, all four of us found ourselves on an athlete’s diet rich in protein and complex carbs.
My mental recipe book was overflowing with meals that were perfect for supporting Cole’s nutritional needs, and tonight’s offering was a burrito bowl featuring brown rice, black beans, grilled chicken, and lots of veggies.
“Mmm.” He rubbed a hand over his stomach after taking the first bite. A “so good” came out muffled around a mouthful of food.
I speared a piece of chicken with my fork. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t just like it. I’m already—” Cole’s words cut off abruptly when he lifted his head, and he eyed my bowl with a frown. “Is that all you’re eating?”
“Not all of us have a job where we burn thousands of calories a day,” I joked, playing off the fact that I’d measured out a quarter cup of rice and added only four ounces of chicken.
“While that may be true, birds eat more than you’ve got there.”
“Yet birds are light enough to fly.”
Those words came out muttered under my breath, but apparently not quietly enough that Cole didn’t hear them.
“Bridget, I need to know if you’re having negative thoughts about your body because you’re unhappy with how you look and feel or because he put them into your head.”
Shame curled through my insides, my eyes firmly fixed on the table.
Honestly, I couldn’t separate how I felt about my weight from how disgusted Aiden was by it.
Not after years of psychological abuse where he called me fat to my face and made remarks about how much I ate.
On top of that, there were the times when he grabbed my belly rolls to emphasize how much extra padding I carried around my waist and examined my skin for new stretch marks.
It was beyond humiliating, and I became hyperaware of every change as I grew heavier still.
My clothing being too tight—the discomfort of that—served as a constant reminder I was the furthest thing from a healthy size.
“Can you please look at me?” The request was uttered so softly that I was compelled to obey.
Lifting my gaze, I expected to find what I always saw in Aiden’s eyes when the conversation focused on the fact that I was plus-sized—judgment and disdain.
But instead, all I found reflected in Cole’s blue eyes was compassion and kindness, and it struck me that he didn’t view me as “less than” simply because I was larger than what society deemed acceptable.
When he spoke again, it only drove the point home that he was nothing like Aiden.
“To me, you’ve always been perfect. And you always will be.”
My lungs seized, and try as I might, I couldn’t breathe, let alone say anything in reply.
So Cole continued to blow my world apart with more words.
“If you want to be more active, that’s fine. I’ll help even. We can start easy with walks on the beach and work our way up to weight training and cardio in my home gym. But I’m begging you not to starve yourself; that’s not a healthy way to make a change.”
A single tear slid down my cheek.
I didn’t deserve this man, but somehow he was sitting opposite me, steadfast and strong enough to steady me when I stumbled—which seemed to be all I was doing these days.
Chair legs scraped against the tile flooring as Cole stood, rounding the edge of the table and extending a hand toward my bowl. “May I?”
My stomach decided to answer for me with a loud grumble. We both laughed at the sound, the mood sufficiently lightened.
In less than a week, Cole had exuded more genuine warmth than Aiden had in the past three years combined.
But it was a damn shame I couldn’t enjoy it, too busy looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Because it always did.