Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Bridger
“STOP IT RIGHT NOW!”
Loren shoves me. Another understandable reaction.
“Wish I could.”
She gawks for a moment. “You aren’t seriously talking about a full-on arranged marriage. Are you?”
“Yep. My mother. Her father. Just a couple of parents using their only children to merge their empires for personal gain. Totally normal.”
“Holy wow.” Loren’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Talk about a tale as old as time.”
“Older.”
Her lids flutter. Probably swatting away cobwebs of disbelief. “So you’re telling me if you don’t take this pre-selected woman to be your wife, you’ll lose all your money?”
“Not exactly, no. But as trustee, my mother could do enough damage that accessing the money becomes nearly impossible.”
“Like … what kind of damage?”
“All kinds,” I say.
“More specific, please.”
Specific? Yeah. I can do that. In fact, I’ve read so many of her emails, I’ve got the threats pretty much memorized. I can even use air quotes around the very best lawyer-speak.
“As trustee,” I begin, “my mom could ‘demand excessive documentation’ for ‘any and all transactions.’ Or she could ‘narrowly interpret’ the term ‘appropriate use of funds.’ She could also ‘slow-walk future approvals’ of my requests. She could ‘delay disbursements of monies’, and tie things up in—”
“Hold up!” Loren cuts me off and points a finger directly at my face. “Did you just say monies?”
My mouth twitches. “One of my mother’s favorite words.”
“I’m sorry, but anyone who pluralizes the word money is just trying to cause trouble.”
“You’re not wrong.”
She takes a beat, mouth still opening and shutting wordlessly. And I don’t blame her.
“No wonder you walked away from the trust,” she says at last. “And I’m glad you suspended the donations. At least now you don’t have to marry … umm … what’s her name?”
“Rosalind,” I say. “Rosalind Winthrop Barrington.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Loren bites back a smirk. “She sounds … expensive.”
“According to my mom, expensive Rosalind was actually down for the marriage. Or up for the marriage. Or whatever.”
“Flattering, I guess?”
I clear my throat. “The thing is, though, since Rosalind is willing, it’s not too late for me to go through with it.”
“Through with what? The marriage?” Loren scrunches up her entire face. “Have you been drinking?”
“Just think about it.” I shrug. “If I did marry Rosalind, I’d stay in complete control of the trust. Which means, going forward, I could invest my money in any way I wanted.
Donations to Stony Peak or anywhere else.
Foundations at colleges and universities.
Scholarships for STEM programs. And I wouldn’t need the approval of any board. ”
“Yes, but you would be trapped in a loveless marriage.”
My hand flexes. Involuntarily. A loveless marriage couldn’t be any harder than sitting across from a woman who will never know my true feelings about her.
A woman who’s sworn up and down she’s done with relationships. For good.
“Could be worse,” I say.
“Oh, really?” She guffaws. “Let’s make a list.”
“Or.” I cock my chin. “We could talk about the other big pro if I play along.”
“Like?”
“Like …” I let my eyes drift away from hers. “I could help you out. With your father’s expenses, for one thing.”
She reaches for my hand. The one I just unclenched.
“That’s a generous offer,” she says. “And I might’ve considered letting you help.
A little. Especially if you’d be able to do all the other good things you were just talking about.
But if the only way to make those things happen is you saying yes to some fake marriage, I feel like my answer would have to be no. For your sake.”
“What if we—”
“You were going to walk away before. Now that I know that, I can't let you change your mind. For me.”
My shoulders tense. That’s the least of what I’d do for her.
“In any case,” Loren goes on, releasing my hand, “I highly doubt Rosalind Winthrop Whatever-her-name-is would let me take a dime from you.”
“Winthrop Barrington.” I frown. “And you may have a point. But …” I take a beat, fumbling for a better argument, but Loren’s phone starts buzzing before I find one. The sound comes from the bag at her feet.
“Hold that thought,” she says, scrambling for her bag. As she digs in the front pocket, I notice her hands trembling. Then her phone buzzes again. She’s been so on edge lately, more worried about her dad than ever. And I don’t blame her. But I also don’t want her to think I’m hovering. Or prying.
So I check my own phone to give her some privacy.
There’s a new voicemail from my mother. And yet another email from her lawyers.
From: Stanton, Klein & Roth
Subject: Request for Virtual Meeting. Urgent.
I don’t bother to open the email. I already know what they want to talk about. Timelines. And compliance. The looming deadline. I avoid my mother’s message too. But I can imagine her lecture just the same. Crisp and efficient. Equal parts disappointment and hope.
You’re nearly thirty, Bridger.
Stability matters. And connections. Legacies.
This is how the world works.
It’s how our world works.
I shouldn’t have looked at my phone.
Loren lets out a shaky breath, and I glance at her screen. She’s on a thread with someone named Noah. His avatar shows a thick mane of hair and a square jaw. Jason Momoa in a tiny circle.
“I have to take a rain check on dinner,” she says.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
Stupid question.
“My dad’s physical therapist is over at my dad’s. It’s their usual appointment. But he just sent this.” She shoves her phone at me.
So much for privacy.
NOAH
Don’t freak out, but when I got here, your dad was in the front yard in his pajamas. Said something about pruning the roses? He was pretty disoriented, but he’s back to his usual self now. Inside and dressed. I just thought you'd want to know, since wandering is new for him.
Seriously. Don’t freak out. I’ll be with him for another hour.
“Don’t freak out,” I read out loud, then I hand back her phone. “That’s Noah’s best advice?”
“I need to go there. To my dad’s,” she says. “Now.” She taps at her screen, sends me an address. “Can you take me? Please?”
“Of course.”
As if I’d ever say no to her.
No matter what she asked.
As we make our way downtown, I try not to speed. My number one priority is keeping Loren safe. And according to Noah, her dad isn’t in immediate danger. Still, when I put in a call for food to be delivered, her legs are jittery, and she stares out the window, silent.
I want to say something comforting, but no words come. Meanwhile, the world rushes by in a total contrast to what’s probably happening inside her head.
In downtown Harvest Hollow white lights swing between the street lamps. Dogwood petals gather in the gutters. Most of the shops and cafes have their doors propped open, with sandwich boards welcoming evening visitors.
Eventually, we pass Stony Peak High, where fencing still surrounds the north end of campus. Renovations on the theater and gym are almost done. But from the road, you can see the scale of both projects.
Loren nods at a stretch of scaffolding, finally speaking. “You know, if it weren’t for your money, Sayla and Dex might still be arguing over whether the theater or the gym deserved to be rebuilt.”
“Nah.” I duck my head. “They’d already figured that out.”
“But only one of them was going to win the grant,” she insists. “Until you stepped in and saved the day, singlehandedly.” She tips her head. “Or would that be single-wallet-ly?”
“We don’t have to talk about this.”
She shifts to look at me. “I like the distraction.”
“All right.” I nod. “I can do distraction.”
She tucks a leg under her. Not jittery for now. “So tell me. Does it bother you that everyone still thinks the anonymous donation came from Lincoln James and Hadley Morgan?”
That’s an easy one. “Nope. Not at all.”
“They’ve denied it a bunch.”
“Yeah, but the theory makes sense,” I say. “And it makes for great gossip. Hollywood celebrity. Hometown girl.” I shrug. “Anyway, I wanted to be anonymous. I still do.”
“Hmmm.” Her gaze wanders back out the window, and she’s silent again for a stretch. Then she says, “My dad’s getting worse. So quickly.”
Distraction over, I guess.
But at least I don’t have to ask what’s going on with him.
I’ve read every piece of research I could find on FTD.
And none of what I learned is good. The progression’s unpredictable, for one thing.
Which makes levels of care hard to nail down.
And people tend to focus on the mental challenges, but behavioral changes are part of the deal, too.
Disinhibition. Poor judgment. Wandering.
Gardening in your pajamas.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Those roses stopped blooming a while ago.” Her voice is soft. Like she’s talking to herself. “My mom was the one …”
Her words trail off.
Something else I don’t have to ask about.
“I bet my dad won’t even remember why he went out in the yard.” She gives her head a shake. “And this is Noah’s last week with us.”
Okay, now I have to ask.
“What’s the deal with Noah?”
“Oh, he took a position as the head of PT at Havenwood.” A small, sad laugh slips out of her. “It’s the best memory care facility in the area, and Noah’s the best, so yeah. I get why they need him. But we need him too.”
Her sigh might as well be a sledgehammer pounding my sternum.
“Your dad likes him?”
“So much.” She nods. “Noah started out in occupational therapy at an adjacent rehab, then a few years ago, he transitioned into PT. So he can do pretty much everything.”
“Sounds like a real jack-of-all-trades.”
“More like Superman, with a man bun.” Another sigh. Another sledgehammer. “Which is why losing him hits so hard.”
I hate that losing Noah Super Man Bun hits so hard for her. For so many reasons. But this situation isn’t about me. Not even a little. “So what’s your next step?”
“Great question,” she says. “My dad’s probably going to need round-the-clock care soon, but I can’t even begin to afford that.
And he flat-out refuses to let me move back home.
He says he doesn’t want to be a burden. That I need to live my life.
” She takes a beat. “If I told him the way I’m living now might be worse, he’d be crushed.
But the alternative is crushing his pride. ”
“So.” I exhale. “No easy options.”
“And even if I force the issue and move home, I’ll be gone way too much when school starts again.”
“Right.” My grip increases on the wheel. I’ve been watching Loren silently shoulder impossible weight from the moment we met. “Just a gentle reminder that I’m more than willing to—”
“Rosalind isn’t an easy option, either,” she interrupts.
“But—”
“You’re not a genie, Bridger. You’re my friend. And friends don’t let friends marry Rosalind Winthrop … ummm …”
“Barrington.”
The word friend on her lips is a lung puncture. Three times. So I’m out of air and arguments as we continue the rest of the way to her childhood home.
The address is new to me. I’ve never even met Loren’s dad. She said new people can be confusing. And I hated being the new guy.
So I didn’t push.
But now I’m here. The place where Loren grew up.
The neighborhood’s well-maintained. Mature trees.
Neat flower beds and freshly mowed lawns.
There’s pride of ownership, for sure. Her dad’s house sits near the end of a cul-de-sac.
The paint on the shutters looks like it’s peeling a bit, and my gut twists.
I want to repaint the whole damn house for her.
“This is it,” she says.
A giant truck sits parked in her driveway.
Noah-with-a-man-bun is still here.
Loren makes a move to open the passenger door, but I hop out first and jog around to her side. Hand extended. Just another excuse to touch her.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says, her shoulders hitching.
“And for ordering food. And for not letting my thick skull hit the ground when I fainted.” She pushes out a laugh.
“Sayla and Dex didn’t need to be welcomed home by a concussed former roommate.
My life is chaotic enough. The last thing I want to be is somebody else’s complication. ”
“You aren’t a complication,” I say. “Or chaotic.”
“Oh, but I am.” She scrunches her nose. “I do appreciate your reassurance, though.”
She heads toward the house, and I follow her. After several steps, she pauses. “This isn’t a date,” she says over her shoulder. “You don’t have to walk me to the door.”
“Oh, I know.” I gulp. Don’t I ever. “But as you so rightly pointed out, you just fainted. Less than twenty minutes ago. I want to be sure you get inside safe.”
She arches a brow. “Safe-ly.”
“See?” I chuckle. “Correcting my grammar could be a full-time job. I could pay you—”
“Stop,” she says, but a smile tugs at her lips
We continue the rest of the way to the porch, where she stops and hikes the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. “Now you’ve delivered me safely, sir. You’re really quite the gentleman.”
Huh. At least she didn’t say friend.
“So.” I push my hands into my pockets. “You’ll eat that burger I ordered?”
“I’ll eat.”
“And you’ll hydrate?”
She nods. “I keep a Yeti here. I’ll drink two full ones. Promise. You can report back to Sayla that you got me fed and watered.”
“Good. Because tangling with her has consequences I’m not prepared to face.”
This earns me another small smile. Almost more than my heart can take. When she finally turns toward the door, I let myself exhale. One crisis at a time. One boundary at a time. I’ve done my part tonight, now I can go. But as I take a step back, the door swings open.
I freeze. So does she.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Loren!” he calls out gamely. “You’re late!” His hair is wispy and disheveled, but his voice is strong. He comes toward me quickly, and I can’t avoid the hand shooting out. Clamping my wrist.
This is bad.
“Well, get in here, you two!” He grins at me like I’ve just shown up at a party.
“Bridger’s busy, Dad,” Loren says.
“Nonsense. Noah and I have been waiting for you.”
I open my mouth to explain, and hopefully get myself out of the situation, but Loren turns toward me, her eyes meeting mine.
A silent plea.
Play along, she mouths. Please.
And just like that, leaving isn’t an option.