by Emily Childs
“Okay, you should’ve led with that.”
“I can make choices without my brother.”
“I know, but Parker will make anyone who messes with you disappear. He wouldn’t be okay with you being there if Bridger is a slime ball.”
I chuckle softly. “Someday I’m going to be a grownup to you and my brother.”
“Nevah! Hey, Lex,” Zoey says before we hang up. “Call me if you need me, girl. I’d be there in a second.”
“But is it because of me or do you secretly want to see the rockstar’s bat cave?”
“Do reasons really matter?” Zoey takes a deep breath. “In all seriousness, Lex, don’t let tomorrow get to you, okay? If being at Bridger’s helps with that, then great.”
Tomorrow? All at once my breath hitches. Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Once she’s gone, I bury my head in my pillows. They smell like fresh laundry and Bridger. Citrus and spice. I could breathe him all day and it’s unnerving what the thought does to my insides.
I go to the bookshelf. Time to turn off my brain and escape. After I’ve made my choice and dig into a science fiction romance, I lean back against the headboard and try to forget. Try to forget Nadia, Bryce. I try to forget that every time this sexy alien tries to kiss the female scientist he loves, I think of Bridger Cole.
Funny, but between being dumped and Bridger not being willing to open up about whatever is happening with Nadia—it’s the latter that hurts more.
Bridger drags his fingers through his hair. He leans against the counter, an unopened beer bottle next to an opened can of Dr. Pepper.
Every glance he makes at the bottle is a bite to my chest. Like he’s testing his resolve and he wants to give in to the pull I have no doubt is there. Maybe he doesn’t want to give details about what’s going on, but I’m not going to let him fall into something he might not escape.
I lift my chin and walk with forced confidence to the counter, then snatch the beer bottle away. Bridger whips his head around, startled, his eyes simmering with heat. “Alexis, what—”
“Nope,” I say and head to the trash can. With the foot lever, I open the lid and dramatically drop the beer bottle in. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.
He glares right back, challenging me as he leans against the edge of the counter. “You think I don’t have more?”
“I’m sure you do. This is one of those symbolic moments, Bridge. Where I stand here all tough and be the person who won’t let you go down this hole. You’re supposed to resist a little, but soon you’ll realize I’m right, that I’m trying to protect you. Next, the scene will turn into something heartfelt and fuzzy.”
His glare breaks and a grin plays with his lips. Unintentional. I’d planned to stand off with each other for at least a few more minutes, maybe shout a little about the risks of drinking at a time like this.
Bridger lets out a long breath, ending in a soft chuckle. “Al, you’re bad at this. You can’t write a script for our pretend intervention. It needs to happen naturally or where is the fun in having a come to Jesus moment?”
“I’m just telling you how it’s going to go. Do you disagree?”
“Honestly, I’d rather skip it.”
“Fair enough.” My voice quivers. “Don’t go there, Bridge. I won’t let you again.”
His crosses the kitchen until he’s a step away. “I don’t drink, Alexis. I keep them as a reminder.”
“Why tempt yourself?”
“Because it helps me. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but having the devil stare back at me helps, okay?”
“Fine.” I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to reach out and massage the base of his head. The muscles are all corded there. But if I touch him, I’ll probably set up to kiss him like my rogue daydream and what good would that do?
A great deal of good to this need boiling in my stomach, no doubt, but it’s embarrassing. But as a whole what would it do?
Nothing but cause a lifelong friendship between Parker and Bridger to end because my older brother would have to break his best friend’s nose when hearts were broken. Not sure if my heart or Bridger’s would be broken. He’s a sex symbol, and I’m not interested in opening this thing in my chest. It’s really sixes on who would take the first punch at destroying the other.
But there’s no denying something sparks inside being here with him again.
“Alexis.” His voice interrupts my thoughts.
“What?”
“You might not want to be around me when this breaks out.”
“Nope. Don’t try to scare me off.”
He sighs, but I think he’s trying not to smile. “Al, come on.”
“You come on,” I say, poking his chest. “When did you turn into a bear and storm out on me? You’ve never backed down from a battle of words before. In fact, you usually insist on having the last one every time. What’s going on Bridger? Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I’m not going to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Too risky. The more I talk, the more the tabloids write.” My mouth parts and I swear a flash of regret fills his eyes. He reaches for me. “Al, I—”
“No.” I pull away, voice rough. “I get it. You need to protect yourself. We both know I can’t shut up. It’s not like I want to ramble, but it happens. Who knows what secrets I might give up? I’m surprised you haven’t had me sign one of those NDA things. Parker makes all the girls he thinks I don’t know about sign one.”
Bridger shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor.
Whatever desire was in my gut now turns to good old-fashioned hurt.
“Ah,” I say. “You’ve got one ready for me.”
“It’s not personal, Al. I’ve just been thinking, and it’s for your protection as much as me. The paparazzi can be intense and they’d push for any kind of comment.”
I thought I might cry, but I’m angry. A delirious kind. “If I’m going to sign a gag order, might as well tell me everything, then.”
“I wasn’t sure if I’d ask you to sign anything yet.”
“But you were thinking of it. I told you, I understand. We’re not exactly close anymore are we?”
My words draw out the same hurt in me, on his face. Bridger is a professional at burying feelings, though, I simply thought I had the ability to bring them out. His jaw tightens and he offers a curt nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Then tell me. Why is Nadia writing all that stuff? Stuff like how you broke her nose. People have to realize it’s always been crooked. Once upon a time I thought it gave her face some character, now I’d really like to break it.”
He smiles, but there is a touch of sadness behind it. I hope it’s not because he misses her. Nadia encouraged him to be the rebel rocker. Bridger can own his mistakes, but I have to give her a little credit. She brought him lower when he needed someone to push him to be better. I won’t forgive her, not yet.
Truth is, Nadia almost killed him.
And now, she has the guts—nay, the audacity—to cut him like this? That woman hit the jackpot of men. Loyal, sexier than books, talented. Gentle.
His arsenal of qualities is why I pushed away for a time.
While Bridger partied, I studied. I met Bryce Hall. I lived a life apart, watching as he eventually floundered. But even in darker days, Bridger was the enemy who’d always own a piece of my heart.
“Thanks,” he says at last.
“For what? Are you avoiding my questions again because you know I can keep going and—” I draw in a sharp breath when his hand covers mine. My stomach tightens. Each finger takes on a mind of its own and threads with his.
“I’m not avoiding your questions,” he says. “I’m telling you I’m grateful you didn’t ask if I did it or not.”
My brow furrows, my voice lowers. I squeeze his hand again. “Bridger, the thought
never even crossed my mind.”
He gives me a soft smile. “Nadia has written a tell-all about our relationship and breakup. We were hushed about why we split, and I guess she found an opportunity to make some money.”
“Are you suing? You could get her for slander.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m keeping my head down. Denying, if asked. But there’s no proof I didn’t do it, Al. All I want is for this to die down and be forgotten by the next big scandal.”
“There’d be police reports, Bridger! Hospital stays, some paper trail to corroborate her story.”
“Not always.” His jaw tightens.
“Bridge—”
“It’s fine,” he says. “But I should’ve warned you the second I picked you up. Any connection with me right now will bring attention to you, so I understand if you don’t want to be here.”
“Are you . . . trying to get rid of me, Cole?” My voice is a high whisper. I twitch my eye intentionally. “You think I’m . . . crazy or something?”
He laughs, and before I know it, I’m in his arms, pressed against his chest. What . . . what happened? I’d brought out Crazy Al simply to make him laugh, but if he wants to smash me up against his delicious skin, all the better.
“Don’t think what I’m about to do next means I like you or anything, Cole,” I say against his chest.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But I’m totally intrigued to know what this next thing is.”
I grin and curl my arms around his waist, my fingers gently scratching his back. Almost instantly the tension eases from his body and he drops his forehead to my shoulder. It does something horridly forbidden to my heart. Things like unleashing thoughts of crossing that horrible line we drew in the sand once before. It’s foolish.
I’m not the girl who fits anywhere near Bridger Cole’s lifestyle. I’m not the girl he sees when he thinks of a lover. I’m a girl who makes him laugh, infuriates, annoys, and speaks honestly.
A girl who let him ruin her and who ruined him back.
Chapter 12
Bridger
Winter—2007
The back of the church has a music room. I stand there, staring. There’s an old piano, a tambourine, and a guitar against the wall.
My hands shake as I reach for it, fingers on the fretboard. In my head I see the melody, but my hands are frozen. Bitter and cold. What’s the point of playing? He’ll never hear it. A hot, angry tear drops on the strings. I wipe it way, still clinging to the instrument like it’s my lifeline.
I should be out there with my mom, but I can’t be by that . . . casket anymore. I loosen the tie around my neck and tug off the suit coat my grandma bought me, so my arms can move around the guitar easier.
I hold it, but don’t play.
For a Christmas present, my dad arranged guitar lessons, starting in February, with Bill Daniels—only the best guitarist and voice coach in greater Las Vegas. He’s worked with hundreds of musicians. Even played with Celine Dion at Caesar’s Palace. I know what it cost my parents, and now . . .
I close my eyes and a few tears stick to my cheeks. I can’t stop crying. Everyone expects Brooks to cry; he’s eleven. I’m the . . . the man of the house now. That’s what Old Lady Morgan told me.
I hate it. I don’t want it.
An ugly noise comes out of my throat. Uncool, and not like a rockstar at all. Not like Dad. He’d never hide in a stuffy old room and bawl like a baby.
I jump when a hand touches my arm. “What . . .” I sniff and hurry to wipe my eyes and hide my face. “What do you want, Al?”
She fiddles with her black skirt and stares at the floor. “I couldn’t find you.”
“So.”
“I wanted to find you.”
My chin quivers. I stare out the old, dingy window hoping she’ll go away and keep her mouth shut to Parker that I’m crying.
Even if I caught Parker crying last night.
“Hey, Bridge,” Alexis whispers. “Safety net.”
I hang my head. She’s my safety net. My dome of silence. I can say and do anything right now and Al won’t tell a soul. She’s proven it over and over ever since we decided to be safety nets to each other.
My voice is already stupidly squeaky, but I make it worse when I try to talk and the tears keep coming. “I can’t . . . I can’t play, Al. I think I hate the guitar. I . . . I think I hate singing and music.”
I drop the guitar and lower into a crouch and let it all out. My chest hurts, my throat. I’m not bawling. It’s more than that. I can’t breathe.
I’m fourteen, but already two heads taller than Alexis. She still manages to wrap her shorter arms around my shoulders. She hugs me and doesn’t let go. Not for a long time.
When my feet tingle from crouching so long, I wipe under my nose, embarrassed to look at her. She doesn’t force me. Alexis starts humming. I shake my head. I know what she’s doing, humming our weird song we made up. It has stupid words, things like fathead and onion breath, but she keeps humming.
A twitch pulls at the corner of my mouth.
Our mad lib song always made my dad laugh. Tears still in my eyes, I cross my legs underneath me and take the guitar over my lap. My fingers shake, but little by little, I start to pluck. Then, strum. Alexis starts to sing the words.
I snort a wet laugh when in the third verse she shouts, “Fart clouds!”
A minute later I realize I’ve sung the fourth verse and I’m laughing. I’m playing. Music isn’t what I hate. It’s that my dad won’t be here to hear it. He’s a hero for saving a lady, that’s what everyone keeps saying, and I believe them. But I wish he weren’t a hero. I wish he were here.
When the roof of the warehouse caved in with the fire . . .
My jaw tightens again. Alexis rests a hand on the guitar. “Don’t stop, Bridge. He’s listening, still. If you need me to, I’ll sing with you until you can on your own.”
“You can’t sing.”
She glares. “No, but I write funny songs. And you’re going to be one in a million. You’re not stopping now.”
I blink because I don’t want to be that uncool and start crying again. She offers me her hand once she stands, but I get up on my own. Mom and Brooks need me to be strong today, and I think I can be now.
But after we return the guitar to its stand, and Alexis opens the music room door, I tap her shoulder. “Hey, Al?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really think my dad can still hear me?”
She grins, and it’s the first time I realize she’s been crying the whole time, too. “Heck yeah, Bridge. I bet he’s up in heaven jamming out with the angels and saying what he always did—that’s my kid. Don’t stop playing or it’ll be too quiet up there.”
Chapter 13
Bridger
I tug my Kings cap low on my brow and gather my duffel bag.
Outside is gray with the desert dawn rising, but my darkening shades are drawn. The second I pulled back the shades, a guy dressed in black had his long-range camera pushed up against my window.
Tony and Brody at the gates took him down a minute later, but it sort of set the day off on the wrong foot.
The screen on my cell brightens the room. I hold my breath, hating that he’s always been insane and rises with the sun. Time to get this over with.
I press my phone to my ear. “Hey man.”
“How’s it going?” Parker asks. There’s a bite in his tone.
“Sorry, Park.” We’ve known each other long enough, I don’t need to beat around the bush. “I should’ve told you what was going on.”
“Should’ve,” he says. “Look, I know I asked for your help with Lex, but it’s sort of unnerving waking up to an interview about your best friend, who has your sister at his house, then finding a pap by your car.”
“What? The paparazzi came to you already?”
“Dude, we aren’t exactly quiet about being friends,” Parker says. “The guy shoved the camera in my face and some chick started asking
me all these questions about your drug use. Then, went to me, asking if I’m using stimulants.”
“Parker, I’m—”
“I get it, Bridge.”
“Is the league—”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Mandatory drug screening this morning.”
I let out a long groan. This is what I was afraid of. Those closest to me getting their lives twisted all because they have a connection to me. If anyone doesn’t take drugs, it’s Parker Knight. He hardly takes vitamins he’s so worried something will flag on his drug screenings. Now because he’s friends with the addict rockstar he’s under fire.
“Bridger, it’s fine. All it takes is peeing in a cup.” Parker tries to laugh it off, but I don’t smile.
“You shouldn’t have to.”
A pause builds between us. Being drafted by the Vegas Kings is a dream for him, and I’m certainly not going to be the cause of any drama getting in his way.
But when the silence goes on, I’m not sure friendship is enough. In fact, I think Parker is planning a few ways he can murder me with his wooden bat and make it look like an accident. One thing I learned a long time ago, you don’t mess with his younger sister.
“I’m not worried about me,” he says at last. “It’s Lex. She thinks she understands what it’s like to be swarmed, but . . .”
She doesn’t. “I know, I told her as much.”
“Yeah, I bet that went over well.”
“She didn’t care. Told me how it was. She’s like a guard dog.” And it means something after all this time that she got defensive at all. In truth, I thought Alexis might look at me with disgust and walk out the door.
Not threaten to break Nadia’s nose.
“You should’ve seen her when she came to visit for Christmas,” Parker says. “Some jersey chaser tried to slip something into my drink at the hotel bar. Dude, my sister can get feral.”
Something stirs in my gut.
Truth is, I wouldn’t mind seeing Al lose her mind a little. Even though her tongue rarely stops moving, her brain is organized like a file cabinet. She can probably pull out the three by five card stored somewhere up there and tell me what gifts I received at my fifteenth birthday party. Or what color my shoes were at my first high school dance. She’s like that. Always thinking, always pondering. To those who know her best, always talking.
