Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridger
“ARRRRGH!”
Another growl rips out of me as the barbell crashes to the mat. Again. Four-hundred-pound deadlifts have my quads burning. My forearms are rubber, and my glutes surrendered to the enemy ten minutes ago.
That’s me, to clarify.
I’m the enemy.
“Yo.” Dex sends a smirk my direction and unfolds himself from the rowing machine. “Why do you hate my mats?”
I cross to my water bottle and take a long pull, both my hands shaking. “Hate’s a pretty strong word.” I swipe at my brow, then gulp more water.
“Maybe.” Dexter’s smirk shifts into a grin. “Remember when Sayla was convinced she hated me?”
“That was less than a year ago, so, yeah. I haven’t forgotten.”
Sweat rolls down the side of my face, and Dex tosses me a workout towel from the freshly washed pile. It smells like laundry detergent and bleach. “Might do another fifteen on the treadmill,” I tell him.
He frowns. “You’ve been punishing yourself for almost two hours, man. Keep up this pace, and our equipment won’t last through football season.” He nods to indicate the room full of gleaming machines.
Weight plates and benches and racks. Oh, my.
“Which would be pretty short-sighted,” he says, “considering your money paid for all this stuff.”
Like I could forget that either.
The paint after the reconstruction is still so fresh, it almost masks the scent of Loren’s shampoo. Emphasis on almost. Even the bleach in the towels can’t erase her.
And yeah, I probably shouldn’t have used her shower this morning. But I just wanted to smell her, you know? Without sticking my stupid nose directly in her carrot-cake hair.
“Fine.” I sling the towel over my sweat-soaked shoulder and sink onto a bench. “I’ll skip round two on the treadmill,” I say. “I guess I just needed a little extra push today.”
Dex sits across from me, arches a brow. “Is it the wife?”
“Nah.” I drop my head, give it a little shake, pretend the word wife doesn’t make me dizzy. “Loren’s great,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Because if there’s trouble in paradise, you can tell me,” he says. “We married men gotta stick together.”
“There’s no trouble.” I lift my face again, centering myself. “And no paradise.”
“So you say.” Dex sends me a crooked smile. “But I promise you, I’ve seen the way her eyes follow you around a room. And I hear the stuff she tells Sayla when they forget I’m around. Like things you’ve said that made Loren laugh that, frankly, aren’t even all that funny.”
“I’m always hilarious,” I deadpan.
“Of course.” He chuckles. “But I can read between the lines, man. Loren’s got real feelings for you. Big ones. And yeah, maybe she’s not saying the words out loud, but so what?” He hitches his shoulders. “Neither are you.”
I push out a laugh. “You’re right about that part.”
“Your wife gives herself away,” he says. “So maybe she wants you to figure it out. Just think about it.”
My wife.
On the outside, I grunt. Inside? I'm conducting a mental audit of evidence to back up Dex’s claims. Like Loren’s silly midday check-in texts, full of inside jokes.
Or the way our hands sometimes graze when we brush past each other in the hallway.
Her legs draped over mine on the couch in the media room.
The warmth of her gaze across the kitchen.
I’ve come close to kissing her more than once. And instead of pulling away, she always leans in. We’re sharing space together. Sharing a life. Our enormous house somehow feels small, but in a good way, when we’re both home.
Home.
“Yeah, I see that little smile on your face,” Dex snarks. “You’re figuring things out, aren’t you?”
“Stop staring at me.” I frown. “It’s creepy.”
“You just gotta trust, man.” He spreads his hands. “Maybe she doesn’t fully realize it yet. Maybe you don’t either.” He wags his brows. “But your boy does.”
My mouth slants. “And you’re the boy I’m supposed to trust?”
“Indeed.” He heads to the state-of-the-art water station to refill his bottle. “I’m a pro at understanding the complicated machinations of women.”
This pulls a laugh out of me. “Expert, huh? Then how come you had to get stuck in a cabin with Sayla for her to realize she didn’t despise you?”
“All part of the plan, my man.” He nods. Drinks. Gasps. “Now we just need one for you.”
“A plan?” I hesitate. “What kind of plan?”
He sets down his bottle. “Your birthday’s coming up,” he says. “Big day, turning thirty. New decade. New opportunities.” He winks. “Have you and Loren talked about how you want to celebrate?”
“We’ve been kinda busy getting married.”
“Bah.” He waves me off. “That was weeks ago. Time for a new party.”
I shake my head. “Loren’s pretty focused on her dad these days, helping him settle in, you know? We haven’t exactly talked about parties.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” Dex’s brows crowd in, and he’s quiet for a beat. Unusual for Dex. “So what’s her old man like?” he asks.
“Way better than mine.” The words tumble out. Gruffly. “Then again, hard to be worse.”
More quiet from Dex.
By now, he’s heard the bare-bones history of my father taking off. And the tourniquet my mom tightened around me afterward. But Dex can’t relate to that kind of family dysfunction. And my parental trauma’s the one thing I swore I’d never let define me.
So I brush it off. “My point is, Harlan’s a good man.”
Dex nods. “He sure raised a good daughter.”
“He did.” My heart swells a little at this simple sweetness from my friend. “He doesn’t always remember what he’s told me from one day to the next,” I add, “but his stories about Loren are pretty great.”
Dex squints.
Uh-oh. Maybe he didn’t catch—
“I thought he moved to that Havenwood place a couple weeks ago.”
Yeah. He caught it. Maybe Dex is sharper than I’ve been giving him credit for. Maybe I should take his assessment of Loren’s feelings more seriously. Maybe—
“How many times have you seen Loren’s dad?”
I grimace. “Several.”
“Like twice? Or a million? Give me a ballpark.”
I pause for a moment, weighing my options. Telling Dex the truth is where I land. “Every afternoon,” I admit. “While Loren’s tutoring. But you can’t tell Sayla, because Sayla will tell Loren.”
He cocks his chin. “And that’s a problem because …”
“Because Loren doesn’t know.”
“Whoa.” Dex lets out a low whistle. “Okay.”
“To be fair, I didn’t start out going behind her back,” I say.
“I went over to Havenwood to discuss future donation options with the director, and Harlan came up to say hi. He wasn’t sure where we’d met, but he recognized me, and his face lit up when he found out I knew Loren.
He started telling me about her, and I was …
hooked.” My mouth curves up, remembering.
“I came back the next day because I had to see that look in his eyes again. And I just wanted to hear more about Loren from the man who loved her first, you know?”
“First?”
I suck in air, and my ribs expand to the point where I feel like they might split straight up the middle.
“Man, you’re really in deep,” Dex says. Not a question. “Like all the way in.”
Yeah. I really am. All the way in. Not a question. But the exact words won’t come out of my mouth before I’ve told Loren. And I can’t tell her.
Yet.
“I don’t get it, though.” Dex hunches over, palms splayed on his knees. “Why not tell Loren you go see her dad sometimes?”
My airway cinches. I’ve got barely enough room to breathe. “I don’t want her to think I’m trying to manipulate her.”
Dex screws up his face. “That doesn’t sound like Loren. Or like your relationship with her. She totally trusts you.”
“Which makes this worse,” I grit out.
“How, exactly? Explain it to me like I’m four.”
I clear my throat. “Okay. Let’s say you're right, and Loren’s got some new feelings for me,” I begin. “And let’s say I’ve seen some things that make me think this could be true, too.”
“It is true,” he insists.
“Fine. But Loren’s also extra vulnerable right now, because of everything going on with her dad. And I don’t teach psych, but I remember reading about transference of emotions and stuff like that. Jumping in on that, when I’m fully aware she’s fragile, wouldn’t be fair to her.”
He frowns. “Are you being fair to yourself, though, by not even taking the chance?”
“Maybe not.” This is the part that’s the hardest to admit. “But if things happened between us, like romantically, and her feelings turned out to be just some mix-up from heightened emotions, I’m not sure I could come back from that. Ever.”
Creases slash across Dex’s forehead. “I hear you,” he says. “And I guess I even understand. But I don’t have to like it.”
“Yeah.” I flash him a grim smile. “Same and same.”
He pauses to drain his water bottle, then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “So what you’re saying is, for now, you just want things with Loren to be as normal as possible?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, I say the best way to do that is to have a party for your thirtieth.”
I arch a brow. “So I’m supposed to take advice from you on how to be normal?”
His lopsided grin returns. “Haven’t steered you wrong yet.”
“Debatable.”
“Come on, man.” He spreads his hands. “Let Sayla and me plan something for this weekend. We could even make it a surprise. You and Loren wouldn’t have to do a thing. Just show up when and where we text you.”
I run a hand through my hair, ruffling it up. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, yes?” He bats his eyelashes. “Pretty please?”
Man. I cannot say no to the guy. “Fine.”
“All right!” He pumps a triumphant fist in the air.
“Calm yourself,” I say.
“Can’t.” He hops up from the bench. “My friend? Prepare yourself for the most normal birthday ever.”
I make the drive back to my house in total silence. No music. No podcasts. Although I could use a pair of noise-cancelling headphones to quiet the WWE wrestling match in my head.
The stuff Dex dropped in my lap—details he’s noticed about Loren—made for some pretty compelling evidence. And his proof lines up with what I’ve noticed between Loren and me, too.
But believing Loren might want something more than friendship feels … dangerous.
Forget the heartbreak for me if we’re wrong. The damage I could do to Loren would be worse. I don’t want her to get caught up in something that isn’t real simply because she’s fragile right now.
I won’t risk hurting her, even if that means continued suffering for me. And sadly, that workout did nothing to relieve my mental agony. Now I’m basically a man with Jell-O arms, dangling over a water tank filled with piranhas, and only one thin rope to cling to.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
At the red light, an alarm sounds on my phone, and a groan slips out of me. My gaze shifts to the cupholder, although I already know what this is about. A reminder for the upcoming Zoom meeting with my trustee, Margaret Adams.
To say I’m dreading this first post-wedding contact with my mother would be a dramatic understatement.
I’d probably rather take a bath with those piranhas.
But at least she’s a thousand miles away from me physically.
No metaphor required. Also, she’s legally handcuffed.
I checked, double-checked, and triple-checked with my lawyer.
I got married before my thirtieth birthday.
That’s it. Control of the trust is mine.
As long as my marriage is legitimate.
The light turns green, and I fight a bolt of anger rising up in me. What else could she demand? The original marriage license? More video proof that our relationship is valid? I wrack my brain for the threat she leveled in her text.
If you’re deceiving me, I will learn of it.
Something like that.
I just need to survive this first official meeting without giving her ammunition. I’ve even got an outline printed on the desk so she can’t divert me. I’m going to spell out, in no uncertain terms, that she’s no longer permitted to steamroll me. I’m in charge now, and I answer to no one.
If she gets snippy or starts hurling insults, I’ll just grit my teeth and let her words roll off my back. Like water off a duck. She can’t ruffle my feathers.
“Quack,” I grunt, and a dark laugh slips out of me.
I’m still biting back a smirk when I come through the door and drop my gym bag on the floor. I already showered at the Stony Peak locker room, so all I have to do is change into something professional. From the waist up, of course. Then I’ll be good to go.
The whiff of perfume assaults me first, though. Cloying, floral, and way too rich.
Not Loren’s.
My entire torso goes rigid, like I’m being crushed in a vise, and I slowly turn toward the dining room. Our first houseguest is sitting at the table. Ramrod straight.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Hello, son.” Her mouth curls up. “Welcome home.”