Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Bridger
I can’t move.
Mostly because my wife is on top of me.
Not that way.
But still.
We couldn’t get much closer if we’d ended up like this on purpose.
In her defense, the couch we’re on is tiny.
My fault for picking it, right? But the only other seating in the library is a pair of overstuffed armchairs.
Hardly conducive to wedding-night selfies.
And Sayla had given us strict instructions to take a few more pictures for her montages before bed.
Trust me. You don’t want to mess with Sayla Kroft Michaels when she’s in director mode.
So I did as she said.
The thing is, Loren and I didn’t expect “before bed” to end up here.
At least I didn’t.
And then I woke up holding her. At some point during the night, she must have shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Which, as it turns out, is her cheek on my shoulder and her knees folded up like a conch shell.
Her full weight’s been on me for I don’t know how long. But I can report that I’ve lost all feeling in my lower extremities. I can’t be mad about it, though. And I don’t want to disturb her yet.
Not when her breaths are coming so slow and easy. And her carrot-cake hair is fanned out across my chest. So what if there might be a touch of drool leaking onto my shirt? I want to soak up every moment of her peaceful slumber while I can.
Until I can’t.
Because her phone just buzzed on the coffee table.
For the third time. And I can’t tell who’s texting without possibly waking her too.
To be honest, I’d probably let her keep sleeping, even if I ended up with a leg amputation for lack of blood flow.
And the texts could be from Sayla, just checking in.
Still, three messages does seem like a potentially important number.
What if someone needs to get a hold of her because of her father …
That’s it.
I stretch my arm out as far as I can, fingers extended, fumbling for Loren’s phone. To be clear, I’m not trying to invade her privacy. I just want to see who’s trying to reach her in case it’s … not Sayla.
Inching the phone toward me, I glimpse the preview of a text.
Noah.
Super-man-bun Noah. The oh-so-irreplaceable PT.
My hand clenches. Not a fist, just … frustration.
Loren relies on the guy so much. Or at least she has in the past. She likes him.
She trusts him. And that’s not terrible.
It’s great. I’m glad she’s had people in her life she could rely on.
What’s harder for me is that her father likes Noah so much.
I can tell. There’s a fondness there, and a comfort, that Harlan may never feel with me.
I came on the scene too late. Timing is everything, as they say.
So yeah, I’m a little jealous of the relationship Noah has with Loren’s dad.
Is that selfish of me?
Maybe.
Honest?
Definitely.
Still, Noah’s probably just texting Loren updates on how his appointment with Harlan went last night.
In which case, hearing from him would hopefully ease her mind.
As it is, she stopped to check the tracker app and the cameras at his house at least a dozen times yesterday.
And either way, I can’t keep the messages from her any longer.
If there’s an emergency, I’d never forgive myself for lying here wasting time.
So, after mustering every bit of sacrificial instinct in me, I gently lift Loren until we’re sitting up. As I expected, she stirs, lets out a tiny, sweet sigh, and I melt.
Sorry, folks.
Changed my mind.
I’ll just stay here, frozen with Loren in my arms forever.
Who needs limbs, anyway? Totally overrated.
“Bridger?” she says, slowly drifting out of her dreams. And my name on her lips first thing in the morning is just about the best sound I’ve ever heard. She tips her chin, lifting her face to mine, and her sleepy lids flutter. Then she snuggles more deeply into me, and I increase my hold on her.
One thing I refuse to do is let this woman fall off the couch.
“We fell asleep?” she asks, her voice still creaky with slumber.
“We did.”
She drags her hands through the messy tangle of her hair. One long strand is stuck to her lips, and sunlight streams through the parted curtains, lighting her face. As her blue eyes blink into alertness, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
Does she even realize she’s still curled in my lap?
“Oh!” Her eyes suddenly fly open.
Yep. She realizes.
Blurting out an apology, she quickly moves to her side of the sofa.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I assure her. “I’m glad you were able to get some rest.”
“But … but … What about you?”
“I slept great,” I lie.
She touches her face and groans. “Did I … did I drool on you?” Her gaze drops to the wet spot on my shirt. Can’t lie about that.
“I mean … you didn’t not drool on me. But it’s fine. We’re married.” I hazard a crooked smile, not wanting to minimize her feelings if she’s truly upset about waking up on top of me. If, however, Loren is in the least bit worried about how I feel? Yeah.
Absolutely no need.
“How long did you let me sleep?” she croaks.
“Not long,” I tell her, which is technically true. “I only woke up a little while ago myself.”
“Was I too heavy? Did I squash you?”
“No. That’s not it.”
I glance at her phone, teetering on the edge of the coffee table. My jaw twitches, and I work it back and forth in a feeble attempt to loosen the tension. “You got some texts,” I tell her. “A few, from the sound of it. From Noah.”
As Loren lunges for her phone, my guts twist. As if I needed more concrete proof of exactly how panicked she’s been about her dad. For months now. Maybe years.
While Loren reads Noah’s messages, I read her face.
Like a book I’ve been memorizing chapter by chapter.
At first, there’s fear, as her eyes scour the screen.
Then relief in the softening of her mouth.
Concern replaces that in the tight knitting of her brows.
Finally, she exhales. Squares her shoulders. Sets down her phone.
Resolve.
“Everything okay?”
She’s not showing me Noah’s texts this time, so I thread hope into the question to mask my … frustration. The thing is, I have no true claim over Loren’s heart. Just a piece of paper that says she’s my legal wife. And yet, raw possessiveness leaks through my chest, overwhelming logic.
“He told me he could be there when I talk to my dad,” she says. “About Havenwood.” Her eyes wander to me, and she blinks back tears. “But his offer just made the reality so … real, you know?” She coughs out a watery laugh.
“Yeah.” I squeeze her hand, one supportive pulse. “That tends to happen with reality.”
“Right.” She forces a smile. Nods. Swallows. “I know this is a good thing," she says. “It’s what he needs. What we want for him.”
We.
“I just wish we had more time.” Her lids shutter. “And I’m not even sure how to talk to him about it, to be honest.”
Watching her struggle sends an ache straight to my heart. “Maybe having Noah there would be good for you,” I push out, even as a vein in my temple throbs.
“No, I think…” She clings to my hand. “I think I want you.”
Her breath catches, and she gives me a weak smile. Then her tears flow freely.
So I gather her in my arms, and I let her cry.
It’s almost shocking how much I missed the first time I was at Harlan’s house.
Then again, I was laser-focused on his daughter.
And okay, yeah, a little distracted by Noah and his role in their lives.
So I only soaked up a few surface impressions.
I could tell Harlan was clever and kind.
I figured he was probably safe here on his own at least some of the time.
Otherwise, Loren would never leave. Still, I could tell those other times, the times he shouldn’t be alone anymore, came with a cost.
And not just financial.
Today, I take in more details. Like his desk in the corner, cluttered by mail and old coffee cups.
The pots with no plants in them. Loren’s school portraits hung around the fireplace.
There are thirteen of them in matching frames.
Kindergarten through twelfth grade. The wall is a time capsule of missing teeth, crooked pigtails, braces. Questionable bangs.
All of them are adorable. And all of them urge me to shelter the little girl she used to be. Not to mention the woman she became. The one perched on the couch right now, talking to her father.
For the record, she let me read Noah’s texts before we came inside.
NOAH
Big H was awesome last night - into his exercises - firing on all (most) cylinders - but he called me this morning asking why I bailed on him. Sounded confused when I told him I’d been there.
I’m gonna stop by on my way to Havenwood to check on him.
Joanna told me you two talked. I’ll be with your dad again tonight if you need moral support when you bring up the move. You’ve got this, Lo.
I was so distracted by Noah’s use of her nickname, I tripped on the welcome mat and almost landed on top of Harlan when he opened the door.
So that went well.
Meanwhile, Loren’s managed to remain pretty calm since we arrived. I’d like to think having me here with her helps. But the truth is, she’s strong all on her own. After years of caring for both her parents, she knows the best way to handle this conversation.
Even if it’s hard.
So far, she’s gotten Harlan to admit that being here by himself can be lonely sometimes. He also copped to setting off the smoke detectors on occasion because he’s a bit too enthusiastic at the stove. Now, he just joked that he and the stairs are currently in the process of negotiations.
Loren frowns. “Have you fallen, Dad?”
“Not to worry.” He waves away her question. “I’m down here most of the day, anyway.”
So she reminds him she won’t be able to be here much once school starts again. And that she’s still committed to tutoring a few students throughout the summer.