The flash in Bridget’s eyes died. The flatness of her lips faded. The fiery red shade coating her ears ebbed. Her mouth formed into a delicate O. Fire flickered behind her dark irises.
Adam’s heart rattled. He lifted his hand and ran his index finger across her narrow jawline.
The smoothness of her skin softened the rough edge of his fingertip. When Bridget’s gaze continued to hold his, she locked Adam in a moment he’d dreamed about behind bars with nothing but his beloved kwe’s picture to keep him company.
The tight bones of Bridget’s jawline diminished beneath his touch. She kept staring. Adam’s heart kept rattling. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. As soon as his mouth met Bridget’s, her yielding lips released an ache in his chest. An ache he’d carried for almost four years. He moved his mouth into a light pucker. Bridget’s kiss matched his sweet movements, and his heart swelled.
Her scent invaded him. The familiar feminine fragrance teased his muscles, stroked his skin, caressed his flesh. Her deep breaths fluttered against his ears. Their mouths moved in the same slow rhythm, a waltz of sensual heat full of longing and wanting.
His tongue yearned to taste her, claim her as his own again. He forced himself to draw back a breath from her. “Kwe,” he whispered.
A puff of air from her lips skimmed Adam’s skin. Bridget’s smooth lids fluttered, along with her rich, thick lashes.
“I gotta go.” Her voice was as drowsy as her eyes. Then her dreamy stare hardened. “I gotta go.” This time her declaration matched the tension sharpening her jawline.
She shifted and stared straight ahead, delicate hands braced on the steering wheel.
Adam had given Bridget something to think about, and that was what he’d intended to do from the start. That was enough for him. “Goodnight, kwe.”
Bridget kept staring straight ahead.
He slipped from the truck. With the passenger door barely closed, she drove off.
Adam slid the cigarettes from his shirt pocket and stuck one between his lips. He dug around in his pocket and withdrew the lighter.
Her delicate scent and the lushness of her lips continued to pound through his veins. He’d set out to unearth whether she still possessed feelings for him, and she did.
Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight. Nope. Not at all. Her kiss had given him too much hope.
Maybe he should consider finding his own digs sooner rather than later. No, he couldn’t. He was following the twelve steps. If he had a sponsor, the man would tell him to keep his dick under control.
Patience.
Chapter Nine: Nothing Up My Sleeve
“Hey, what’s up?” Jude clicked his fingers against the glass table in the foyer. He wore his don’t-bullshit-me look with his sweatpants and t-shirt.
Bridget should have spent her time cultivating a tribe of tight-knit girlfriends instead of spending her life volunteering for causes she believed in and devoting every other second to shimmying up the career ladder. The only place she had to run to was her big brother. She slammed the door shut.
“Where’s Char?”
“At a meeting... I think.” Jude meandered toward the kitchen. “C’mon, I need a beer.”
“No alcohol for me. I’m driving.” Bridget followed him down the hall. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors. “What meeting?”
“Work... maybe. I can’t remember.” Jude swung open the fridge door and pointed. “There you go. A six-pack of your favorite alcohol-free wild mango coolers we buy for spoiled lil’ ol’ you.”
“Thanks.” Bridget cupped the cooler.
She plopped on the stool at the eating bar attached to the island. The waterfall granite counter top cooled her arms where heat still prickled from Adam’s kiss.
“Well?” Jude twisted off the beer cap. “What brings you here this late? You told me you had a meeting. What’s with all these meetings? Summer isn’t over yet. Last time I checked the calendar, it was still August. I’m starting to think you and Char are up to something.”
“I have no clue what Char’s up to.” Bridget took a long drink off the cooler and washed away the warmth in her throat and Adam’s scent on her lips.
“Neither do I.” Jude snatched a dishcloth from the vegetable sink built into the island and wiped down the already clean counter.
“Did you ask Char?”
He shook his head. “Never mind her. It’s late. Where’d you really go?”
“Is Kyle in bed?”
“Already tucked away for the night. Where’d you really go?” Jude stopped scrubbing.
Bridget took another drink. She set the bottle on the counter. “For coffee.”
“Adam?”
“How’d you guess?” She shifted on the stool.
“Why?” Jude’s investigative dark eyes capable of penetrating a person’s deepest and darkest secrets replicated Dad’s x-ray vision whenever he’d caught Bridget in one of her teenage lies.
“He needs my help.” There was no point in lying. This was Jude.
“Come off it.” His lips pinched. “Help? What—does he need a Bonnie to his Clyde to rob a bank now?”
“No. Not a bank. The Beer Store.”
“Too true. As if he’d pay for his booze like everyone else does.” If Jude’s tone got any drier, he’d turn the rain forest into a desert.
“You have every right to hate him. Everyone does. Try to remember he’s Kyle’s father.”
“Father? How much time has he spent with Kyle?” Jude held up his fingers. “Let’s see. Three years? Tops?”
“Three and a half.”
“Yeah, and for year seven he sees him an hour a week. He’s not Kyle’s father. Just the sperm donor.”
“He’s making an effort.” If Bridget slumped any more in the chair, she’d be sitting on the floor soon. “If his new job works out, he’s going to rent a bachelor apartment. It’s where he was putting his money when he was on day parole in Winnipeg.”
“Did he ask you for money?” Suspicion clouded Jude’s gaze.
“No. He asked for help. He owes a debt of gratitude to a man in Stony who sponsored Adam while he was incarcerated.”
“He wants you to help a con?” Jude’s eyes widened.
Bridget scraped her heel against the foothold on the stool. “Emery spent a lot of time with convicts as part of his field work.”
“He sure did...” Jude positioned his hands on the counter and leaned in. “But he wasn’t letting them con him.”
Annoyance gathered under Bridget’s skin. “I’m not being conned. The body they pulled from the McIntyre River is this man’s daughter. Okay?”
“The police only found a body. Nobody knows who it is.” Jude raised his finger like Dad did when laying down the law.
Bridget straightened in the chair and also leaned in. “The authorities called the man at Stony. He’s Sheena Keesha’s father. She was in care when she died.”
“Maybe if this man thought of his daughter first, instead of doing who-knows-what to land him in prison, she’d be alive.” Jude drew in his cheeks.
If Bridget mentioned Cutter was in for murder, big brother would end up in Stony for murdering her ex-fiancé. “Adam owes this man a great debt. The man simply asked him to find out what happened to his daughter.”
“Adam isn’t supposed to be patronizing bars or any other places where alcohol’s served.” Jude tapped his finger against the counter. “He can’t be two feet near an ex-con. How’s he supposed to find out anything? He sure as shit won’t learn what really happened by talking to honest, hard-working people.”
“That’s why he asked me to help. He doesn’t want to jeopardize his parole or his chances at...” Bridget gulped. “... jeopardize his chance at getting Kyle back.”
Jude’s firm jaw slackened. His mouth fell open. Then he pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “You’re kidding me. He doesn’t deserve Kyle back. Not after what he did. You’ve been... we’ve been... everyone but Adam’s b
een caring for his son while he’s been playing New Jack City.”
A wave of helplessness washed over Bridget. “I can’t say no. You know damn well what the police are like. It doesn’t matter if they’re local, provincial, or federal. Look what happened to that girl in Winnipeg. She was murdered and thrown into the river, and a jury still let the man walk. You know as well as I do there’s no justice for aboriginal people.”
A flame flickered in her chest. “The Catholic Women’s Association can do all the walks they want, our own people can call for three hundred and sixty-five days to wear red in honor of the murdered and missing Indigenous women, but whether we like it or not, the general public doesn’t care. The only coverage we get is from our own television channel. How many people watch the Indigenous Peoples Network, besides Indigenous people?”
“Girl, you should have been a lawyer.” Jude flopped on the stool, and his sagging shoulders followed. “With you as his attorney, Adam never would’ve gone to prison.”
At least Jude was no longer upset. Bridget couldn’t help the snicker in her throat. She giggled.
Jude also snickered.
“You know what the children in care mean to me.” Pleading bled into her words. “A sixteen-year-old girl, who was pregnant, and in foster care, could have been murdered.”
“And what happens if you find out the truth?” Jude reached for his beer. A half-smile replaced his x-ray stare.
“I don’t know. Adam only wants me to follow some leads at The Gator.”
Her answer wiped the smile from Jude’s face. “The Gator? No way.” Dad’s infamous gesture reappeared in Jude’s finger-pointing. “Every week someone’s getting shot or stabbed. The police should have built their headquarters next door.”
“Adam has it covered. He has a friend who works there.” The words kept spilling from Bridget’s mouth in rapid succession. “This friend is a bouncer. He’ll take care of me.”
“What about the diocesan council? You have a chance at president-elect.” Jude threw out one hand, palm up. “How will they feel if they hear you’re hanging around The Gator? Your dream’s to become the president of the Catholic Women’s Association at the national level. It’s been your dream ever since Auntie bought you your membership.”
“I doubt they’ll rescind the nomination because I’m going to a bar to find information.”
“Will they know this?”
“No.” Bridget winced. “Adam wants us to be quiet about it.”
“There you go.” Jude again threw up his hand. “There’ll be rumors running around you’re hanging at The Gator and some outlaw biker’s ol’ lady.”
“I have to do this. I promised him I would.” There was no getting through to Jude, dammit.
“You don’t owe him anything. Not after what he did to you and Kyle.”
Why was Bridget even debating about Adam? Her family would never forgive him for his reckless and irresponsible behavior. And if they wouldn’t, why should she? Was The Gator for Sheena Keesha’s sake or Adam’s?
“I can always back out if it gets dangerous. I’m going to check it out at least.”
“You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do no matter what I say.” Jude’s flaring nostrils reeked of disgust. “Dad should’ve done more than ground you when we were growing up. Maybe if he would’ve taken a strap to your backside, you’d listen for once.”
Bridget squealed. “How can you say that?”
Jude glared at the fridge. He then directed his narrowed eyes at her. “Is it really over between you two? Is this why you’re helping him?”
His accusation sent judders of shock through Bridget’s limbs. “No!”
“I don’t want to see another Emery and Darryl situation.” Big brother mode was in Jude’s lecturing tone and stare. “Darryl caused a lot of problems for Mom, Dad, and the church. If Darryl hadn’t met the family halfway, it would’ve been pretty hard for me to approve of him when Emery married the guy behind our backs.”
Bridget rubbed her brow. Only she’d understood Emery’s feelings for Darryl and how torn her brother had been over loving a man, something Emery had considered forbidden, which was why he’d contemplated the priesthood in the first place. At least everything had worked out for him.
She wasn’t like Emery, though, who’d always conformed to what Mom and Dad wanted. Or what Jude wanted. Or what Catechism demanded. She had her own set of beliefs, many that clashed with the Church’s doctrine. “Maybe I should reconsider running for president-elect.”
“Wh-what?”
“I knew about Emery and Darryl’s affair long before anyone else did. I caught them when they were teenagers. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think what they were doing was wrong.”
“You didn’t tell anyone at all?”
“No. It was Emery’s business. Who was I to interfere? He was tormented enough. Tormented enough to enroll at seminary.”
“I told him I understood. We had a long chat when I was up visiting Mom and Dad last month. Dad called me.” The tension lining Jude’s eyes and mouth softened. “He told me to talk sense into Emery. Normally, I would’ve, but at times I agree, Mom and Dad have to pack up and leave nineteen seventy and relocate to the twenty-first century.”
“It’s nice to know you have a liberal mind.” Bridget should have remembered Jude always understood. He wasn’t a true hard-ass like Dad. Close, though, but not quite.
“It’s not about being liberal. It’s about being realistic. They’re times I have to keep my mouth shut. I’m a principal for the Catholic District School Board. I’d get my ass canned if I told them I support gay marriage.”
“So if you can support gay marriage, how do you feel about ex-convicts?”
“Aww, geez.” Jude took a drink of beer. He set the bottle down and rested his palms on the counter. “I don’t like when people use excuses to justify what they did. Lookit Darryl. He’s an intergenerational survivor of the residential schools. He never attended one, but his parents and aunt did. He didn’t use their deaths as an excuse to become a criminal or an alcoholic.”
What Jude said was true. When Emery had chosen religion over love during their teenaged years, Darryl had been hell-bent on revenge.
“Maybe he didn’t abuse drugs or alcohol, but he did have it out for the Catholic Church.”
“The same goes for Dad,” Jude said in his know-it-all tone. “The thing is, he reconciled his differences with the church. If anyone should’ve held a grudge, Dad’s your man. He went to one of those schools.”
“Dad suffered from alcoholism before he met Mom.”
“Dad also put a plug in the jug after he started attending church.”
Jude was always on the other side of the lawn. He’d never understand her viewpoint. “I’m trying to say everyone suffers in different ways, and they use different coping mechanisms to survive what they’ve endured. For Darryl, it was revenge. For Dad, it was, um, using non-native women and beating on their men.”
“Are you trying to tell me Adam’s problems are intergenerational?”
“I don’t know if they are or aren’t. All I know is he was physically abused when he was growing up and constantly neglected. His sisters raised him while someone should’ve been raising them. Those girls were wild from what he told me.”
Bridget threw her hands against her temples. If she understood Adam’s motivations for turning to alcohol, anger shouldn’t continue to claw up her spine at the mere thought of him.
“If you feel that way, then by all means, invite Adam to Healing the Spirit.” Jude buttered his words with a thick layer of sarcasm.
“He’s on parole. He’d have to get special permission from his PO. He also started a new job. I don’t think the manager would let him.”
“Healing the Spirit is up his alley. Or should I say his prison range? The workshop’s about reconciliation between residential school survivors and the following generations affected by them. Maybe he’ll have some kind of breakth
rough and never land in prison again after attending it.” Jude continued to butter his words with sarcasm.
“His PO’s supposed to support Adam’s transition into society. I’m sure this man could persuade Adam’s employer to let him take a week’s leave.”
Jude had made a good point. Mom and Dad had fought hard to host the workshop the diocese had developed for First Nations and Christian communities suffering from Indian Residential School syndrome. The contribution Mom and Dad had asked on behalf of the parish to host Healing the Spirit was what had set off Darryl’s plan of revenge against the local church in the first place.
Bridget had booked a week’s vacation to assist Mom and the parish’s Catholic Women’s Association with cooking, cleaning, serving meals for the participants, and readying the church basement for the workshop.
She’d ask Adam to consider attending. Maybe he’d have a breakthrough and never again pick up the bottle.
* * * *
Kissing Bridget continued to roll through Adam’s thoughts. Her moist flesh. Her soft lips. Her breath steaming the depression above his mouth.
He flopped on his bed. The mattress creaked and groaned.
Someone knocked on the door.
Adam checked the clock. Nine-thirty. The visitor had to be Logan. He did go to a meeting this evening.
“Enter.”
Logan scurried into the room. “How’d it go? Did she find out anything?”
“Didn’t go. Went for coffee. Told her why I need her help.”
“Y’mean she’s not gonna do it?” Logan’s face fell.
“She’ll help. She always helps, even when she’s pissed.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” Logan plopped in the chair by the window.
Girlfriend? What a question to ask. “Nope.”
“Ex-girlfriend?”
Adam sighed and sat up. “She’s a friend.”
Logan snickered. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who has babes as friends.”
“Later, kid. I gotta shower.”
“Shower? This late?” Logan bolted from the chair and blocked the door. “There’s something else I gotta ask you.”
Redeemed Page 8
