Building Bridges (Bridges Brothers Book 1)

by Lia Fairchild

  She looks down at her hands, and I feel like a complete dick, but I’m in survival mode here.

  “Please don’t let this ruin our…friendship. I just can’t right now.”

  She shakes her head. “So, all that ‘everybody needs somebody’ speech was just bullshit?”

  “No, of course not.” I take the chance and place my hand over hers. In this moment, I need to touch her and she needs it too. I can feel it. “Just give me some time on this one?” When she doesn’t look up, I reach with one hand and lift her chin. “Besides, you’ve been my somebody since the day you got in my face at the hospital. You have been there for me. I’m the one who needs to return the favor.”

  “You got that right.” The corners of her mouth push up into her cheeks, and it’s like a halo sprouted from her head.

  “Okay, then.” I put my hand out to shake hers, and we both instinctively follow with a fist tap. “Now I’m going to get out of your hair and let you tend to Rocky.” I stand and head to the door. With my hand on the knob, I ask, “What did you mean when you said you know lots of stuff?”

  She pauses, gives me a nervous, tight smile. “I’m a nurse, Logan. I knew your military history, I’ve worked with patients with prosthetic limbs before, and…I could see it in your walk, the way you absently rub your thigh from time to time.”

  My heart stutters in my chest. “Great.”

  Chapter 10

  Logan

  I plow into the house and go right to the fridge, hoping no one is in the kitchen. I grab a beer, pop it open with more force than necessary, and then take a long pull. This shouldn’t be a big deal. She was bound to find out. I just wanted it to be on my time. My terms. It wouldn’t be the first time I had to face this with a woman, but this time feels different.

  My phone pings and I pull it from my pocket.

  Mollie: You okay?

  Those two words knock me down a rung on my confidence scale. She’s a caring person and that should make me feel good, but instead I feel like another one of her charity cases. Belle and me and our bum legs. We could be our own pathetic telethon. Only Belle will be rid of her boot soon, and I’m stuck with Titanium Ted for the rest of my life.

  I scroll beyond Mollie’s text to one from Jennings. Why hasn’t that dumbass given up on me yet? We survived while our brothers died for their country. We don’t need to cry over beers and make each other feel better for being lucky. And yes, I’m aware I’m an asshole for thinking it. But for all I know, we survived because our coward asses found a way out. I slam my phone down in frustration and take another long drink from my bottle.

  I glance down to a sink full of dishes and pans, most of which are still covered in clumps of food. “Those motherfuckers,” I say under my breath. I turn and look at the schedule I posted on the side of the fridge. Uncle Frank’s turn for dishes. No surprise there. I pull open the dishwasher to see if that provides him an excuse. It’s full. Justice was supposed to unload it. I pull the paper—which is now covered in drawings of middle fingers and penises—from under the Harley magnet that’s holding it up. I crumple it and throw it on the counter. Why did I think anyone would care, let alone listen to me?

  The anger and loss of control mingle with my moment of pity and low self-esteem, pushing my pulse into overdrive. I take another drink and try my breathing exercises to ward off the attack. I’ve gotten so good at detecting the signs, they rarely happen, so this one comes as a surprise to me. It’s not supposed to happen like this. I’m basically a housewife. I have to be able to handle this.

  I pull out a chair and swing a leg over so I’m straddling it. I fold my arms across the top and drop my head onto them. I picture my mother, what she looked like when I was seven, just before she died. She was one of those non-traditional mothers who’d randomly take you to get ice-cream on a school night or let you skip school to go to a museum. I’m not one of those people who forgot their parent after they died because they were young. I’ve held her face at the front of my mind like a super power I could access whenever I needed. My mom is gone, but I remain a proud, card-carrying momma’s boy, and when I was lying in a pool of my own blood after being blown right off the road in Baghdad, it was her face that got me through those first moments I remember. Yes, I loved my stepmom too, but she never let me forget my mother. And as I got older, she relied on me a lot with my brothers, and that’s why I feel like this is my place right now, as hard as it is. I only wish I didn’t feel so alone in this.

  After a few moments of breathing, I can feel my pulse slow. As it does, my mother’s face fades, and I see Belle, and I know I need to stay strong for her and Colton and my brothers. Then Mollie pops into my meditative haze. All my senses come alive, and it’s more than just her face. I can smell her, hear her, feel her. Calm settles over me. I keep my eyes closed, staying focused on the image of her. At the same time her image brings me peace, there is also something about her that is unsettling. I don’t know if it is because of today or something else, but I don’t like it.

  A hand lands on my shoulder and I open my eyes.

  “Those demons giving you a hard time?” Gramps says.

  I run a hand over my jaw and then pick up the bottle from the table. “Just tired,” I tell him. I stand and turn my back so he doesn’t see my eyes. I never was good at lying to him. I open the dishwasher and start to unload.

  Gramps comes beside me and places his hands on his hips. “Wasn’t my turn.”

  I look at him and he smirks.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “The little ones are in bed, Rebel Ryder’s watchin’ Netflix on your computer, and Justice is in the shower.”

  “I don’t care if he’s tired from running scared shitless out of bounds. This was his job.”

  “Hey, where’s the schedule?” he says. He looks around and sees the crumpled paper on the counter. He tilts his head and stares at me, dragging his thumb and index finger down his mustache. “Maybe you didn’t give it enough time.”

  I grab the silverware tray and take it over to the drawer. “Yeah? Or maybe our family consists of a nothing but lazy, selfish, ingrates.”

  He grumbles and I add, “’Cept you, Gramps.”

  While I finish the silverware, he works on the glasses.

  “Considering that’s not news to you or me…and you’ve now got that little cutie to play house with, you seem pretty pissed off, kid.”

  Gramps only calls me kid when I’m about to get a lecture. And since I don’t have the mental energy to deny him right now, I dig right in. I tell him about what happened at Mollie’s house and how it felt to be called out about my leg.

  “Damn, she is a feisty one.”

  “That’s it?” With the dishwasher empty, I close the door and sit at the table. The sink can wait for now.

  “What, you feeling sorry for yourself because you brought some metal home from the desert with you? Son, that’s just a papercut. When I came home from Vietnam, some of my buddies were lucky to—”

  “Yeah, I know. Can we not make this about swapping war stories, Gramps?”

  Gramps holds up his hands. “All right.” He pulls out a chair and sits across from me. “So, you’re feeling like less of man?” He shakes his head. “You looked in the mirror lately, kid? It’s been what? About three years since it happened? And you’re here, looking mightier than I’ve ever seen you.”

  I scoff but in a way, he’s right. My rehabilitation went way beyond what I needed. I became obsessed with fitness and building my body up. Hell, maybe I was overcompensating for my leg. “I guess being here… Doing all of this…”

  “Emasculates you?”

  “That’s a big-ass word for an old man.”

  “I’m not so old in here,” he says, pointing to his brain. “And here,” he says, pointing to his heart.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying this is women’s work or anything like that. It’s just not what I saw my life looking like. And Mollie… She complicates ever
ything.”

  Gramps leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “This is your family, kid. Your flesh and blood. You fought and risked your life not just for your country but for your family. Now…you’re still doing that.” He smirks. “Just with a dishrag, hanging over your shoulder.”

  He’s right. I know it. But I still feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. “I know, Gramps. But everyone’s fighting me on this. Maybe they think because Mollie’s here they don’t have to try. She’s not here to do their jobs, dammit!”

  “Then, why is she here?” He lifts his brows.

  “Because she cares about the kids. About Belle. It’s nice for her to have a woman around.”

  “And?”

  “It’s not like that. Yeah, she’s my friend but she’s genuinely a nice, caring person. I mean she’s a nurse for Christ’s sake.” I let out a breath. “That’s not the point anyway. Do you know Dad forgot to pick up Justice from practice last week?”

  “I thought he came home with that annoying Turner kid.”

  “They were out of town. Justice sat there for an hour before he finally called me. So, what the hell do you suggest I do?”

  He gets up from the table and pushes the chair in. “Well, I suppose it’s time I have a talk with my boys. Your dad and uncle Frank needed time to mourn.” He reaches out and tags my shoulder with a firm grip. “Now, they’re gonna get my boot up their ass.”

  He walks away, leaving me with a grin I can feel in my gut. A grin that feels a lot like hope.

  I toss my empty beer bottle in the recycle bin and eye the dishes in the sink. It’d be a whole lot easier to just do them. My decision becomes simple when Justice walks in wearing pajama bottoms, hair still wet from the shower.

  He pulls open the cupboard and sticks his hand into an open bag of pretzels. “Had seven pieces of pizza after the game but I’m still hungry.”

  I nod. “Burn a lot of calories running away from the other team?”

  “Don’t start on me, Logan. I heard all the crap from everyone in the locker room.”

  “Yeah? Well you’re damn lucky it’s only words.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “One of these days, someone on your team just might beat some sense into you.”

  “Just leave me alone, okay?” He grabs a handful of pretzels and turns to leave.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “What do you mean? I have homework and I’m tired as shit.”

  I pull my lips into a tight line but don’t say anything yet. I grab the crumpled paper, smooth it out on the counter, and then stick it back up under the magnet. I peer across the dimly lit kitchen as I tap the paper. “You need to load the dishwasher…and I’m not having this sit here all night long.”

  His face scrunches into a pained expression as if I’ve just executed some extreme form of torture on him. He leans over and looks at it. “Not my turn.”

  “You were supposed to unload and that’s why all this crap is still sitting here. So now you get to clean it up.”

  “Duuuude, no.”

  “Dude, yes.” I nod and walk past him toward the doorway. “I’m not even going to argue with you either. I wake up tomorrow morning and see these dishes still here, there’ll be hell to pay. Take your chances…”

  I contain my grin until I’m in the hall. Once I’m in my room, I sit on my bed and see that Ryder is still watching something on the computer. I rub my thigh out of habit but it doesn’t really hurt that much. Then I pull out my phone to reply to Mollie.

  Me: I’m good. And I’m sorry I left the way I did. Can I ask you a question?

  Mollie: Sure

  Me: Will you be my somebody?

  Mollie: Only if you’ll be mine.

  Chapter 11

  Mollie

  The light turns yellow and Logan slams on the breaks—reaching his arm across my body—just before the crosswalk.

  “Sheesh! You had that. Why didn’t you just go for it?”

  He nods to my right so I turn and see a mother about to step off the crosswalk. She’s pushing one of those jogging strollers.

  “Crap. Sorry. Good call.”

  “Thanks.” He lowers his arm but instead of returning it to his side, he lays it to rest across my thigh. I admit it feels pretty fantastic, and that worries me. Friends aren’t supposed to make each other feel fantastic with only a touch.

  “Guess you got pretty good at that sort of thing being in the Army.” I might be pushing his comfort level, but he never seems to want to talk about what happened. I told myself it’s not my place to push. As a nurse, I know it can be very difficult—sometimes even dangerous—for service people to return to normal lives, especially if they’ve had injuries or are experiencing PTSD. I’ve seen it in my patients, and I’ve witnessed it firsthand. I’ll be patient, though, take baby steps, but I am desperate to get him to open up.

  “Sure, but I’ve always been that way. Maybe it really came from having to help raise my half-brothers.”

  I fix him with a stare when I say, “So, you’re a natural born mother, then.” And I don’t hide my mischievous grin. Until I feel his tight grip clamping down on my thigh just above my knee. I squirm and yelp. “Stop! Stop! I was kidding.” I remove his hand and place it back in the safety zone on the console between us.

  We are at another light so he takes the moment to stare at my gesture.

  “Safety first,” I tell him.

  “Right,” he says with narrowed eyes.

  When he turns back to the road, I can’t help but notice his bulging left bicep, flexing as he bends it to steer the car. I know he’s got some things to deal with, mentally, but physically he’s solid and cut and his leg doesn’t change any of that.

  I stare at the road and despite my promise to myself, I blurt out, “Why did you join the military?” In the space before he answers, I add, “Because if I recall, you got pretty good grades for a jock.”

  He throws a quick glance at me and moves his hand to his own thigh. “First, I wasn’t really a jock. But, yeah, I’d always had a feeling it was my path. Maybe it’s because I’m older than two of my brothers, but I’ve always had this protective instinct. And when nine eleven happened…it affected me. I felt like…responsible. You know? Like I needed to do something. Then Ryder was born and as tough as it was to leave him…to leave them both, I had to do it.”

  It felt like I’d held my breath through that whole thing, and I finally let it out. “Wow, that’s really…awesome.” I scoff and shrug. “Sorry. That sounds so…so, insufficient but I really respect what you did.” I reach over and put my hand on his for no other reason than to show him I’m sincere.

  “Hey, I respect what you do. You’re the hero,” he says with great sincerity in his tone.

  I cringe and fluster, knowing I need to monitor my words. The awkward side of me creeps out as it often does when I’m uncomfortable. “I didn’t say you were a hero.” I pull my hand back and try to hide my grin.

  He lifts his hand and moves it slowly toward my leg. “Looking for some of this again?”

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” I say as I block his arm.

  “You said it the other day.” He retracts his hand and rests it back on the console. “But I never felt like a hero anyway,” he whispers.

  I take a deep breath and hold it before slowly letting it out. “If you ever want to talk about…anything, you know I’m here. Ready to listen.”

  His head shakes so slightly I barely notice. “I’m sorry. I— What I remember of it, I just want to forget.”

  And there’s that crap feeling I should have avoided. “Don’t ever apologize for being honest.” I reach up and rub the back of his neck, and I watch as his chest fills. “I’ll still be your somebody.”

  “Damn right,” he says.

  A phone alert goes off and we exchange glances. “That’s my phone,” he says. “It’s by your foot. Must have slid off when I hit the brakes back there.”


  I reach down for it and can’t help but read the text on display. I set it on the console between us. “It’s Ryder. He wants to know if you’re going to watch the show tonight. What show?”

  He gives me the wide eyes like maybe I overstepped.

  “What?”

  “Is reading each other’s texts one of the duties of being someone’s somebody?”

  “It’s not like I was trying to look…but now that you mention it, that could be included in the job description. Why? You got a woman texting you that you don’t want me to see?”

  He smiles without looking at me. “Would that be a problem?”

  Uh, yeah it would. But I refuse to be suckered into this trap. I don’t even know what the hell we’re talking about, considering we never really defined what a “somebody” is. All I know is that we both seem to agree that more than friendship would complicate things too much. Still, I’m having too much fun with this to drop it. “Would it be a problem if I did?”

  He lifts his chin. “I’d have absolutely no problem whatsoever if you had a woman you were texting.”

  I punch him in the shoulder. “Smart ass.”

  He flinches. “Hey, you’re going to make us crash. Listen, if I had a woman, my somebody would most certainly know about it.” He pulls into the parking lot of the preschool, slips into a space, and turns to me. “Okay?” And his gaze is so reassuring it’s the only thing that matters in that moment.

  “Okay.”

  “Can we go in now?”

  I press my luck with a tight smile and a question. “So, what’s the show?”

  His eyes shoot upward and he seems almost embarrassed. “It’s…well, come over tonight and see. You were bound to find out at some point…being my somebody and all.”

  “Mysterious…I like it.” I look at the time on my phone. “One more question?”

  He opens his mouth but hesitates.

  “Not about you,” I say quickly. “You never even told me how Frank responded about preschool. I mean obviously he agreed since we’re here but I was interested to hear what happened.”