Building Bridges (Bridges Brothers Book 1)

by Lia Fairchild

  My stomach grumbles so loud Colton looks up at me, and I see him fighting a smile. “This is your fault you know? I’m waiting for you to eat.” I almost quote my stepmother’s motto: No one eats till all asses are in the seats, but I think better of it. Instead, I stand and take a different approach. I reach my hand down and pull out my authoritative voice. “Let’s go, Colton.”

  He glances to his dad who doesn’t flinch and then looks back up at me. I don’t waver, only pull my lips tighter before saying, “Now.”

  He gets up and I can’t help but feel a little parental satisfaction. I put my hand on his shoulder and guide him back the way I came so we can get his sister. Before we reach the room, a loud crash and a piercing wail send my heart straight to my stomach.

  Chapter 2

  Logan

  The double doors of the hospital slide open, pulling me into the not-so-unfamiliar setting. When you grow up in a house of all the boys, especially ones as crazy and completely devoid of common sense as we were, you spend a lot of time in places like this. Man, those were some good times, though.

  As I look for my uncle, I remind myself this is Belle we’re talking about. I can't help but feel partially responsible for her being here. She’s not even four yet, still just a baby, and we all let her down. When we raced into her bedroom, it was like she was a tiny leaf among giant redwoods, and we let her fall. Her ankle had already swollen up pretty damn good, but amazingly she was barely whimpering. My tough little cousin being raised by a bunch of loud, obnoxious oafs. I can see her future—all dressed up for her senior prom, probably with her dress unknowingly tucked into the back of her underwear, wobbling on some tacky, spiked pumps and swearing like a sailor.

  I head to the intake desk, but before I reach it, I see Colton sitting outside a room down a short hallway. He's looking down at the phone in his hand. It's the way he self-soothes. I’d emailed my mom’s brother in Kentucky who’s a shrink, and he said for now, just let him do what makes him feel better.

  I assume Uncle Frank is still in with Belle and the doctor, so I take a seat next to him and try to think of something to say. Selfishly, all I can think is, Why is this shit up to me? How have I become the Dr. Phil of our family? It’s one of the reasons I left home in the first place. And it’s not like I don’t have my own issues to contend with.

  I run my hands through my hair and rest my head back against the wall behind us, giving Colton a little more time to look at pictures of his mom and sister. Hell, who am I kidding? I'm stalling for time and scrambling for words that don't sound lame. I can't blame this on Frank; we all know he hasn't been in his right mind. But this can't happen again. Things are going to change even if I'm the only one who has to make that happen.

  I turn toward Colton, ready to tell him everything is going to be fine when the door slides open and a young woman emerges. She catches my eye for a moment before shutting the door behind her. I jump up and inadvertently land right in her face. And, I might add, she’s not in the least fazed by me invading her personal space.

  “How’s Belle?” I ask.

  She raises a dark brow and tilts her head like I can read her mind.

  Maybe I can because I answer her silent question. “I'm her cousin and I help take care of her.”

  For a moment, our gazes lock as if we are sizing each other up, but the power seems to be in her favor. Two wide, gray eyes take hold of mine as if they’ve just discovered something. Then her lids drop, and she moves aside.

  “Belle’s going to be fine. She's a sweetie.” Though her words are endearing, her body language and expression are subdued. When I don’t say anything, she narrows her eyes at me and brings a file to her chest before taking a few steps away. “The doctor will give you the details,” she says over her shoulder.

  Something in those narrowed eyes hits a chord with me and I call out, “Wait a sec.”

  She stops and turns, black shoulder-length hair falling forward, revealing streaks of purple painted on the ends. The contrast of her in this environment throws me, but I ask my question anyway. “Sorry, I just thought… Do we know each other?”

  She steps closer, her lips pursed as she stares me down as if she’s unsure of her answer. “You don’t remember me?” she says finally.

  I can’t tell if she’s messing with me, but there’s something damn familiar about her. “I…don’t know. Should I?”

  I hear a vibrating sound she doesn’t seem to notice at first. Then she averts her eyes and backs away. “I’m sorry… I’ve got to go.”

  She walks away, leaving me baffled and staring at her firm little backside, which clearly is not camouflaged by the teal green hospital pants I never realized were so sexy.

  The door opens again, causing me to drag my eyes away from her ass. A stocky, elderly man makes his way out followed by Frank, who stands in the doorway. Colton jumps up and runs up to his dad. “Okay, Colton. Sissy’s asking for you.” He turns to usher Colton into the room, and I say, “Hey, what about me?”

  “We're fine. It's just a hairline fracture. You can go.”

  I let out a half laugh and follow him into the room. I don't give a shit if he thinks I don't trust him even though it’s partially true. But I'm not going home without seeing my Belly Bean. I gave her the nickname when she was born. Aunt Sheri sent me a bunch of pictures, and each one, she was wrapped in a pink or other light-colored blanket. It reminded me of those flavored jelly beans.

  In the room, Belle is sitting up, wearing what looks like a black boot with straps.

  “Hey, Belly Bean,” I say and then eye Frank, questioningly.

  “It's a walking cast,” he says. “She has a hairline fracture that should heal quickly, but we'll need to carry her as much as possible until she gets used to walking on this thing.” In barely a whisper, he mouths, “Pain in the ass,” and shakes his head.

  “Yay, you carry me.” Belle reaches her arms out to me. “Woggan! L-Logan,” she repeats, practicing the L sound she struggles with.

  “We’re not leaving just yet, baby,” Frank says.

  “Now I’m just like L-Logan.” She points and then taps her boot.

  I start to laugh at that, but before I can even process the implication of dealing with this boot in our family, I do a double take at Belle’s hair. When I carried her to Frank's car and placed her in her car seat, her hair was a ratty mess that looked like a cow sucked on it. Now it's in this smooth braid thing that starts on one side of her head and curves around to the opposite side.

  Belle points to her wrist and says, “I want Maui. She pulls at a colorful woven bracelet I haven't seen before.

  “Maui?” I question, as I look at her and take her wrist in my hand.

  “No! Maui,” she says insistently.

  I look down and run my fingers across the bracelet. It’s pretty but there’s something soothing about it. I close my eyes and do it again. Maybe it’s some sort of healing thing. When Belle’s whining pulls my attention from the bracelet, I look at Frank, who is now on his phone. It looks like he’s texting.

  “What is she talking about?” I ask him.

  “I don't know,” he says without looking up.

  Colton is hugging his dad’s leg as Frank texts like he's waiting at a bus stop or in line to buy coffee.

  “Uncle Frank,” I say louder. “What's with the hair and the bracelet?”

  He looks up like he's just finally heard what I said. “It was that nurse.”

  “Nurse…Maui…I want Maui. She fixed my hair pretty.”

  Frank slips his phone into his pocket. “She’s gone and we’re going home soon. I'll buy you some ice cream.”

  That is Frank's answer to everything. Even after the damn funeral, he bought the kids ice cream.

  Belle’s eyes water, and she leans forward, resting her palms on the boot. “My ouwi hurts and I need Maui.”

  Something in her voice compels me to head for the door. I stop with my hand on the handle and look at Frank. “Why don't I
just go get the nurse, and maybe she can figure out what Belle’s talking about.”

  Frank begins to protest when I feel the door push against me and I step aside.

  “Maui,” Belle squeals.

  The nurse I talked to before strolls in right past me as if I don't exist.

  “I came to say goodbye to my little belle of the ball.” She must be smiling because Belle is beaming as they look at each other.

  The nurse stands with her hands on her hips, and I notice a tattoo of music notes on her right wrist. When I look up, I spot part of a tattoo right above her collar, disappearing down the back of her shirt. Between the hair, tattoos, and attitude, our nurse certainly doesn’t look the part.

  I sidle up next to her, and she moves closer to the bed. I get the feeling she’s purposely ignoring Frank and me. If I wasn’t so mesmerized by her presence, I might be annoyed.

  “I'm going to pull the car around,” Frank says. “I'll take Colt with me.” He grabs his hand and leads him to the door. I give them a quick nod before turning my attention back to the nurse, who is now retying the bracelet on Belle’s wrist.

  “Now if this comes loose again,” she tells her, finally glancing at me, “I'm sure your daddy or Logan will tie it back on for you.”

  Hearing my name catches me off guard, and I make a weird grunting noise. Now I know for sure I somehow know this woman.

  “I have one more thing for you before you go,” she says and reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a sheet of colorful stickers and hands it to Belle, telling her to pick one while she talks to me for a moment.

  We move aside toward the door, and I can't help but smile, wondering what this mysterious girl wants from me and how she knows me. I'm not typically overly confident when it comes to women, but something about the look she just gave me feels very familiar. She’s not exactly my type, but there is that pull of sexual tension. At least I think that’s what it is.

  But to my surprise, she leans in and with an intense whisper says, “I think you're neglecting Belle, and I'm seriously considering calling in a report to CPS.”

  My suave smile fades and my mouth falls open. My heart rocks inside my chest like she has a gun pointed to it. All I can manage to say is, “What the hell?” which probably doesn't help our case much.

  She leans back, giving me some much-needed space. My mind spins as her words echo in my head. I glance from her to Belle and back to her again. Is this chick insane? She doesn’t know anything about us.

  “Her hair was a knotted mess,” she continues with one hand on her hip. “Have you not heard of a brush? And not only that, she has a cold sore in her mouth, too many scrapes and bruises for a little girl her age, and when I asked if she’d had breakfast today, she said no.”

  Holy shit! I can see how that looks bad to her. But neglect? I panic and consider running to get Uncle Frank, but he’d only make things worse.

  As I internally struggle through the turmoil she’s just whipped up in my gut, she crosses her arms over her chest. Talk about brutal beauty. It’s like getting run over by a Porsche. I take a moment to regain my composure.

  “Well, Logan?”

  Watching her lips form my name, I draw in a sharp breath when recollection hits. “Wait a minute. I do know you. We went to high school together.”

  Though her head shakes from side to side, and her lips pull into a thin seam, I can see the confirmation in her eyes. It’s clear to me those soft gray orbs have some stories to tell, and right now they’re telling me I probably wasn’t her favorite person.

  “That’s right,” she says. “And it’s about the only reason I’m standing here right now instead of on the phone.”

  Though she’s rattled my cage, I firm my stance. “We’re not neglecting her.” My tone is sharp, stern, but then I soften and lower my voice. “Frank might not be father of the year,” I say, knowing I’m being generous. “But he’s not abusing her, no one is. She’s a happy girl.”

  “She might be happy, but she’s not being taken care of properly, I can tell that much. And that’s called neglect.”

  “Please don’t do this...” Dammit.

  “You don’t even remember my name, do you?”

  “Sure I do. Your name is—”

  “Her name is Maui,” Belle says, still looking at the stickers.

  I crack a slim smile of relief. “Mollie,” I say and release a breath. It’s a good thing I’m well-versed at interpreting Belle, even if it took me longer this time.

  A memory flashes through my mind. “Now I remember. You were my fake wife in that child development class senior year. Mollie…Fisher?”

  She plays with a bracelet on her wrist similar to the one Belle is wearing, but it’s sandwiched between two metal ones. “Yeah I was, until your skanky little cheerleader girlfriend told me we needed to switch partners.”

  I had no idea that happened. “I thought you switched because you thought I was a douche.”

  Her brows tick up. “Yeah well…”

  I reach out and touch the middle bracelet on her wrist. Like Belle’s, it’s colorful and looks like someone had woven it by hand. “Did you make this?” I say softly. “It’s pretty.”

  She lowers her arm so I’m forced to take my hand away. “Listen, I take my job very seriously, and my number one concern is that little girl.”

  “Good, so is mine.”

  “Just because we knew each other doesn’t mean I won’t do the right thing. I know your family’s having a hard time, but that doesn’t mean she has to suffer.” Her wispy gray eyes, which are even more stunning now with the sunlight coming through the window highlighting them, no longer appear angry. They’re almost pleading with me, as if she wants me to convince her.

  I put my hands in my pockets, bend my head down, and hook my gaze onto hers. “Mollie, I understand your position, and I think you’re an incredible woman for what you do as a nurse and for how much you care. But I swear to you, we all love Belle. This was just one of those stupid accidents that happen.” I sigh and shift from foot to foot. “We’re doing the best—” Her eyes narrow and I correct. “I know we can do better, and I promise you we will. I swear to you we all love her so much, and we will take better care of her.”

  I watch her chest move up and down as I speak to her, and it looks as though she believes me. But I also want to make sure that she trusts me, so I pull out my phone, unlock the screen, and click on the contacts before handing it over to her. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you so you can text me or call me anytime.”

  It feels like an eternity before she blinks and then reaches out for my phone. She keys in her number and hands it back. “I want to hear from you soon,” she tells me with a pointed tone.

  “Thank you.” I grin, but she doesn’t return it, and I’m okay with that because relief fills me. “Frank’s probably out there with the car,” I say, almost like a question.

  She turns from me and takes her attention over to Belle. “Did you pick a sticker?”

  Belle nods and says, “Can I have that one?”

  Mollie takes the sticker and presses it to the back of Belle’s hand, and she lets out a little giggle.

  “What do you say, Belle?” I tell her.

  “Thank you, Maui.”

  “Try to say, Mol-lee,” I say.

  “Mowl-ee.”

  “Better,” Mollie says with what looks like a genuine smile. “And you’re welcome. Now let’s get you out of here in style. I’m going to go get a wheelchair for you.”

  Mollie looks at me one last time as she walks to the door, and this swirl of emotions mixes in my gut. I have no time to analyze what they are; I only know none of them is animosity. “Thank you, Mollie…for everything.”

  In the car, I send Mollie a quick text so she has my number. I don’t turn on music like I normally do. I roll down the window and let the fall wind clear my head. Clouds drift over the sun, and I zone out and think about what I need to do. It’s a quick conclusion. It’s
what I have to do because I’m the only one I trust at this point. It’s not my place to tell Frank how to live his life, but if my father doesn’t get through to him, then I guess it’s up to me. I stare at the cars in front of me and try to think back to senior year of high school. That girl with the quiet confidence and the sweet smile I always wondered about but barely said two words to. It was so long ago, but now that I know it’s her, she doesn’t look all that different. She might have tattoos and black and purple hair, but that sweet girl is still in there.

  My phone pings on the center console as I’m pulling up to the curb in front of our house. It’s a text from Mollie. Text me tomorrow.

  Chapter 3

  Logan

  I spend most of the morning cleaning the house and the yard, but with only my two younger brothers to help and months’ worth of crap to deal with, we haven't made a lot of progress. We’re not at hoarders-in-a-trailer-park level, but we definitely need to make some changes. And ones that stick. Nina had everything so organized, making sure everyone did their part. Now, it’s a national freakin’ holiday if someone does the dishes without a fight or the trash in the kitchen isn’t overflowing. Once again, I fight my feelings of regret and selfishness that just a few short years ago, I was fulfilling my destiny, on the road to something more than being a housekeeper and babysitter. It’s a crappy attitude, but I’m only human.

  As I walk down the hall and survey each room, a vision of Mollie floats through my brain. I’m seeing everything through her eyes, knowing instinctively what she would expect. I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing all this only for Belle and our family, or if a part of me really is a selfish prick who wants to impress the hot nurse. No, screw that. I’ve never given a damn about impressing any woman. It was the look in her eyes that did me in. I can’t see that disappointment again. It gutted me like I’ve never experienced. And she was right; I knew it the moment the words came from her perfectly plump lips.

  I’d waited until late last night to tell Frank and my dad what had happened. Frank snarled and said, “She didn’t report it because she doesn’t have shit on us.” Like we’d just pulled off a jewelry heist. I shouldn’t have been surprised by his reaction. People say dealing with death changes you, but Aunt Sheri dying didn’t change Frank. Unemployment did. A man needs to provide and take care of his family. It’s in his nature. It’s in my nature. And though I tell people I left home to escape my family and the business, a part of me knew I needed a bigger purpose—something that called to me and made me feel like a man. The Army did that for me, a hundred times over. And now, some might think I’m hiding out here, not willing to face the broken man I became. The one I’d been trying to build back up the last few years. I can live with that for now because my focus can’t be on me any longer.