Page 9

~ SAM ~

That roiling started in my chest. I tamped it down. I knew what she meant. At least, I hoped I did. But…

“Cain is me, Bridget,” I said as gently as I could. “You found me.”

“I know,” she breathed and put her hand on my chest. “But Cain’s this piece of you—and I got that wrong too.”

I blinked, frowned, stifling the adrenaline that shoved into my system. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Cain is… Cain is your alter-ego, right? The dark side of you?”

“Yes, but there are no multiple personalities, Bridge. Cain is just the online name I gave a part of me that’s—”

“I know, hear me out. I think… I think this is important. I think if I told this part to Gerald he’d have a psyche-gasm.”

I turned my head to meet her eyes. Our noses were only an inch apart. I could see the flecks in her irises from here. “What is it?”

She swallowed audibly. “I misjudged Cain—I mean, you—too.”

I frowned. “How?”

“I got to know both sides of you, Sam. And I loved both sides of you. But I didn’t see that they went together—didn’t even suspect it. How is that possible? I kissed both sides of you. Touched both sides. Talked to both sides. But I never put them together.”

I smirked to play it off. “Because I’m good at what I do.”

Her lips thinned—for once, I was the one deflecting. I made myself be serious. And that meant, I had to make myself say the thing that had been terrifying me this whole time.

“You didn’t put them together because you only wanted one of us,” I said, forcing myself to hold her gaze—so I saw it when her eyes widened and she frowned.

“No, that’s wrong.”

I arched one brow, glad that she wasn’t leaning on my chest anymore so she couldn’t feel how my heart was racing. “Bridget… you ghosted Sam and got Cain arrested.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Then how was it?”

She opened her mouth, but caught herself before she spoke. I felt the tension stiffen her spine and I put a hand on her hip, suddenly afraid she’d flee.

But she didn’t run. She chewed that lip and swallowed, and her foot jiggled. But she didn’t run.

“Bridget?”

“I thought you were too good for me,” she blurted. “I thought Sam was too good for me. I thought I’d destroy you, and I couldn’t live with myself if I did. Cain seemed… God, Gerald would tell me that I was self-sabotaging, but I swear, Cain seemed like a safer bet.”

Cain… safer? I almost laughed. I caught the huff before it made it out of my throat. As it was I had to clear my throat. “I might need you to explain that a little bit,” I rumbled.

Bridget covered her face in her hands. “I know it sounds crazy. I was crazy. I had gone dark and I was panicking. I thought Cain was more like me and maybe… maybe if I could keep him alive I could change his mind so he’d want me around alive, too. I know it makes no sense—I can see that now—but everything was moving so fast and I had to do something. I was afraid of losing you!”

“Except… no, you weren’t. Because you dropped Sam.”

“For your own good!” she insisted, dropping her hands, her eyes searching mine. “Wait… is this what’s been bothering you?” she asked breathlessly. I frowned, but she pushed up onto he r elbows so she was looking down on me. “Sam, seriously—is this why you keep getting quiet? You think I like Cain better than Sam?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“Then how would you put it?”

God, she was going to make me say it. I had to break her gaze and figure out how to put this so I didn’t sound like a whiny bitch.

“I think… I think the part of me that is Cain excites you. And I love that you love the hunt like I do, Bridget. But… that’s the unhealthy part of me. Cain is going to be a smaller and smaller part of my life. And I guess I wonder how you’re going to feel about that in the long term.”

I met her eyes again then. She was chewing her lip, staring. “You want to stop hunting?”

“No.”

She frowned. “Then what do you mean?”

What did I mean? I clawed a hand through my hair as words failed me. “I guess I mean, one day I want a normal life. I think it’s better for me—for us,” I clarified. “If I don’t go to prison, if we can make this work, I want the cliché, Bridget. A house, two cars, and you know… kids…”

She went still.

My heart plummeted. We’d never talked about whether we wanted pets, let alone kids. I swallowed hard and plowed on. “You really think suburban mom and dad can drop everything and go on a hunt?”

Her eyes went wider. “I think there are such things as babysitters, and it would make a cool ass date night,” she breathed.

She surprised a laugh out of me. I snorted, which broke the tension, and a cackle of laughter burst out of me. “God, you’re amazing.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Then why are you laughing?” she asked, still staring down at me as I kept my eyes on the ceiling. I was still sniggering.

“Because it’s a fucking dream, Bridget. Could you imagine? Hey, kids, Mommy and Daddy have a date tonight. We’ll see you tomorrow—but don’t worry about the bruises. If Mommy tries to kick Daddy in the balls again, he’ll have to get a little rough. She’s stronger than she looks. And she’s got a wicked right-hook.”

Bridget smiled. “If we have a daughter I can teach her how to take care of herself.”

I frowned. “She won’t need to take care of herself. I’ll kill any little shit that looks at her side-ways.”

Bridget’s smile broadened. “Did you just defend the honor of our unborn daughter? Seriously? They don’t make them like you anymore, Sam. You are one hot motherfucker, do you know that?”

“I mean, you aren’t a mother yet—”

She spluttered a laugh and dropped her head to my shoulder. I curled arms around her and both of us laughed quietly, then sighed. And it was a moment. It felt so good that I knew I had to go all the way. I had to ask her all the questions. We had to get it all on the table.

“Be honest with me,” I murmured. “When you put that post back on the forum looking for another killer—”

“I was panicking. You’d disappeared.”

“Yeah, but… I know you talked to some of them. I’m just asking—”

“There was no one else, Sam,” she said, then craned her neck to lift her head and stare down at me again, no more laughter in her eyes. “There is no one else. No one.”

My stomach swooped and I squeezed her a little tighter. “So you’re abandoning your whole plan?”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry—have we met? Planning is not my forte.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Bridget,” I said flatly. “You came looking for me and your timeframe was so clear… why? What made it all urgent? And if you’ve given up on that, what changed your mind?”

She deflated. “Sam… it’s all you . You changed my mind.”

“You mean Cain changed your mind—”

“No. No, it was definitely you. You took me on that awful date and even though I was terrible at it, it made me want something I hadn’t ever wanted to look for. But that scared me, because hope is fucking terrifying, Sam. I was messed up and wrong. That’s what I mean, I misjudged everything. But it’s still true: You made me want to want another life. I was scared of that, and scared of what I’d do to you. So I made another plan to make myself feel better.”

“With Cain.”

She nodded. “With Cain.”

I felt a little better—still nervous, but more confident that she wasn’t just here for the hunt. But that just begged another question.

“I’m so glad you aren’t looking for a way out. But… Christmas is a little over three months from now,” I said softly and felt her go stiff immediately. “Don’t freak out on me, we have to talk about—”

“I hate Christmas.”

“Because of your Dad?”

She nodded. “Before that year, Christmas was literally my favorite time of year. Mom would always let me help her decorate the tree the day after Thanksgiving. And she’d collect presents and wrap them early so I’d come home from school and there’d be new boxes. I loved it—hot chocolate, peppermint, Christmas carols, the whole thing. But every single memory of those weeks looks like decking the halls, sounds like fucking jingle bells and Michael Buble, and… God, I hate it so much.”

“Bridget—”

“I’m not exaggerating, Sam. I’m a walking panic attack for like six weeks. Then when New Years finally arrives, I’m exhausted. Gerald says it’s the true definition of triggers—” she dropped her voice to a low, pompous posturing that I guessed was supposed to be Gerald. “Your brain has attached the negative experiences you endured with the external stimulus that were present during that season of your life. When your mind hears the music, or sees the decorations, it unconsciously associates those with core memories of pain and loss. To your psyche, Santa Claus might as well have murdered your mother. You have to face it, Bridget, because it won’t change unless you do…”

She groaned and rolled back over, shaking her head as she stared at the ceiling. “Whatever,” she muttered. “All I know is, I can’t escape it. And it’s fucking exhausting. ”

I took a deep breath and pushed up onto my elbow to lean over her, looking down, and put my hand on her hands where they were clasped, white-knuckled, on her stomach.

“There’s one difference this year,” I said quietly. She looked at me, and I smiled. “I’m going to be here this time.”

She nodded and smiled, but it was tight. And the unspoken words if you’re not in prison hung in the air.

“I’ll help, Bridge, I promise.”

“I hope so.”

I tipped my head and gave her the half-grin she liked so much. “I’ll have the best present for you to unwrap.”

She snorted and I felt some of the tension in her body unravel. “A ribbon around your cock is not a Christmas present.”

I pretended to be wounded. “What? Why? What more could a wife want?”

“To forget that it’s Christmas at all,” she shot back without hesitation.

I sighed. “Maybe we can go somewhere they don’t celebrate?”

She gave me a look. “In the middle of a Court case in which we aren’t supposed to be within a hundred feet of each other? Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

“Bridget—”

“I’m not mad, Sam. I’m being realistic.”

Neither of us spoke for a while, but I could see her sinking away, so I squeezed her hands again and made her focus on me.

“We’ll get through this. It’s going to suck this year—but I’m here, Bridget. I’m here for you. And when we beat this, we’ll figure out our own traditions. The… the Anti-Christmas. And we’ll do it every year.”

Her brow furrowed. “Promise?”

“Promise.”