Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Loren
Bridger’s mouth closes and opens again, like he’s one of those claw games at Chuck E.
Cheese I used to play until the quarters my parents stacked on the table ran out.
One time, I snagged a stuffed unicorn before the claw slammed shut.
That was before my mom got sick. Before everything changed for our family.
But that’s not what we’re talking about right now.
What are we talking about?
Oh, right. Rosalind.
“Duh, I’m kidding,” I say, swatting at his arm.
I probably shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee.
“I just wanted to lighten things up after the heaviness yesterday. You know. Keep the joke going from our text. But the way you’re staring at me now …
” I cut myself off and peer up at him, examining his features.
Big gray eyes. Hint of scruff on a tense jawline. Shoulders stiff.
“Wait a minute.” I swallow. “Are you actually—you can’t be thinking about—” I gasp. He ducks his head. “Bridger, no. Whatever you do, don’t marry her!”
He sets down the toolbox and swipes a wave of hair from his eyes. “I might, though.”
“You … what?” I squawk like a wild bird caught in a cage. “Seriously?"
“I want to do good, Loren. I want to be good. I want the Adams name to mean something positive in this world.”
“But this isn’t the nineteenth century. There has to be a better way than marrying a woman you don’t love to satisfy an old-fashioned clause in some antiquated trust.”
His eyes drift to mine, holding steady. “It’s the easiest way.”
Wow. Apparently, I’m going to need even more caffeine than I’ve already had.
“Hold on. Don’t go anywhere.” I poke him in the chest, like that will make him stay put and unmarried, then I rush to the kitchen, my hands trembling as I top up my coffee.
After that, I pour Bridger his own mug and add a splash of milk, no sugar, the way I’ve seen him prep his coffee a million times.
Okay, maybe not a million times, but still.
I might be the tiniest bit unhinged.
Hurrying back, I push the mug into his hands, then I nudge him over to the sofa. “Sit,” I command. He does as I say, and I drop down next to him, tucking my feet up. “Let’s start over,” I say. “You obviously came here to tell me you’re marrying Rosalind so I could talk you out of it. Yes?”
“No.” He sets down his coffee. Unsipped. “I just need to tell my mom I’m on board, so we can get this show on the road. And I was hoping you’d be with me when I call her. Since you’re my only friend who knows.”
“Or, as an alternative, we could call Sayla and Dex and tell them you need an intervention.”
Bridger shrugs. “We probably should call them. I don’t want to wait until after I get married to—”
“Stop saying you’re getting married!” My voice pitches a full octave.
“I think I am, though.”
I don’t know why my heart’s fluttering so much, but I assume it’s because of the coffee. And also, one of my best friends in the whole world is about to throw himself on some stupid sword.
And for what?
“You’d better swear you aren’t doing this for me.” My statement is more like a strangled rasp, and I take a big gulp of coffee to avoid choking.
“I’m not not doing it for you,” he says. The words comes out gruff. “But this is about way more than that, Loren, so you can relax.”
“I cannot relax.”
He rakes a hand along the back of his neck. “Just think of what I could accomplish with unchecked control of my trust.” The muscles of his forearms flex. Biceps too. But right now is a terrible time to be noticing his muscles.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I avert my eyes. “New programs at Stony Peak High. College scholarships. I get all that. And it’s noble, but—”
“I could invest in wildlife preservation and the national parks system,” he adds. “Medical advances. Disease prevention. There are unlimited causes beyond the school system. And they’re important.”
“Right, sure. Still—”
“Havenwood,” he says.
I blink. “What about Havenwood?”
“They could probably benefit from more funding too.”
Now there’s a mic drop.
Of course Bridger would use a memory care community to make this idea make sense to me. That’s how determined he is to be generous. But can I really sit back and let my friend martyr himself?
For me?
“Be logical,” I urge. “It’s not like your mother’s just going to disappear once Rosalind is the new Mrs. Adams.”
Even as I say this, my stomach goes queasy. Bridger with a wife whose maiden name is Winthrop Barrington? Ugh.
“She won’t disappear, no. But as long as I fulfill the terms of the trust, she’ll have no reason to challenge me.”
I shake my head. There has to be something I can do to steer this ship away from Bridger making a lifetime commitment to a virtual stranger.
“Believe me,” he says. “I was up all night thinking. And this is the best option. For everyone.”
“But … but …” I sputter. “What if you weren’t able to marry Rosalind?”
“Moot point,” he says, kind of hastily if you ask me. “I am able to marry Rosalind.”
“Do you have to marry her specifically? Or just anyone in general?”
“I—” He pauses for a moment. “Hmm.” Twin lines form between his eyes.
At least I’ve got him thinking now. Am I stalling? Maybe. Is it working? Also maybe. “What does the trust actually say?”
“That I have to be married before my thirtieth birthday,” he admits. “Rosalind wasn’t in the picture when the trust was established. My mom definitely landed on her after the fact.”
“So that part can’t be forced?”
“I guess not.”
Wow. You’d think a detail like this would've occurred to a man as smart as Bridger. Then again, he’s Bill Nye the Science Guy, not Romeo. Or whatever.
“Okay. This is good.” I drain the rest of my coffee and almost gag on the grounds. “Here’s what’s going to happen instead.”
He ducks his head, calmly meeting my gaze. Waiting for me to elaborate.
Which means I need to elaborate.
“You aren’t marrying Rosalind, all right? We have to agree on that first,” I say. My insides are a wind tunnel, desperately whirling in search of a different answer to cling to.
He shakes his head. “Unless you have a better idea, I don’t see—”
“Marry me,” I blurt.
Bridger goes stone-faced, and the color drains from his cheeks.
“Yes.” I reach for his shoulder, and he flinches a little. But I know this is a lot, so I won’t take that as an insult. “Just think about it for a minute,” I say. “The solution makes perfect sense.”
His jaw ticks. “Does it, though?”
“You can’t marry Rosalind if you already have a wife. And we don’t have to literally get married. We’ll just tell your mom we eloped.”
“Yeah, right.” He blows out a breath. “That might work if my mother were anyone but Margaret Adams. But she’ll insist on proof. Actual paperwork for confirmation.”
“She doesn’t trust you?”
“She doesn’t trust anyone.”
“Hmm.” My leg bounces in a staccato rhythm while I think. I wish my body would stop twitching. I’m already exhausted. “Who do we know who can forge documents?”
“Nobody.” He furrows his brow. “And that kind of fraud would land us in worse trouble. If my marriage turns into a legal battle, everyone loses.”
His marriage.
My stomach gets even queasier. “So … what’s our next move, then?”
“There is no move.”
“Except for the fact that there is.” My pulse careens through my body, and I feel a bit breathless. “We just get married,” I say. “To each other. Like for real.”
“Loren.”
“Mrs. Loren Cane Adams.”
Bridger’s teeth clench. “That idea is a thousand times worse than me marrying Rosalind.”
“A thousand times?” I press a hand to my heart in mock pain. “That’s dangerously close to math, and mildly insulting, my friend.”
A vein pops out on his forehead. “Exactly. We’re friends.”
“Which is why I’ll pretend you didn’t just claim being my husband would be a fate more horrible than having Rosalind for a wife.”
Let’s also ignore the fact that Bridger would be the second man to reject marrying me in under a year.
“That’s not the problem,” he says.
“There is no problem,” I insist. “This wouldn’t be a marriage in the emotional sense. Just a legal contract. And that’s way safer than committing to that … that Barrington Barbie.”
“Safer how?”
“Because I won’t expect any of the romantic baggage she might eventually want from you.” Man, my brain’s firing on all cylinders now. The extra caffeine is really working for me. “Think about it. You have to admit, I’m making an excellent point.”
“You know what I think?” Bridger rests a palm on my bouncing knee. “I think you need a nap.”
“I’m not done yet, though.” I put a hand over his hand.
His big, warm, steadying hand. “Nothing would have to change between us,” I say.
“I could still live here, and you’d stay at your place, and we could just keep working together at Stony Peak, like the colleagues we already are. No one even has to find out!”
“That we got married.” He pulls his hand free. “To each other.” His voice sounds awfully robotic, given the brilliance of my plan.
“This is a lot to take in. I get that.” I nod. Bounce. Nod. “I mean, the whole revelation of your trust, not to mention the fact that you’re the anonymous donor, literally made me faint yesterday. But I’m pretty sure this plan could work to everyone’s advantage.”
“Everyone,” he repeats. “Including you.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve already refused my help, though. Repeatedly.”
“But that’s the beauty of my idea,” I insist. “Don’t you see?
In this case, the advantage would be mutual.
Not just me accepting money from you and offering nothing in return.
I’d be helping you out, too. Actively. And not just helping, when you think about it.
I’d literally be making the whole donor situation possible.
You could literally give away all your money if you wanted to, and your mother would literally have nothing to say about it. ”
“You really like the word literally today.”
He’s right. At this point, I may have used the word more in the past two minutes than I have in my entire life. But I’m not wrong either. My proposal would preserve Bridger’s full control of his trust, not to mention every future donation he’d want to make.
Including to Havenwood. “I do like the word,” I say. “And my plan. Literally.”
“So theoretically,” he rubs his chin, “in exchange for your willingness to be my legal wife, you’d allow me to cover the cost of your dad’s living expenses and all his future medical care?”
“Sounds like a fair compromise.” I bob my head. “Because you’d also be free to use your money to fund everything your generous soul dreamed of, while still being the science teacher your heart wants you to be.”
I splay my hands to signal the linchpin of my argument.
“I gotta be honest.” Bridger shakes his head. “This is not how I saw our conversation going this morning.”
“Well, the alternatives are you losing control of your money. Or marrying Rosalind. And since Rosalind is your mom’s pick, she’s probably more aligned with your mom’s goals than yours.” I hitch my shoulders. “I’m not sure I trust her.”
“Rosalind? Or my mom?”
“Both?" I say. “Neither?”
“You don’t really know them.”
“Do you?”
His silence is all the answer either of us needs.
“There’s a footnote to my proposal if you’re still not convinced,” I say.
“I can’t wait to hear.”
I spit a loose strand of hair from my face. “I detect the snark in your tone, and that’s because I know you so well, my friend. Which goes hand in hand with a main reason my offer is superior.”
He arches a brow. “All right. I’m waiting.”
“I won’t make you stay married to me when you do meet your future wife.”
At this, he laughs weakly. “What are you talking about?”
“If you married Rosalind, you could be stuck with her for the long haul. Or you could face a messy divorce if she’s not willing to let you go.
But I promise to walk away when you eventually find love later.
Because you will find love later. You’re a great guy with way too much to offer.
I mean, sure, you haven’t found Mrs. Right yet, but she’s going to show up someday.
And on that day, I’ll give you your freedom to marry her. Easy peasy.”
Bridger crosses his arms. “Can I assume this same easy-peasy courtesy would apply when you meet the man of your dreams?”
“I won’t,” I say, even as something sharp twinges behind my breastbone.
He stills. “You don’t know that.”
“I do, though.”
Something moves behind his eyes, and I slide my gaze away from his.
I’ve told him all this before. Him, Sayla, and Dex.
“I already planned the wedding,” I say. “I bought the dress. I hung my hopes on a future with Foster. And I’m never putting myself through that kind of emotional roller coaster again.
Which makes me a safe bet. Way safer than Rosalind. ”
I intentionally leave out the deeper cuts because he’s heard about those, too.
About the pain I felt watching my dad lose the love of his life. And the ache in my mother’s eyes knowing she was leaving us behind. For a split second, I tried to bury that heartbreak with Foster. But he only made the suffering worse.
“My only responsibilities now are to my dad and to my students,” I add. “And of course my chosen family.”
He unfolds his arms. “Your chosen family?”
“Sayla. And you.” Just saying the names out loud calms my heart rate a beat or two.
“We’re all only children with—let’s be honest—complicated parental relationships.
And somehow we found each other. That’s pretty special, right?
The family you pick? Dex is a part of that by default now.
And he happens to have a fantastic family we can borrow by osmosis or something. ”
“Yeah, that’s not how osmosis works.”
“Wow.” I fake a scoff. “You and your science facts just can’t help yourselves.”
He pushes out a chuckle. “You’re the one who proposed to me, remember?”
“Anyway, my point is, our little triangle of friendship is forever,” I say. “Or I guess it’s a square, if you count Dex. And when the time comes, and you fall in love for real, I’ll step aside and let whoever you choose join our … umm …” I snap my fingers. “What shape has five sides?”
“A pentagon.”
“Right.” I screw up my face. “But that sounds political. A pentagon of people? Ha! Well, hopefully Sayla and Dex will have a kid by then, and we can be a … ummm …”
“A hexagon.”
“Ugh. Hexagon sounds vaguely witchy.”
“Maybe you should cut back on the coffee.”
“My caffeine intake is a future problem,” I say. “In the present, we’ve got no time to waste. Your birthday’s in three weeks.”
“It is.”
“So you know what we have to do now, don’t you?”
“No. What?”
I hand him his mug. “Finish your coffee,” I say. “Then we call your mom.”