Page 25

~ brIDGET ~

I was sitting on my couch, eating microwave popcorn from the bag and not-watching Netflix when I heard the creak.

My heart screamed into my throat, and for a split-second I was convinced I’d turn around and find my father—or one of his thugs—coming for me.

But when I whipped around, it was to find a hulking, hoodied, beautiful man leaning against the open-arch from the hallway to the living room.

He was smiling.

“Sam!” I leaped off the couch—popcorn went everywhere—and threw myself into his chest so hard he grunted. He caught me though, and I wrapped my legs around his and my arms around his neck and peppered him with kisses. “You came! You’re here!”

“Yes,” he chuckled, walking me slowly backwards. “As long as you don’t break me. I’m here.”

“For how long?” I gasped. He put me on my feet next to the back of the couch, but I pulled him down and started kissing his neck. When his hands tightened on me, a thrill jangled through my core and I reached for his jeans.

“Just for the night, I have to have my friend’s car back to him by seven tomorrow— ”

“That’s like, twelve hours!” I gasped. I was almost crying with relief. The tension I’d been feeling, that itching in my skin wasn’t gone, but it was twisting and morphing into something a lot more fun.

But then Sam caught my hands before I popped his jeans button, and when I looked up in surprise, he was leaning down, his hair messy from the hood, and his expression serious, eyes locked on mine.

“Bridget… tell me what’s going on?”

He was beautiful, and rugged—he hadn’t shaved for a couple days so his cheeks were darkened and prickly. He looked hot as hell, and twice as desirable. We hadn’t had our hands on each other in weeks. Why the hell was he trying to make me talk?

“Nevermind that!” I murmured, fighting him to get my hands free, but he had my wrists in that manacled grip of his—stupid, strong boys—and was keeping my fingers away from his button.

“Sam, seriously?” I said a second later when it was obvious he was serious. “We get so little time together. I’m happy you’re here. Let’s forget everything else.”

I pulled my hands back and he let me go, which was awesome, because then I could grab the hem of his hoodie and start pulling it up.

He spluttered and chuckled, but let me yank it up to his armpits, then helped me get it off—but as soon as he was free of it and I’d tossed it over my shoulder, he grabbed my hands again and stared into my eyes.

He was wearing a slim-fitting gray t-shirt underneath that revealed every dimple and plane on his torso. Need literally surged in me.

“Sam—”

“Bridge, look at me.”

Slumping, muttering, and maybe pouting a bit, I made myself meet his piercing gaze. His eyes searched mine, which made me itch again.

“I’m worried about you,” he said. “I know what time of year it is. I know your dad asked to see you. And you said Gerald has been pushing you to do that. So… Is that what made you twitchy today? ”

“No, Gerald wasn’t… I mean, it was about the Christmas thing and—”

“Have you thought about maybe… maybe it would help to see him? Even for a few minutes?”

My blood ran cold. “No.” I said, biting off the word, then trying to pull my wrists out of his grip, but the fucker was still holding on.

“Bridget, he’s really sick.”

I went still and even though I inhaled, I didn’t get any oxygen. “How… how do you know that?”

“Because I asked. I still know people inside. I sent some messages to find out what was going on with him and whether they thought he was trying to get his claws into you again, or if he’d shown some change—”

“You did what?!”

I yanked both hands out of his grip and took a step back. Then another. “Sam, I gave you that letter so you’d see what a manipulative asshole he is. I told you I have zero interest in seeing him.”

“I know, and I’m not going to push you, babe. I promise. But I thought I could get more info for you—”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

He frowned. “Bridget… I didn’t think you had to. I’ll do stuff for you because I think it’s good for you—”

“Not this. This isn’t good for me. I can’t believe you did that!” I was trembling, but not in the good way. I wanted to cry. I’d been so excited to see him! I couldn’t believe he’d gone behind my back like that—

“Babe, listen. I’m not going to do anything except give you information. I asked people who know him. Who work with him. They said it’s not a lie. He really is sick. He’s getting cancer treatment. He sleeps a lot. He’s getting thin. He’s not faking that. And… he wants to see you.”

“How the fuck do you know that?!”

“Because he talks about it. You have to understand, when you’re in prison, people visiting is like… it’s your lifeline. We all used to talk about it. Who got to go out on family day. Who got visitors during the week. How much it sucked when someone had to cancel—everyone knows everyone’s business that way. There’s not a lot else that— ”

“You asked though. You must have asked about me?”

“Yes—just whether he was talking about it. Sometimes the assholes brag, you know? Pretend good things are happening and show off to everyone else. But he’s not doing that. He’s talked about wishing he could see you—”

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“I didn’t do anything. I asked some questions so you’d know. I understand why this is so hard. I’m trying to help—”

“No! That’s bullshit. That’s not helping. That’s… that’s a breach of my privacy and… and my trust!”

“Bridget… no. You gave me the letter—”

“So you’d know what he said. So you’d see why I can’t trust him. He wanted me to visit for Christmas? Are you fucking kidding me? You have to see that that’s some kind of… of power trip—”

“Maybe,” he said, nodding. “But also… maybe it’s a guy who hasn’t seen or talked to a real person in twenty years and he doesn’t know how to do this shit. It happens to men in there, Bridget. They forget how to… well, not even be normal. They forget what’s realistic.”

“I don’t give a shit what he forgot, or what he’s thinking. I don’t want to have anything to do with him!”

“Okay, okay…” Sam stepped forward, his expression pleading. “I didn’t mean to upset you babe, I promise.” He stepped closer, opening his arms. “Please, Bridget. I only want to help. You’ve been so tense and… you sounded off on the phone today. I wanted to help.”

I licked my lips and swallowed. I wanted nothing more than to sink into his chest, but suddenly it felt like there were steel bars between us. Like falling into that chest, those arms, would be like falling onto a sword.

“How long?” I asked him hoarsely.

“How long, what?”

“How long since you… talked to people about me? And him? Does he know?”

Sam shook his head. “I was careful babe, I promise. I talked to a guy who was in the ministry with me and still works with the prisoners—he was one of the god guys your dad talked to last year. And I asked a woman who works in the infirmary. She shares my faith and she knows how to be discreet. No one’s telling him I was asking. I promise.”

“But—”

“Bridget… he doesn’t know.”

I nodded, but I didn’t feel easy about it. “How long ago did you ask them?”

“A couple weeks? Three? It was a week or two after you showed me the letter.”

I exhaled and took another step back from him. “You’ve been keeping this a secret this whole time?!”

“I was waiting for the right time to talk to you—when you didn’t feel afraid or… or… I don’t know. Something? I tried to raise it a couple times but you didn’t want to talk about him. So I thought maybe that was better for you not to have to. But Bridge… you’re getting worse, not better. And I can’t be here all the time. If I could be here to help, I would. But… I’m worried.”

It was like being torn into two pieces. I knew he was telling me the truth. I knew he cared. He loved me. I knew he wanted to help—and I knew he was careful with people. Especially me.

But there was a part of me that felt betrayed. Like he was keeping secrets with other people about me . And even if he did keep it all quiet, what if one of his friends wasn’t as discreet as him? What if they said something to my dad and he wrote me again?

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

“Bridget?”

My heart raced. I shook my head and stormed past him, down the hallway, towards my room.

“Bridget, slow down. Talk to me.”

“I can’t. I don’t know… There’s no… I don’t know what to say!”

Alarms screamed in my head.

If Dad figured out I was having someone ask questions, he’d know he might get closer to me. Even if he was dying, even if he was remorseful, I didn’t have it in me right now to face that. I couldn’t!

“Bridget—please!”

I’d just stepped into my bedroom when Sam caught my arm and pulled me around to face him. His eyes were wide and his face open—fearful. But when he saw me, his forehead pinched into lines and he sagged.

“Babe… I’m so sorry. Don’t cry. Please… don’t cry.” He pulled me into his chest, whispering, holding me.

And even though I was angry, being in his arms, smelling his smell, hearing his voice rumble against my ear… all of it was everything I wanted every second he wasn’t here.

I broke down and clung to his trim waist, burying my face in his chest. Sam wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, cupping the back of my head and leaning his cheek on my hair.

“Don’t cry, Bridget. I’m sorry I scared you. I was really careful, I promise…” His voice was deep, but quiet, vibrating in his chest under my ear and against my cheek. “I’m here, babe. I’m here. Not him. You don’t need to be afraid. If he showed up—if anyone showed up coming for you, I’d kill them. You know that, right? You have to know that. I’m here… babe, I’m here…”

I nodded, sniffing, wiping my face on his chest because I was embarrassed that I was crying again. But it felt so good to be in his arms and to hear his voice in person.

Then he cupped my face and pulled my chin up to make me look at him.

“Bridget,” he breathed. “I’m sorry I scared you. Do you believe me?” I nodded, but my tears increased. He wiped them away with his thumbs, his expression crumpling into grief. “What do you need, babe? Tell me what it is. I’ll do it.”

I couldn’t help it, even through the tears I laughed. “You, Sam,” I breathed. “I just need you. Please… just… be with me.”

His forehead lines deepened like he was trying to figure out if that was real. So I made the decision for him.

Pushing up on my toes, I reached for his head and pulled him down into a kiss—and the moment our lips touched, I whimpered with relief.

I kissed him first—he was a little taken aback. But when I slipped my tongue between his lips and slid it against his, he groaned, and shuddered.

And then he kissed me back. Deep, and hard.

Thank God.