Page 22

~ brIDGET ~

I ignored everyone on Jeremy’s floor, grabbed a couple snacks from the basket they kept in the office and walked straight to the open interview room, slamming the door before plopping myself down in the corner of the couch. Kicking off my shoes, I lifted my feet up onto the cushions and fixed my glare on the two-way mirror in case there was anyone in there.

By the time Gerald arrived, I was halfway through the second bag of Cheetos.

When the door opened I wasn’t sure it would be him. Wasn’t sure if Jeremy would decide to lecture me some more, or if he was pouting. When it was Gerald’s mostly shining pate and glasses that appeared, I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, or offended.

It was part of the arrangement I had with the FBI, that I would always be assessed psychologically after any major events—arrests, testimony… almost getting skewered by a psychotic rage-beast—to ensure that I was “safe” before I was left alone.

I had no misconceptions about their motives. They were covering their asses in case I ran off and killed myself.

Look, we did what we could!

But it also meant that I got free healthcare and sessions with Gerald that weren’t about my work, so I put up with it .

Of course, now Gerald was looking at me like he didn’t even know me, and somehow that was worse than Jeremy’s anger.

“Hi G.”

“Hello, Bridget.” The uncertainty in his voice shocked me a little. I watched him as he crossed the room towards me.

He wore his usual khakis and white shirt with a tie, but he’d loosened the tie—which I never saw in his office—and those wisps of hair were sticking out in erratic directions.

Clearly either Jeremy or the media had filled him in on the revelations of the day.

With a file and notebook under his arm, he walked across the room to the chair that squatted on the other side of the coffee table, all of which were supposed to make this room look like a living room, instead of an interrogation room.

When he’d settled down and gotten his pen out of his top pocket and clicked it, I figured out what was wrong.

Gerald always faced me. Always looked right at me. Like he was looking for the lie. Or maybe feeding on my soul, it was hard to tell sometimes.

But now…

He stared at the notebook in front of him and didn’t talk.

I sighed. “I guess Jeremy told you my news?”

Gerald nodded, but still didn’t look up. His forehead pinched into stress lines.

I waited. He clicked his pen a few times and cleared his throat once, but didn’t speak.

What the hell?

“Wow, dramatic much?” I said, not as strongly as I wanted to.

Then he finally looked up. I braced, expecting disapproval, or anger, or… something. But not hurt.

Our eyes locked and I sat there, waiting for the tirade to begin. But Gerald looked at me like he wasn’t sure who I was. Like I’d wounded him.

I suddenly felt five years old and shamefaced for wetting my bed because my father found out.

And that pissed me off.

But before I could tell him so, he finally talked.

“Why didn’t you tell me? ”

I almost laughed. It would have been ugly. Good thing I caught it. “If I told you, you’d tell Jeremy, and he’d tell the lawyers.”

Gerald’s eyes pinched like that hurt even more. He shook his head and looked down at his notebook again, his fingers tightening on the pen. But he didn’t use it.

My breath was getting short. “G, why are you hurt?”

His head snapped up and he gaped at me. “You… you really don’t know?”

“No, Gerald. I’m clueless.”

He blew out a breath and clicked his pen again. “Well, first I was hurt because you didn’t trust me to… to hold that for you. Which means you went into a situation that could have been really dangerous and didn’t let me help you. And now you’re telling me you think I would have gone running to Jeremy? Against every assurance I’ve ever given you, and every agreement—”

“They pay your bills. And we’re in a trial.”

“The Bureau would have to come to me with a search warrant before I’d tell them what you speak to me about, Bridget,” he said stiffly. “I am not an agent of the FBI. I am… I am here to help you. My reports to them are clinical notes—risk assessment—not therapeutic. They’re paying for my time.”

“Our whole agreement is that you have permission to tell them about what I’m doing, that’s the whole point—”

“No, Bridget. I have your permission to tell them if I assess you as being a danger to yourself or someone else. That’s it.”

I leaned forward and pinned him with my eyes. “If I had told you that I was in love with a guy who’d agreed to kill me, and I was going to elope with him after he was arrested for my attempted murder, I’m pretty sure you would have had some concerns for my safety. Yes?”

His lips pursed. “When you put it like that… yes. But…” he rubbed his face with one hand. “Bridget, how did you think this would work?”

“Exactly as it has—except for the part where they can force me to testify. That was a blow.”

Gerald shook his head. “Why would you marry him? ”

I took a deep breath and held his gaze, because he didn’t believe me when my eyes were shifty. And besides, it was the truth.

“Sam is the best person I know,” I said. I had to brace myself. It was harder to admit that than I wanted it to be. “And he’s like me. He has a dark side like I do. But he’s not scared of himself. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could walk into the world as sure as he is about what’s right and what’s wrong. I wish I could be so ready to, like, help other people. He sees me, Gerald. The real me. He doesn’t see a broken kid. Or a basket case. He gets it.”

Gerald’s brows pinched. “You think that’s how I see you?”

I wanted to punch him. “You kept harping at me to go see my father and see that, I quote, I’m not a child! But it doesn’t matter who I am—it matters who he is and the hold he’ll have on me! But you won’t listen. You know who people don’t listen to? Kids.”

“That wasn’t what I meant—”

“And even if you don’t think I’m a child, you definitely think I’m broken.”

His jaw tightened. “Aren’t you?”

“Bastard.”

“That’s not what I meant, Bridget. I meant, you think I’m not broken? You think I don’t have parts that I need help with? All of us are broken in some ways and not in others. That doesn’t make you a lesser person—”

“Apparently it makes me someone who should be railroaded into doing something I absolutely refuse to do!”

“But you’re making that decision out of fear. I want you to consider—”

“You want me to do what you think will help, regardless how it fucks up my head!”

“No, that’s not—”

“You’re not listening, Gerald,” I spat. “And that’s why I need Sam. Sam fucking listens. He even irritates me with reminding me of things I said before, or holding me to my word—that’s something you like, right? Accountability?”

“Yes!”

“Then try giving a shit about how I feel when you talk, instead of just getting your words out there and being right. ”

He blew out a breath and looked away from me, his eyes trailing along the carpet off to his left, like he was searching for something.

“Okay. I hear you,” he said finally. “But can I also say that you don’t leave me a lot of choice, Bridget. Half the time I feel like if I don’t get the words out fast and… and hard, that you’ll brush them off and keep going. You’ve told me before you have no respect for people who are intimidated by you. Well, here we are. I’m not intimidated, but apparently that tells you I don’t care. So… how do I strike the balance? How do I speak strongly enough for you to listen, without you thinking I can’t? Because my only goal here is to stop you from getting yourself killed and help you heal so you can be happy.”

I gaped at him. “You think me talking to my dad makes me less likely to get killed? More happy? You’re delusional!”

“Bridget, I met with him. A couple times. I’ve read his assessments. I watched video of his interactions in prison. I’m offering to go with you and be the buffer. I would never put you in his path if I thought there was any risk he was coming for you.”

“You don’t know my father.”

“No, Bridget: You don’t. You haven’t spoken to him. You haven’t heard him, or seen him interact with others since you were a child. That’s what I meant. If you’re ever going to be free of this, your heart needs to understand that he is a mortal man. Not some… being with control over everyone in your sphere.”

I sneered. “I don’t think that.”

“Maybe not consciously, but every step you’ve taken since we first met says your unconscious is convinced that your father is one step down from God.”

“I hate my father. How the hell do you see that?”

Gerald leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the notebook and folders in his hands like he might bring them up as a shield, but his gaze on mine was intense.

“Bridget, where do you think your recklessness stems from?”

“From not giving a shit if I die.”

Gerald shook his head. “You grew up in chaos. You grew up in violence. And in fear. You constantly test boundaries, because there’s a deep part of you that is aware that things could go wrong at any moment. Attempting to trigger whatever danger might be lurking is a way of asserting control. Because if you poke the monster and he bites, that’s on you. But if you were minding your own business, being happy, and he pounced on you…”

I glared.

But Gerald wasn’t done. “There’s nothing worse than a bad surprise. And you got a very, very bad surprise when you were a little girl. The worst kind. And threats of more from a source who had proven that he had both the means, and the balls to follow through. Of course he’s mythical in your mind. Your psyche was legitimately wounded, Bridget. But here’s the thing: You can heal. You have so much more in your arsenal now—forgive the analogy, but it’s fitting.”

“I am never going to play happy families with that bastard!”

Gerald frowned. “Is that what you think I’m asking? No, Bridget… If you visit him our goal isn’t his redemption. It’s your freedom. I don’t push you to see your Dad so you’ll think he’s a good guy. I push you to see your dad so you know that you’re strong enough to do it. Because you’re convinced that you’re not. And as long as this conviction that there’s a monster out there you can’t handle remains your primary driver, you never get out of survival and into thriving. ”

“No. No, G. I’m not giving him any more power over me—”

“You think facing him down gives power to him? No! Bridget, if you stand in front of the monster and see that you can, it doesn’t matter what kind of asshole he is, you’ve won. He doesn’t get what he wanted, and you do. But even if you never did that… sitting here in the dark, unwilling to see him in case he tries to manipulate you isn’t defeating the power he’s had over you. It’s giving in to it. Whether he knows it or not, you’re still living in his shadow. And in fear of him.”

“This is bullshit.”

Gerald sighed. “This is the very best advice I am capable of giving. But… it’s also not why I came here today. I came here today to make sure you were okay. To make sure this new violent man wasn’t re-traumatizing you. And instead I find out that you opened the door and invited him in? Not just into your body… but your life?! ”

“Don’t you fucking judge me—”

“I’m not! Bridget, I’m frightened for you!”

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to rant and rave and pace and do all the things that made my body stop itching. But Gerald had fucking tears in his eyes. The urge was in me to comfort him.

What the fuck?

“This is so fucking unfair.”

“Bridget, I am pleading with you—”

“No. No! You don’t get to put the guilt trip on me!”

“I’m not!”

“You are—and once again, you’re not listening. You want to know why I married him?”

“I want to know if you know why you married him.”

“Yes, I fucking know! Sam is incredible!”

“Sam is a liar, a felon, and—”

“He used to be a liar! He used to be a felon—assholes like you can’t figure out that people can change!”

“Is he still hunting you?” Gerald asked quietly.

I froze, then cursed myself for it when his lips tightened. He didn’t look smug, though. He looked sad.

Fuck!

I leaned in again. “The fact that Sam is also Cain means he doesn’t judge me . You think after the life I’ve had I can go shack up with some vanilla-ass-frat-boy who thinks God carries a gun, and that grabbing his dick is the answer to every hard question?”

“Of course not—”

“No, Gerald. I can’t. Sam gets it. He doesn’t judge me or underestimate me because of what I like. He doesn’t think I’m crazy because he likes it too. And he cares more and listens better than any person I’ve ever known. He makes me feel safe… Did you hear that? He makes me feel fucking safe and it doesn’t make me want to slit my wrists. Are you listening? Being with Sam makes me want to live. And that’s the first fucking time that’s happened in… well, ever.”

Gerald gaped, then closed his mouth quickly, swallowing. “I’m so glad to hear that you feel safe, Bridget, but… God… listen to what you’re saying. This man is a self-proclaimed predator … I’m sure the thrill is intoxicating, but—” he started hoarsely, but I cut him off.

“No! You’re not listening. He isn’t just Cain. And he’s not just Sam. But together… together they make this person who… who’s perfect for me.”

Gerald looked at me like I was telling him I would kill myself.

God, I wanted to punch him. “He’s never hurt me—not intentionally. Not beyond scrapes and bruises that I wanted. He is not a bad man. He’s a good man. And you people are going to ruin him.”

Gerald nodded, which made my heart sink. “Probably.”

I threw my hands out. “How can you just not care—"

“I don’t know Cain, or Sam, or whatever his name is. But I know you, Bridget. And I’m terrified that all you’ve done is gone out and pulled one more dark, dangerous man into your life. But instead of using the very few, very small brakes that you possess, you’re racing full throttle towards your own destruction.”

I sat back in the couch shaking my head. “That’s the irony, Gerald. This is the opposite of that. For the first time I want to be close to someone who wants to help me because they care . Exactly the kind of person you’ve been telling me to look for. And I’ve been talking to him. Everything you’ve been telling me to do for two years. I’m finally taking your advice, and now the whole fucking world is fighting me.”

Gerald blinked and his face grew thoughtful.

I pushed the point. “When I told you about Sam—before we knew he was both people—you said you liked him.”

“Because I didn’t know he was hunting you, and I thought he was a moral man, giving you good advice.”

“Isn’t that advice still good? Because he keeps giving it.”

“Not if it was a lie. A manipulation to trap you.”

“God, why does everyone forget: I’m the one who trapped him!”

That V pinched between Gerald’s brows that meant he was thinking.

I decided a new approach was needed and pleaded with him instead. “Gerald, I need to be with him. He calms me. When he’s gone, I get scared, and then I get tense, and then I want to go out and do all that stupid shit to distract myself. But Sam… he makes the rest of this fucked up life bearable. Please . Please, tell them that I can handle being close to him, even during this case. I want to get his restraining order rescinded—”

“Absolutely. Fucking. Not,” he ground out.

“Gerald, please.”

“I am not handing you the gun to kill yourself.”

“Sam is not a gun! He’s my life!”

Gerald leaned forward, his eyes wide and expression serious. “And that’s how I know you’re not ready for this. You knew this guy two or three months before you married him, and now you’ve spent the last six months apart? You barely know yourself, Bridget. There’s no way you know this guy.”

I was about to bite back, but then I had a flash of inspiration. Sam’s words from when we were on our honeymoon came back to me.

We needed a champion. Someone who’d fight with us, and for us. Both of us.

I smiled.

Gerald looked wary. “What are you up to?”

“I have a proposal for you,” I said.

He sat back in his chair like he was weary, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “What is it?”

“My proposal is… you meet with Sam—not for the FBI. But for me. Those… what did you call it when other people came into a session to help?”

Gerald sighed. “A collateral session?”

“Yeah. You talk to him. You ask him whatever you want—he’ll tell you. I know he will. Because he’s a good man. You use that big brain of yours to assess him and see if you think he’s lying.”

“Bridget, he’s probably a master manipulator—”

“I think you’re a big boy, Gerald. You met with my father, after all.”

Gerald’s lips twisted. “Okay, let’s say hypothetically I was willing to talk to Sam. What’s the purpose. What are you proposing?”

“Will you be honest about what you see? Even if you were wrong?”

“Absolutely.”

I smiled.

“Don’t toy with me, Bridget. ”

“I’m not. I’m happy. Because I know he’s a good man. And I know when you realize that too, then you can help us.”

“Help you? I’m not having anything to do with the trial. Even if he was a saint, I couldn’t get involved. It would be a conflict of interest with our sessions and—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Though I was disappointed, because the thought had occurred to me. “But if you talk to him, and you think he’s genuine, I want you to recommend that the restraining order is lifted so I can see him.”

“Of course. I should have known,” he said, shaking his head. His expression went flat. “And if you’re wrong? If I can see the signs that he’s not good?”

“If you aren’t convinced he’s being honest, and you think he’s lying about loving me, then I’ll admit that I was wrong, and I’ll let you take me to meet my dad. After the trial.”

Gerald went very still. “You’re shitting me.”

“Two swear words in one session? Having a bad day, G?”

“Bridget, are you lying to me?”

“No.”

“You said you refused to see your father.”

“And I’m confident I won’t have to.”

“And if you’re wrong? If you’ve misjudged this?”

“If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong. And that means I could be wrong about other things. Ergo… I’ll do what you say. One time. After the case is decided. You go with me. And if he’s an asshole, we leave immediately.”

Gerald stared at me for a long moment, then he sighed and leaned forward again. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… yes. Yes, I would like to talk to Sam—and I will assess him with an open mind. Though I don’t expect to find good news. And yes… if I’m right, I will accompany you to see your father, and we will do that under terms that keep you safe, and we will stay only as long as is healthy to do so.”

“Done,” I said emphatically and held out my hand over the coffee table.

Gerald didn’t smile, but he nodded. “You’re on.”