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Bridger

I f someone had told me a month ago that I’d be sitting on a wobbly diner stool in a podunk bar in the middle of nowhere, waiting to meet Holland Tate’s mother and her biker boyfriend, I’d have laughed them out of the room.

And yet, here I am, scanning the laminated menu in front of me while trying not to focus on how Holland’s knee keeps brushing mine under the counter, each touch sending jolts of electricity through my veins.

It’s the oddest sensation.

One I haven’t quite come to grips with.

“Having second thoughts about forcing your way into this?” Holland’s voice is low and teasing, but I catch the underlying tension woven throughout it. She shifts on her stool, her thigh pressing against mine before she catches herself and moves away. “You don’t seem nearly as smug as earlier.”

“Please.” I lean closer, drawn to her warmth. “I can’t wait to meet Mama Tate. I’ve been looking forward to it for days.”

“Is that so?” She arches a brow, and damn if that doesn’t do things to me. “Because you’re gripping that menu like it’s a shield.”

I force my fingers to relax. “Just trying to decide between the heart attack special and the cholesterol bomb. Thoughts?”

Holland shakes her head. “Ah, yes, the famous hockey player appetite. I’m just as impressed by how much you can put away as I am revolted by it.”

“I seem to remember someone joining me for that midnight study break feast last night. There weren’t any complaints when I fried us up a couple eggs and turkey bacon.” The memory of her laughing over the impromptu breakfast, more relaxed than I’d ever seen her, makes my chest tighten. Her guard had dropped, and it had been nice to joke around and learn more about her life.

Her lips curve into a genuine smile. “That was different. Late-night study sessions require sustenance.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Better than calling it the truth, which was avoiding my marketing project.”

The bell above the diner door jingles, and Holland stills beside me. A woman with auburn hair sweeps in like a hurricane in leather, wearing what appears to be a motorcycle jacket two sizes too big, and sporting a smile that’s equal parts mischief and mayhem. I take a closer look and realize there’s a gap in her smile.

Beside her is a burly man, who looks exactly like someone named Jigsaw should look. All beard, bulging biceps, and tattoos inked across every inch of available skin.

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Holland mumbles. “Shit’s about to get real.”

Without thinking, my hand drops to her knee under the table, and I give it a gentle squeeze. She tenses for a moment before relaxing beneath my touch.

“Holland!” Her mom’s voice carries across the diner and people turn to stare. “I missed you, baby girl!”

“Hey, Mom.” Holland’s voice is steady, but her knee presses harder against my palm.

The older woman’s gaze lands on me. The wattage of her smile intensifies as her eyes dance with speculation. “And this must be Bridger! You weren’t kidding, Holland. This man is handsome with a capital H.”

A low groan rumbles up from Holland’s chest as I suppress my laughter before standing to offer my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She holds on to me a little longer than necessary as her eyes twinkle. “And he’s polite too? You might want to keep this one.” She sends a wink my way. “Or maybe I will.”

“Mom,” Holland warns, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

“I’m Vivienne, by the way.”

The man besides her takes the opportunity to step forward and extend a hand that could probably crush concrete. “Jigsaw,” he says simply. His grip is firm but not challenging. It’s undoubtedly the best I could hope for from a guy named after a power tool.

“Bridger,” I reply, matching his tone.

The waitress appears, notepad in hand, and Holland’s mom orders a Bloody Mary without missing a beat. I glance at the girl beside me, who looks like she’s mapping out an escape route through the kitchen.

I’ll admit that I would be quick on her heels.

“So,” her mom starts, resting her chin in her hand. “How long have you two been dating? Holland tells me nothing.” She casts a glance in her daughter’s direction. “She’s so secretive about everything.”

“A couple weeks,” I answer quickly.

“Oh, I don’t know, has it really been that long?” Holland’s tone is honey-sweet but loaded with warning. “We’re still pretty new and taking things slow. Just one day at a time.” She side-eyes me. “Not really sure if it’ll work out in the long run.”

“Now, muffin,” I say, resurrecting my pet name for her, “I told you that we’ll deal with whatever life throws our way.”

Her eyes narrow as Vivienne sighs and leans forward. “I just love a man who’s all in.”

The tension filling my muscles eases as I flash a smile, making a big show of patting Holland’s hand. “When you find the right one, you need to hang on for dear life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that I’m necessarily the right one,” Holland mutters between clenched teeth.

I tap her gently on the chin. “My girl here still needs a little more convincing. Don’t worry, I’m up to the task.”

Her mother nods. “Holland’s always been cautious when it came to relationships. She’s not like me at all.” Her mother grins, and I try not to focus on her gap-toothed smile. “I tell her all the time that she just needs to lighten up and have some fun. If you can’t do that at your age, when can you?” She glances at Jigsaw. “Right, baby?”

He nods before his stare returns to me. “Viv says you play hockey?”

“Yup,” I confirm, my gaze drawn to Holland like a magnet. “But she’s the impressive one here.”

Holland blinks, caught off guard by my response. Her mom coos, clearly eating up the moment, but I’m not doing this for show. It’s the truth. “Balancing eighteen credits a semester, working part-time, and still managing to keep her GPA nearly perfect while dealing with...” I pause, wanting to choose my words carefully. “Everything else. She’s pretty incredible.”

The words come out more honestly than I intended. Holland’s fingers find mine under the table, squeezing them once before letting go.

“I’m not surprised. Holland’s always been the responsible one,” she says with a smile that’s filled with pride. “I can be a bit flighty.”

Holland stares at her glass of water. “It’s fine, Mom.”

“I’m just being honest.” Vivienne takes a long sip of her Bloody Mary. “Remember that time in high school when I forgot to pay the electric bill, and you had to study by candlelight for your AP exams? Or when?—”

Holland goes rigid beside me. “I don’t think we need a trip down memory lane.”

“She still passed with flying colors,” her mom continues, oblivious to Holland’s discomfort. “No matter what happens, my baby girl always figures out a way to succeed.”

My chest tightens at the pride in her voice, mixed with something that feels too much like absolution. Like her daughter’s resilience somehow makes up for everything she put her through.

I watch the interaction, feeling like an outsider to a private war. That’s when it hits me that Holland’s had to be the adult in this relationship for a long time. Every sharp edge, every wall she’s built, makes so much more sense now. This girl has been carrying more weight than anyone should have to, and her mom’s carefree attitude only underscores it.

“She shouldn’t have had to figure it out,” I say before I can stop myself. Holland’s head snaps toward me, shock written across her expression.

Her mother’s smile falters. “Excuse me?”

“Bridger,” Holland warns softly, but I can’t let this go.

“She was a kid,” I say, keeping my voice level, even though it feels like an impossible task. “Kids shouldn’t have to figure out how to study in the dark.”

The silence that follows that comment is thick enough to cut through. Jigsaw shifts in his seat while Holland’s mom stares at me, her earlier warmth cooling by several degrees.

“You’re right,” she admits in a softer tone. “She shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“Mom, he didn’t mean it like?—”

Vivienne’s brow furrows. “No, it’s true. I thank my lucky stars that Holland turned out the way she did. She’s so put together and driven. So…” There’s a pause before she adds softly, “Not like me.”

“Mom,” Holland murmurs, “there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Vivienne dabs at the corners of her eyes with a napkin. “We both know that I’m a mess. But I’m trying.” She glances at Jigsaw. “For the first time in my life, I finally feel like I have a true partner in crime.”

The burly man wraps an arm around her shoulders before tugging her close and pressing a kiss against the crown of her forehead. “We’re in this together, babe.”

She casts a watery smile toward her daughter. “I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve made my share of mistakes.” Her expression turns sheepish. “Okay, more than my share. But Holland? She’s a fighter. Despite having me as a mother, she turned out pretty damn amazing, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I say softly, looking at the girl next to me with fresh eyes. “I do.”

Holland’s face is a study in conflicting emotions. Embarrassment, anger, and something else I can’t quite read. Under the table, her knee presses against mine, but I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a thank you.

“Your dinners will be out in just a few. Anyone need a refill?” The waitress appears like a gift from the awkward conversation gods.

“Please,” Holland and I say in unison.

Her mom laughs, breaking the tension just a bit. “Oh, look how in sync these two already are. I love it.”

“So, Bridger,” Jigsaw speaks up, clearly trying to steer us toward safer waters. “What are your plans after college? Looking to play hockey?”

“No, I’ll probably get into marketing,” I say, grateful for the change in topic. “My cousin Steele’s family owns a marketing firm and I’ve already been offered a position.”

“Your cousin’s name is Steele?” Her mom perks up. “Do all your family members have such unique names?”

“Mom,” Holland groans, but I catch her fighting a smile.

“Actually,” I lean forward and say with a straight face, “my real name is Chad. I just thought Bridger was more interesting.”

Holland nearly chokes on the sip of water she just took. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

I raise my brows. “What? You can’t see yourself with someone named Chad?”

Her mouth falls open as her brows shoot up her forehead. “I…”

“Just kidding.” I grin, nudging her shoulder. “The look on your face was priceless, though.”

“I really hate you,” she says with a small laugh, all her previous tension dissolving, which is exactly what I wanted.

One side of my mouth rises in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

There’s a beat of silence. “No,” she murmurs, something in her expression making my heart stumble. “I don’t.”

Her mom watches our exchange with a soft expression. “Didn’t I tell you that one day you’d meet someone who would change everything? I think Bridger just might be that guy.”

It’s almost a surprise when Holland doesn’t immediately refute her mother’s comment.

“Hey, babe,” Jigsaw rumbles from beside her, “why don’t you tell them about the rally last weekend.”

As her mom launches into a story about leather-clad mayhem and questionable decision-making, Holland gradually relaxes beside me. Her shoulder presses against mine, and it takes effort to resist the urge to wrap my arm around her.

By the time the food arrives, the conversation has turned to lighter topics, mostly led by Jigsaw recounting some of his glory days with his “brothers.”

Holland picks at her fries as she stares at her food. Her brows pinch, as if she’s trying to solve an equation. I nudge her under the table with my knee to catch her eye.

“You good?” I ask quietly.

She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Yeah, fine. I’m just thinking about the work I still need to get through tonight.” The way she avoids eye contact makes me wonder if she’s telling me the truth.

An unexpected surge of protectiveness rushes through me. “We can take off whenever you’re ready. Just say the word.”

Her mom notices our exchange and smiles. “He really is perfect for you, Holland. Don’t let all my mistakes frighten you away from taking a chance when the right one comes along.”

Holland scoffs, but her cheeks flush. “It’s a little early to be thinking long term.” Her gaze flickers to mine. “Like I said before, we’re taking this relationship one day at a time.”

Jigsaw nods. “Nothing wrong with that. Plus, Hammer wouldn’t mind getting a shot with you. He’s a real fan of fiery redheads.”

I slip my arm around Holland before tugging her close. “Tell Hammer to find his own woman. This one is taken.”

Jigsaw shrugs before raising his glass. “To new faces and old friends.”

“To getting out of here as fast as humanly possible,” Holland mutters, loud enough for only me to hear.

I grin, my chest tightening in a way that feels alarmingly permanent. It’s the moment I realize that whatever this is between us isn’t so fake after all.