A Bridge Between Us

by K. K. Allen

  She makes a face and starts to uncork the bottle. “That doesn’t sound nearly as much fun as it is to open a dusty old bottle. It’s your fault, you know. Abner hates my taste for rich vintage.” She grins as the cork pops.

  Abner is her husband, a stockbroker in downtown Telluride. They live in a quaint section of town that overlooks the box canyon. They’re madly in love. I like to believe it’s only a matter of time before they start popping out kids. I’m happy for my best friend, though I would give anything to go back in time and spend the day together, free of all responsibility and with our one main concern in life being the boys we chose to give our hearts to.

  “Are you sure it’s not your own fault? I happen to remember you being a very strong influence on my disobedience.”

  She lets out a laugh. “Influence? More like accomplice. I wasn’t Wild One.” She winks, and my stomach turns at the old nickname. “You very much did as you pleased and couldn’t be peer pressured by anyone.”

  Okay, maybe Josie is right about that. I may have been the one to encourage her to join me on numerous adventures, all of which our parents would have throttled us over. But I can’t say I have a single regret after all we had the chance to experience.

  Josie holds up a glass, gesturing for me to pick up mine. “To you, for finally coming home to stay. It’s where you belong, friend, as hard as it is for you to admit.”

  I bow my head, accepting her toast. “To home.” I pinch out a smile and clink my glass with hers. She holds my eyes while we sip, and I know she’s got a follow-up brewing. I can feel it, thickening the air like a fog hovering over our heads.

  “I was going to wait to bring this up if I could help it, but I simply can’t. There’s a giant elephant in the room, and I think we need to talk about him.”

  Even I thought Josie would wait to broach the subject. She knows we don’t talk about him. I can’t talk about him. “It’s pointless, Josie. He’s in my past, buried there six feet deep, and that’s where he’ll stay.”

  Lies. Blatant, transparent, phony, lies. But love means that I’ve gotten great at keeping secrets, even from my best friend.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I shrug, knowing my response is stubborn and immature, but the way my insides feel like they want to crawl out of my skin tells me this isn’t the time or the place for this conversation. “I don’t need you to believe me. Even if I did want to see him, I wasn’t the one who left. Twice.” Just saying the words causes my throat to tighten and anger to brew in my chest. “I’m not having this conversation,” I whisper.

  She stares at me before she settles back in her seat and takes a gulp of her drink. When she pulls the glass away, she pinches the stem between the pads of her fingers. “I’m not asking you to tell me what happened between you two after that awful night.”

  “Good,” I snap.

  “But you’re back,” she says, ignoring my harsh tone. “And while you’ve been able to avoid Ridge all this time, the question isn’t whether you’ll see him again but when. It’s just a matter of time.”

  I open my mouth to cut her off, but she’s too fast.

  “And when you do see him again, you’d better be careful, Camila.” Josie’s eyes widen, fear burning bright around her irises and making my heart beat faster.

  “Things have changed a lot around here since you moved away. You’re back for good now, so you’re going to see that. But you know better than most that history repeats itself. This town doesn’t need another Bell-Cross feud rising from the ashes.”

  I swallow and straighten my shoulders so that she can see how serious I am. “Ridge broke my heart, Josie. It was over then. It’s still over. And if I see him again—when I see him again—I’ll be cordial. But I’ll never forget.”

  Josie seems like she wants to trust my words but isn’t confident that she can. “Okay,” she says finally. Then she nods, as if finally accepting my answer. “Okay.”

  Chapter 43

  Camila

  The party lasts for too many hours. I feel drunk and worn out from a night of laughing with people I barely know while masking a longing for someone I know all too well. A decade is long enough for feelings for a long-lost love to fade. For my family and peers, ten years is long enough to forget completely.

  But I know something that no one else in this room does. It’s been five years since I last saw Ridge Cross, not ten.

  Four years after leaving Telluride marked the significance of many things. Ridge and I were supposed to reunite and be together again, but that was before he decided to break my heart. Another was my first college graduation at UC Davis. The last was Harold Cross’s death.

  Word quickly spread around town then to me about the old corn farmer’s freak accident. Harold had been breaking up crusted grain in a silo bin when he slipped into it. Seconds later, the kernels sucked him under like quicksand, and he died.

  Upon hearing the news, I didn’t think twice. I caught the first flight to Telluride Regional Airport and went to Ridge. I drove right up to the Crosses’ farmhouse and pounded on the front door. Hours later, I found out I was already too late.

  According to the court docs, on that same dry summer night of his father’s death, Ridge got drunk and took Harold’s tractor out to the middle of the field, where he started a fire, burning every last bit of the crop to the ground. The Cross Farm failed to produce corn that year, and Ridge Cross went to San Miguel County Jail for fourth-degree arson.

  One year after his sentence, I found myself back in Telluride, in front of the jail, awaiting his release. I will never forget seeing him again after all that time, nor will I forget the way his newly cold eyes found mine, stopping my heart completely. I hated him, but I loved him just the same.

  At that point, it had been five years since I’d laid eyes on Ridge. He was twenty-five, and if I had to guess by the looks of him, jail hadn’t treated him kindly.

  He’d broken my heart into a million pieces, he’d lost his last living parent, and he was a convicted arsonist. Yet my heart still rattled my ribcage like it wanted to break free at the sight of him.

  Ridge looked like a true rebel that day, wearing a pair of khakis, a black T-shirt, and black boots. His hair looked like it had recently been cut, and his face still carried the strength it always had, but I couldn’t get over the coldness of his stare. What used to remind me of melting chocolate had hardened to blocks of ice. If I had thought they would thaw with one glance at me, I was very wrong.

  I gestured for him to come forward, staying put in my rental car while my heart thrummed like a hummingbird. I hadn’t dared go home to get my Jeep for fear that someone would know the reason for my visit. While a truce existed between families, that truce didn’t apply to me and Ridge. I’d caught on long ago to the reason for Ridge’s disappearance that night. I was the bargaining chip, and Ridge had obeyed to protect his father’s land. He ended a century-old feud just like that, as if I were collateral damage that didn’t deserve a second thought.

  Outside the jail, Ridge looked as if he was contemplating his next move. His head moved one way then the other, like he wanted to make a quick exit. I wouldn’t try to stop him. I wasn’t setting a trap. He’d just gotten out of jail, and the last thing I wanted to do was to put him back behind a different set of bars. He was free. All I could do was put the offer out there.

  Minutes passed, but when Ridge started to move toward me, my heartbeat quickened. It felt like he’d just jolted me back to life. As stubborn as I had been over the past five years, promising myself I would never forgive him, I realized that feelings and forgiveness were two separate things. I could hate him for what he did while still loving the man I remembered. The conflict was beyond my skills of processing, and in that moment, I chose not to try.

  Every step toward me was like an unveiling of the new Ridge Cross, who was a product of the unkind world. He was still the innocent boy who had lost his mother, yet the mask he wore appeared impenetrable. He didn
’t crack a smile, his eyes didn’t light up at the sight of me, and each step toward me was at the same stoic pace as the one before it.

  Ridge got into the passenger seat of my car. Neither of us spoke a word as I drove, and he didn’t question my direction when I passed the entrance to his ranch. He didn’t ask me to slow down when I took the mountain turns too fast. Instead, he rolled down his window and faced the fresh air while we cruised through the San Juan Mountains. His silence was enough. It had always been enough.

  I pulled into a quaint plot of land with log cabins, tents, and hot springs and took a deep breath. It felt like my first. Then I looked at Ridge, who was slowly turning his neck to face me.

  I swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous. When I’d made the decision to pick him up from the jail, I didn’t have a plan, just a need. I needed to see him and know he would be okay. But I was starting to realize that Ridge wasn’t the one I had to worry about. I would break yet again when it was all over.

  “I’m going to get us a room.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?” His voice was deeper than I remembered, and the softness was lost.

  I blew out a breath. “I-I don’t know.”

  “For how long?”

  Annoyance shot through me. “Why? Is there somewhere you need to be?”

  His glare darkened. “How long, Camila?”

  Our history was far too fragile to test the waters. Despite all we’d been through and all he’d done, I’d wanted to be the first person he saw out of jail. And I wanted for us to be alone. Beyond that, I didn’t think. I just acted.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t plan this. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and I—I thought we could talk.”

  He shook his head. “No talking.”

  My heart sank, which was unfair to Ridge. I was the one who’d brought him there, and I’d told myself over and over again that I had no expectations, but maybe I had. Maybe in the pile of rubble that was my heart, I’d hoped for Ridge to want to put those pieces back together and honor the promise he’d made to me long ago. Four years, tops. Apparently, none of that mattered to him anymore.

  The only room left was what the owner called his “well house,” which was just a small log cabin with a king bed, a wood-burning stove, a bathroom, and a private hot spring. I wished the beautiful details of the elegant, authentic-looking cabin had stolen my attention when we walked in. It had a lot to take in, if it weren’t for the man who entered the cabin behind me.

  He showered before putting back on the clothes he’d come with—I cursed myself for not thinking to bring him a new shirt and pants, which wouldn’t remind us both of where he’d been for the past year—then he walked toward the front door and opened it.

  My heartrate quickened with fear that he was leaving me.

  “I’m going for a walk,” he growled without looking back at me, then he let himself out and shut the door behind him.

  He was gone for hours, leaving me to my dark, unhappy thoughts. Regret wasn’t something I often felt, but I was starting to wonder if picking Ridge up had been a bad idea. The fact that he’d gotten into my car was all I had to hold on to. But with every second he was gone, I became unglued.

  I was sitting outside by the campfire I’d made when he returned, and I followed him into the cabin, my insides shaking with anger. I slammed the door behind me, causing him to whip around and stare wide-eyed back at me.

  Finally, a reaction.

  “I get it, Ridge. You don’t want to talk. I can respect that, but at least be with me.”

  He glared. “Forgive me for not wanting to be holed up any more than I already have been. I just went for a walk. You could have gone too.”

  My jaw dropped. “You didn’t ask me to come. You left, just like you always do.”

  His jaw ticked. “When did you start needing permission to do what you wanted to? If you’d wanted to walk with me, then you would have walked.”

  With a frustrated growl, I turned away and headed out to the fire to put it out. What was I thinking, bringing him here? What was he thinking by coming if all he wants to do is get away from me?

  I beat myself up in my thoughts, having an internal debate about whether I should call an end to whatever my misguided intentions were. Why be here if he truly doesn’t want to be?

  By the time the flames were smothered and nothing but smoke remained, it was dark out. I walked back into the cabin, ready to give Ridge the option to leave and be done with it.

  “Do you always talk to yourself when you’re alone?”

  I jumped and looked toward his voice. Ridge was standing by the window, wearing nothing but the pair of khakis I’d picked him up in. His arm leaning against the frame, he was looking out to where the fire pit was. The stove fire was lit beside him, its shadows licking at his skin.

  Though I wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching me, the fact that he had been at all was enough to warm my chest. Ignoring his question, I walked toward him—through fear, nerves, and second-guessing. And when I stopped in front of him, I gently placed a hand on his chest. He was built in a way that no farmer should be, cut with muscles I didn’t even know existed. Each peak of stone led to the next valley. And each valley carried a river that created an eight-piece grid that made up his abdomen. I traced each line with steadiness that took willpower to maintain. My heart pounded furiously. Ridge Cross was a beautiful man, and despite it all, I wanted nothing more than make him mine again.

  “When Harold told me you left town that night, I swore I would never forgive you,” I whispered. “You knew that leaving would break my heart, and you did it anyway. But the timing of it all—” I shuddered. “At first, I didn’t try to figure out why you left. I was too full of rage to care. You must have heard what happened to me that night, yet you never reached out to see if I was okay.”

  “I couldn’t.” His voice sounded shredded with anguish and guilt. He started to reach for me but stopped. “I did what I had to do.”

  “You did what you had to do?” My voice quivered as it rose another decibel. “I could have died that night, and you didn’t even care.”

  His jaw hardened. “If you think for a single second that I didn’t—” He squeezed his eyelids shut and turned his head to face the window.

  My heartrate quickened. “What were you going to say?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I told you I didn’t want to talk.”

  I glared and breathed in through my nose. “I know you’re the one who ended the rivalry.”

  The way his body went completely still, not even a breath racking his body, was a major tell that I was right.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to confirm with your words what your body just told me. You made a deal with the devil, and you scarified my heart in the process. Don’t worry, Ridge. I won’t tell anyone. It can be our little secret. My papa made you choose, and you chose your cornfield over being with me. Isn’t that right?”

  His chest swelled as he leaned forward. “That’s not—” But whatever he wanted to say didn’t come out. Instead, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he leaned back on his heels. “It was the only way.”

  Just like that, his confirmation broke all the remaining fragments of my heart. “So then why did you get into my car, if it was so easy for you to give me up? Why are you still here?” I dropped my hand from his chest, drawing his eyes back to mine. “Why were you watching me out that window just now?” My entire body shook.

  Ridge’s eyes flashed angrily before they dimmed again. “You know why.”

  His words should have made me happy. His confession should have been enough to make me believe that he still could love me.

  “But you made your choice, and you can never take it back. We’ve lost years because of it.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” His angry growl shook through me. “I’m dying a slow death inside because of what I lost. I have nothing left. Nothing! And even though we’re standing here now, it doesn’t chan
ge where we come from. But you brought me here, Camila. Why? What’s the point, if you already knew why I left?”

  I shook my head in frustration. The war in my head created casualties of my hopeful thoughts, killing them off one by one. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I let out a growl. “I tried to forget you, but I couldn’t. I shouldn’t still love you, but I still do. What I should do right now is walk straight out that door and never look back, but I won’t—unless you want me to.”

  When he didn’t make a move or say another word, I slipped my fitted gray dress over my head and dropped it to the floor. All I could hear was my heart crashing against my ribcage, all I could see was a man I couldn’t stop loving as hard as I tried, and all I could feel was our energy, which had always connected us, sparking in the air and encircling us with its flames.

  Pushing my hair over one shoulder, I waited for him to make the next move. If we were going to make this mistake, then we were going to make it together, both of us knowing it was wrong but wanting it just the same. I wouldn’t touch him again, until he made it clear he wanted me too.

  I waited what felt like an eternity, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even drop his gaze to look at my nearly naked body. Instead, he stood there with a firmness in his expression telling me he wouldn’t break.

  I didn’t believe him. Stepping away from the pile of fabric at my feet, I walked backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed, and I sat. His head finally started to turn, his eyes locking on every part of me save for my probing stare. He remained expressionless throughout his perusal, making me shifty and eager beneath my skin.

  All I wanted was for him to react to me and crave me again. Maybe then he would remember what we’d once shared.

  I pushed myself back until I rested on the center of the mattress. My heart beat a mile a minute as I lay down and slipped off my panties. Opening myself to him, I reached between my legs and pressed a finger to my clit, sucking in a breath at that first touch of my sensitive bud.