Amy pumped her head, clearly recalling the conversation she and Bridget had had over cookies. “And you have dogs, right?”
He smiled as he studied his hands on the table before him. “Two. A husky named Beau and a malamute named Snow. For Jon Snow.”
“Nice,” Nichole said, taking a seat across from Wesley at the table. “So what else do we need to know about you?”
“Enough with the questions!” Bridget cried. “You’re going to scare him away!” She could already see him retreating into himself, and that was the exact opposite of her purpose in inviting him here.
“We have to put him through the gauntlet to make sure he’s strong enough to stick around,” Hazel explained.
Wesley’s eyes shot up from the table and searched the room until they landed on Hazel. “Gauntlet? What else have you got planned besides questions and friendly conversation?”
“Oh, you’ll see soon enough!” Hazel said with an evil laugh.
“Should I be afraid?” Wesley asked Bridget, smiling at least.
“Probably.”
“Oh, stop. All the guys have to go through this. It’s not like you went easy on Trent or Keith,” Amy scolded but laughed anyway. “Besides Trent and his daughter, Olivia, will be here soon, and that will take some of the heat off you. They could both use some yummy food after three days of only eating meals that could be cooked over a campfire. For that matter, so can I.” She touched her belly, frowned, and then scurried into the kitchen to start their weekly feast.
“There’s an important difference here. Wesley and I are just friends. Keith and Trent both came into the group as boyfriends.”
“And now fiancé and future fiancé,” Hazel added with a sharp glance toward Amy.
“You better not say that in front of him!” Amy cried around a mouthful of whatever baked good she’d brought.
“Where’d you go to college, Wesley?” Nichole asked, bringing all eyes back to their guest.
“I started at UAA but wasn’t ever able to finish.”
“I went to UAA, too,” Nichole said with a nod. “What years were you there?”
“Guys, conversation is fine, but interrogation is not.”
“Oh, relax, B!”
“You said you like Game of Thrones, Wesley?” Amy asked, taking a seat at the table with her neatly arranged plate. “Just the TV show or the books, too?”
Wesley smirked in that way a true fan does whenever asked about an adaptation of something he fell in love with in its original format. “The show was great, but it didn’t do the books justice.”
“Right answer.” Amy made a clicking sound and pointed to Wesley with a giant, relieved smile.
That started a lengthy conversation on who most deserved the iron throne and whether dire wolves would make good pets in the real world. Wesley and Amy were discussing casting choices for the HBO series when her boyfriend, Trent, arrived with Olivia in tow.
“Hi, Trent!” She rushed over to greet him with a tight hug and a chaste kiss. Amy was always more careful about how she showed her affection when Olivia was around; after all, she had been the girl’s teacher last year.
“Hi, Liv!” she said, hugging the girl just as tight. “This is Bridget’s new friend, Wesley.”
Olivia giggled. “I know what that means.”
Wesley waved from his spot at the table rather than coming over to shake hands, which Bridget found a bit odd. She also found it odd that Trent kept shooting glances at Wesley when he thought no one was looking.
But Bridget was always looking.
Did these two know each other already?
It sure seemed that way....
Chapter 26
Everyone loaded up their plates with that week’s eclectic mix of potluck cuisine, then those who could fit crowded around Bridget’s dining table. The others settled in the living room.
Although Bridget had secured a seat at the table, Wesley had not. So while Olivia and Amy regaled the group with their camping adventures of the past week, Bridget slipped away to join the men on the couch.
Trent and Wesley sat as far away from each other as possible, leaving plenty of space for Bridget to plop between the two of them. Neither had eaten much of anything, and they didn’t appear to be talking, either. Instead, they stared down at the loaded plates in their laps and wore matching expressions—blank, impassive, yet somehow also pained.
If they knew each other, it seemed both would rather forget it.
It also seemed that breaking the tension in this room would fall to Bridget. As much as she preferred the weeks when one of the other members hosted their weekly get-together, she still didn’t want to see her gathering fall to pieces almost as soon as it had started.
Swallowing down a bite of biryani, she balanced her fork carefully on the rim of the plate, then slung an arm over each of the men’s shoulders. “Wesley, I know you’re new here, but, Trent, you should definitely know better. No one stays quiet during a Potluck Club meeting, and no one leaves hungry. C’mon, guys. Don’t break our perfect streak.”
She chortled, but neither man joined in or attempted to explain what had them so upset that one had turned to ice and the other to granite.
“This was a mistake,” Wesley said, untangling himself from Bridget and getting to his feet. “I shouldn’t have come.”
Trent cleared his throat but remained quiet as he watched the other man with a cold, hard stare. Bridget had begged Wesley to join her, but now everything was falling to pieces and she had no idea why.
Where was Amy? Couldn’t she help rein them in?
“Wesley, wait,” Bridget called as she jumped up and hurried after him, but he was already at the door, pulling it open and striding away.
“Wait!” she cried again, stepping out into the hall and pulling the door shut behind her. “What happened? Why are you going?”
Wesley froze at the head of the stairs but didn’t turn to face her. His entire body shook as if a sudden chill had swept through the hallway. Impossible in this stiff summer air. Then again, everything about this afternoon felt as if it couldn’t possibly be happening, couldn’t possibly be real.
Bridget approached him slowly, hoping not to frighten him away or to make this—whatever it was—any worse. “I don’t understand,” she said softly. “Do you and Trent know each other somehow?”
“I shouldn’t have come,” he said, repeating the same words he’d spoken before. His body stiffened, and she could already sense him closing off; somehow, it was even worse than it had been in the beginning. This wasn’t her Wesley. Not at all.
Bridget reached out and touched his elbow; he didn’t make any move to tear it away. A small glimmer of hope?
“You’re my friend. I want you here. That’s why I invited you—okay, practically begged you—to come. If Trent did something to make you—”
“No,” Wesley interrupted her. He took a few steps down the stairs before finally turning to face her. His eyes had transitioned to that dark, ominous shade of blue, the one she hadn’t seen in a while, now that they’d been getting along so well. This afternoon, his icy demeanor was back, but she could see sorrow surging just beneath the surface, trying desperately to break through while he worked so hard to keep it behind the emotional dam he’d constructed.
Then, as if suddenly changing his mind, he jogged back up the stairs and lifted a hand to Bridget’s cheek.
She leaned her face into his palm and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw tears gathering, brimming, but still not falling.
“Just promise me,” he whispered, bringing his face near. “Promise me that whatever he says about me, you’ll see me for the man you got to know yourself.”
“What?” She stared at him as the fat, hot tears forming in her own eyes turned him into a blur. Now she couldn’t recognize his face or his words. How could weeks of building their relationship be suddenly undone by a few minutes while he sat beside Trent in her living room?
“Promise me, Bridget,” he croaked, his voice desperate, pleading.
“I p-p-promise,” she sputtered. “But, Wesley, what is he going to say? I’d rather hear it from you.”
He shook his head and took a step back, forgetting the stairs and stumbling down a few before catching himself again.
She moved to help him, but he held up a hand to stop her.
The apartment door opened, and Amy joined Bridget in the hall. “Bridget, come back inside,” she urged, her delicate features pinched, making them seem even smaller. She looked so fragile, and yet she’d come to protect Bridget. From what?
“But, Wesley . . .” Bridget argued, unsure of what she could say as she searched her friend’s expression to see if she understood any of what was going on.
“He’s already gone,” Amy whispered, grabbing Bridget’s wrist and pulling her back to the door.
When Bridget glanced back toward the stairs, she saw nothing, understood nothing. But felt the weight of it all crash down on her all the same.
She felt so many things in that moment. Worry for her new friend, mostly. Confusion as to what possibly could have happened between Trent and Wesley to cause this scene. And questions, so many questions. First, a question as to why her heart was breaking as she felt Wesley’s absence envelop her. A terrible physical thing, like a blanket that had once comforted but now strangled.
Why couldn’t she breathe?
And what about Wesley? Was he feeling like this, too? Worse?
Would she ever see him again?
And was she ready to hear whatever Trent had to say?
Chapter 27
Back in the apartment, Bridget’s guests sat staring fixedly at the door. When she entered, they all sprang to action. Had that short time in the hall really been enough for them to understand what Bridget still didn’t?
Hazel rose from her seat and grabbed her purse from the counter, not meeting Bridget’s eyes as she went. “C’mon, Olivia, let’s go pick up some ice-cream cones for everyone,” she murmured.
The little girl cheered and followed Hazel away. At the same time, Nichole moved to the kitchen to begin cleaning up, and Amy moved to the couch to sit beside Trent.
“What’s going on?” Bridget asked with wide eyes. She felt her own body shaking, much as Wesley’s had when he stood facing away from her on the stairs. Everyone in here was facing away from her, too.
Once Hazel and Olivia had made their exit, someone finally met Bridget’s eyes. It was Amy. Her expression was soft and apologetic as she invited Bridget to enter her own living room. “Trent has something he needs to share with you.”
What if I don’t want to hear it? What if I want things to go back to how they were exactly one hour ago?
Bridget lowered herself to the carpeted floor and crossed her legs. When her dogs didn’t immediately pile on top of her, she scanned the apartment in search of them. She needed their love, strength, and quiet reassurance for whatever came next.
Oh, right. They’d been put in the bedroom for the eating portion of today’s get-together. It was the only way to guarantee they wouldn’t help themselves to her guests’ meals. She always did the same when her turn to host came around, but then again, nothing like this had ever happened before.
And most frustrating of all, she still didn’t know what this was.
“I’ve got them,” Nichole said from the kitchen. Apparently, her full attention hadn’t been on the dishes after all. Everyone’s eyes lingered on Bridget as they all waited to see if the coming news would break her.
Amy regarded her with a pinched mouth, sudden pallor overtaking her complexion. Meanwhile, Trent’s features had hardened, his heavy brow and granite jaw revealing a side of him she’d never seen before now. Normally, he wore a goofy, open smile and doted on Amy and Olivia for all to see. Bridget had always found it difficult to believe he spent his days working as a prison guard.
Until now.
Now she understood.
Baby and Rosco burst into the living room and tackled Bridget with giant, slobbery licks and a cloud of dog fur. Teddy, however, seemed to know something was wrong. He stiffened and let out a low growl, moving a few steps ahead of Bridget in what appeared to be an effort to protect her from Trent.
“It’s okay, Teddy. Come here,” she said, but the Pomeranian remained rooted to the spot, ready to strike the man he’d considered a friend at every other encounter.
“Go ahead and tell her,” Amy urged, wedging each of her slim fingers between Trent’s much stronger digits.
“That man,” he began, then cleared his throat and started again. “That man is not a good friend for you to have.”
“Why?” she challenged, refusing to take him at his word. Trent might mean a lot to Amy, but Bridget didn’t know him all that well herself. Could she really trust his word without any evidence?
Of course not. And she wouldn’t.
“I shouldn’t say,” he hedged.
“Either say it or don’t, but unless you give me a really good reason, I’m not going to stop seeing Wesley.”
Trent turned red but said nothing.
“It’s okay,” Amy said, giving his hand a squeeze and turning his fingers red, too. “I’ll tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Bridget demanded. She was so very tired of everyone knowing but her.
Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Bridget felt the seconds tick away like the countdown on a bomb, one that would cause unforeseen destruction in her world. She had half a mind to charge out of the apartment and seek Wesley for whatever explanation was coming. She wanted to hear whatever it was directly from her friend himself, not from her other friend’s boyfriend.
But then Amy spoke. “B, sweetie. Trent already knows Wesley.”
“Yeah, I gathered that much. How do they know each other?”
“From work,” Amy said, swallowing another giant gulp of air that somehow made her face appear even more ruddy.
“But how?” Bridget asked, feeling more confused than ever. “Wesley’s a cook, and Trent’s a . . .” Trent was a prison guard.
Amy nodded, shooting Bridget a meaningful look, willing her to understand, to stop asking questions and just accept what they were trying to tell her.
Trent remained silent, probably already having said way more than he was allowed.
“Oh,” Bridget whispered. Trent was a prison guard, and Wesley had been a prisoner.
“He never told me that,” she insisted, feeling so deceived in that moment. And he hadn’t, but it explained so much. Why he was hesitant to make new friends, what he was running away from each night, even the way he kept his apartment—small, tidy, sparse. It also explained why he often trailed off and disappeared into himself in conversations.
Had he wanted to tell her but hadn’t yet found the right time? Or had he deliberately hidden this huge, important thing about himself?
Nichole drifted into the room and sat beside Bridget on the floor. “Are you okay?” she asked, touching her friend’s knee.
“Yeah. I mean, why wouldn’t I be? He was probably just in for drugs or marijuana, right? That’s not such a big deal. I bet—”
“No,” Trent interrupted, his expression finally softening. “It wasn’t drugs. And it is a big deal.”
Amy stroked Trent’s arm, because apparently he needed comfort just as much as Bridget now. “Of course Trent and the others do everything they can to help rehabilitate their prisoners, but the truth is that many of them return to their old ways.”
“Wesley isn’t like that,” Bridget argued, but her quavering voice betrayed her. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s a good guy, and he would never—”
“He was in for a violent crime, Bridget,” Trent said, slicing through her argument with ease. “Someone almost died. If she had, his sentence would have been much, much longer.”
“She? But I don’t understand.” Horror swept through her. Could Wesley have really hurt someone so
severely? Could he have hurt someone at all? It didn’t fit, but she could also see the truth reflected in Trent’s eyes, the shocking reveal mirrored in Wesley’s posture during their exchange in the hall.
He had done it. And he’d lied. Hidden.
Would he have hurt her one day, too? Could he have?
Trent sank back on the couch, depleted. “The details don’t matter. I’ve already said too much, but please just trust me on this one. You’re like a sister to Amy, which means you’re family to me. I need you to be safe.”
Bridget swallowed hard and then nodded. “Okay.”
Because what else could she say? What else could she do?
Chapter 28
After Olivia and Hazel returned with strawberry sundaes for everyone, Bridget made a big show of eating and enjoying hers for the little girl’s sake. Olivia had suffered enough the past couple years, both losing her mother and then moving far from her home to resettle in Anchorage. She didn’t need to take on the weight of Bridget’s problems on top of everything else.
Bridget didn’t even feel equipped to deal with this latest shock to her life. Her insides burned hot with rage, disappointment, betrayal despite the cool comfort her favorite guilty pleasure normally offered.
Her friends downed their sundaes so quickly, it was a wonder they didn’t all end up with incurable cases of brain freeze. Once finished, they raced to the door in what was practically a stampede, which suited Bridget just fine. She needed some time alone to unravel what she’d just learned.
Amy, however, lingered.
“I’m staying with you tonight,” she announced without preamble. “Do you have some PJs I could borrow?”
“Come with me,” Bridget said, hardly even upset anymore as she guided her friend to her bedroom and fished out a pair of old sweats. While Amy was a good deal taller than Bridget, she was also thinner, so hopefully the clothes would fit.
Amy went to change in the bathroom while Bridget searched her closet for a spare set of bedding. She found a comforter and pillow balled up on the top shelf, and she pulled them down. The cardboard box beside them was dislodged and fell to the floor.
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