CHAPTER 10
AVERY
As I get situated on the couch, I’m able to watch Bridger clean up the last of our dinner. He moves through the space efficiently and I can’t help but take in the way the muscles of his back bunch and move underneath his t-shirt.
The man really is gorgeous even though I get the feeling he doesn’t see himself that way.
Yes, his brown eyes are intense as he looks at me and his tattoos crawl up his arms like they can’t bear to do anything else.
But there’s more to him as well. Underneath the quiet brooding, there’s a steadiness about him which has helped to calm my fears and anxiety since the moment I locked eyes with him after screwing up all my courage to walk into Vibrant Ink.
Honestly, it was sheer fucking luck that I even remembered the name of where he worked. I’m quite sure he only said it once, but the small fact about him stuck with me. Frankly, I’m damn glad it did.
I have no idea where I would be right now if I didn’t remember or if seeing him again had gone differently. More than likely, I would be sitting alone in a hotel room surrounded by nothing and sobbing.
That is not a good look for anyone.
But that’s not how this day ended up playing out, and my heart flutters in my chest because of how damn sweet he’s been.
He didn’t yell at me or accuse me of trying to trap him with a baby. He didn’t tell me to go take a walk and get lost because I hadn’t tracked him down at some point in the last four months after finding out I’m carrying his baby.
He simply accepted me at face value, drove me to his place where he rolled out the red carpet, and let me into his home while making me feel like anything is possible.
The hope that has been trying to claw its way to the forefront of my mind since the moment his eyes softened as he looked at my baby bump, is getting harder to ignore. But hope is dangerous; I know that firsthand.
I’ve hoped I could be what my father wanted me to be, even though he’s never once been the father I needed.
I’ve hoped for someone to see me, really see me, and still want me.
When I was younger, the desire was innocent and wrapped up in a child’s desire for love.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve yearned for love that lasts, that is real, that is dependable.
The couch shifts as Bridger sits down. He’s close, but not too close. Is it wrong of me that I’d rather be snuggled against his chest right now instead of having any distance between us?
I swallow past the lump in my throat and try to push the feeling away. It won’t do me, or my baby, any good to give into temptation.
“You look damn good in my clothes, Sweetheart,” Bridger rumbles.
When I look up into his eyes, there’s a hunger there which has arousal flooding my system and dampening my panties.
Bad Avery.
The chastisement does nothing. I didn’t think it would, but I had to try. For my heart’s sake.
After we decided on what to order for dinner earlier, Bridger ran his fingers through his beard, something I was noticing to be a nervous tell, and muttered, “If you want to take a shower, I’m sure I have some sweats that’ll work for you until we can go by your place tomorrow and grab your stuff to bring it home. ”
The way he said home, like I had a right to be in his home, had words tumbling from me, “I really appreciate you giving me a place to stay for the night Bridger, but I don’t expect this to become permanent.
I was spiraling after the meeting with my father, and I dumped a lot of shit at your feet, which you handled with so much grace, but I can find a place. ”
Bridger’s eyes narrowed and the intensity in his eyes ramped up to a fucking 12.
“No,” he barked. “You’re not finding a place when I have space here for you.
” I blinked my wide eyes a few times, surprised by the force of his words.
His eyes softened along with his voice, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.
” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before admitting, “I want you here. I need to know you and the baby are safe.”
Right. The baby. It was about the baby. Which is fine and completely understandable. It felt like I didn’t have much of a choice other than to nod my head in understanding and give in because I had already hidden the baby from him for months.
Then he led me up to his room, handed me some clothes and left me to shower. If I spent a little extra time smelling his body wash and hair care products, well, no one ever has to know about it.
I felt a lot better when I came back downstairs, no longer in my clothes from work and surrounded in the comfort of his worn sweats and a shirt that faintly smelled like him.
When he caught sight of me, his eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t close the distance between us or pull me into his arms. Swallowing down my disappointment was more difficult than I’d like to admit.
Then the food arrived, and we kept the conversation light over dinner.
I have a feeling the time for light conversation is over.
Snuggling deeper into the couch isn’t going to delay the inevitable, but I do it anyway. A gasp escapes my lips when he reaches over, grips my thighs and turns me until my legs are draped across his lap. “I believe I promised a foot rub.”
I try to pull my legs away from him as I shake my head and insist, “You don’t need to do that.”
He smirks, his mouth pulling up on one side in a way that makes me want to launch myself at him. “I know I don’t have to, but I remember Wyatt talking about how Tenley would complain about her feet and ankles hurting. He said foot rubs were like gold in their house while she was pregnant.”
“Their little one is a few months old now?”
After making a humming sound, he nods and confirms, “Around three months. I’m sure Tenley’s number is on the list Amelia brought over.”
A huge smile breaks out across my face. “She was amazing and a little frightening.” Even though my eyes well up with tears, I blink them away. I’ve cried enough today, even if they would be happy tears.
A family.
She offered me a family.
I’m not sure if I’ll really be able to take her up on the offer, but it’s a nice thought that makes me feel warm from the inside out.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier when you mentioned getting your own place,” Bridger begins, his eyes fixed on my feet as he starts to massage the arch of my foot.
I let out the most unladylike groan as he hits a spot that makes my eyes cross, and my body goes limp. My voice is strained, “You don’t need to apologize to me about that. It just surprised me, but it does feel really good that you seem to want me here.”
When he runs his knuckles on either side of my Achillies tendon, I let out a porn star worthy moan. He shifts my legs slightly but doesn’t stop the movement of his hands. I eye him and the tips of his ears get red again.
“Sorry,” he grunts, and my eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“Why are you apologizing now?” I ask the question, clearly baffled.
Bridger clears his throat and grunts, “You make noises like that, and my cock goes hard as steel. You’re here and more than welcome, I just don’t want you to think there are strings attached that have anything to do with my dick.”
My mouth drops open and I make a noise in the back of my throat that would normally embarrass the hell out of me. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye with lust and my jaw clamps shut. The tension between us builds to the point that I’m uncomfortable and unsure of what to do or say.
“Could you imagine if there were strings attached to your dick. That would be quite the marionette,” I blurt the words and then clamp my hands over my mouth.
Bridger freezes for a moment before he throws his head back and laughs. This is a full-on belly laugh and all I can do is stare at him in awe.
“Fuck,” he gasps. When he gets himself under control his voice is tinged with a sweetness that goes straight to my heart, “I’m really glad you’re here Avery. I’m glad that when everything was falling apart, you thought to come to me.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I look down at where I’m twisting my fingers together on my lap. “I should have gone by to see you sooner.”
“Don’t do that,” his words are firm, but still contain an underlying warmth leftover from his laughter. “I’m not mad about it, and I understand how powerful fear is. You’re here now.”
“Yeah,” I murmur and then straighten up knowing I need to be a full-grown adult, “and I guess it’s time to talk about what we’ve both been avoiding—where we go from here.”
He nods, his jaw clenching. “I want you here, Avery, and not just because you’re carrying my baby.
I’m not sure if I know how to be the man you need in this situation, but I’m not walking away.
I don’t want to miss any more time.” When I cringe and look away, he sighs softly as his hand glides up my leg and squeezes the underside of my calf to bring my attention back to him.
“I’m not saying that to be an asshole or pass judgement.
It’s just a fact. I don’t want to miss any more time. ”
It takes a lot of effort not to hear his words as a recrimination and to hear them with the sincerity his voice holds.
“I’m sure living with a guy you hardly know, even if you are pregnant with his baby, sounds more than a little unhinged,” he tries to sound casual, but there’s a vulnerability in his words which has me reaching for his arm.
When I touch him, just like the night we met, a jolt goes through me. Bridger’s eyes snap to mine and the connection we have, the one we’ve been tiptoeing around, flares to life. I feel it pulse with every breath I take.
It would be silly and shortsighted to give into it.
“Living with you will take some getting used to, but I’m willing to give it a try. I’m not going to be selfish and enjoy all these weird pregnancy things all on my own,” I try to joke, but it comes out a little flat.
Bridger shifts slightly and my feet fall to the ground. His large hand hovers over my belly like he’s waiting for permission. I grip his wrist and bring it down until his hand covers where our baby is growing. His entire body softens, and it makes my heartbeat harder in my chest.
“Good,” his voice is a gentle rasp, “then it’s settled. You’ll stay here.” I nod slowly and he gives me a small, tentative smile full of hope and all the wishes of his past which have been broken at his feet. “We’ll go and get your stuff tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
His hand glides back and forth over my baby bump and I feel little flutters again, as if our child knows something special just passed between us. And maybe it did.
Bridger nods toward the coffee table where the books Amelia brought, complete with some flags sticking out from the edge, are sitting. “Looks like I have some reading homework.”
I giggle and nod. When he holds his arm out for me, I move faster than I have in months and snuggle into his side. Soaking up his warmth feels natural. All of this does.
We chat about nothing and everything, all those little things people talk about before they move in together and pregnancies happen. We’ve done things a little out of order, and, while I’ve been harboring shame about it for the past four months, this feels right in a way I wasn’t expecting.
Still, I can’t help but notice that we didn’t talk about what this means between us. Maybe it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Which is why I steel my heart for whatever ride we just boarded and tell myself that Bridger is opening his home, and his arms, to me for our child.
Why does it feel like a lie even as I try to convince myself that it’s the truth?