“Was I that bad? Really?”

  Bridget's heart squeezed in her chest, one half wrought with guilt, the other half grief. She hated that doubtful tilt to his chin, and she made a show of looking around at the laughing, gossiping crowd.

  “No. We were.”

  She could sense herself falling down a dark, depressing chasm, but then Garrison lowered his lips to her forehead and caressed the side of her face, gawkers and naysayers be damned.

  “People change,” he said simply.

  She looked around the room again. Most of the attendees were sweet, down-to-earth people. But that one small group – the group who deemed themselves high school royalty – they were the fly in the ointment. Her smile disappeared completely as she realized that above anyone else in the room, she'd caused the most heartache.

  “I hope so.”

  Someone with a gruff voice and a smoker's cough spoke into a microphone, announcing that the buffet was open and as soon as everyone was seated they would start the slideshow.

  Garrison leaned in close and took her hand. “What slideshow?”

  “It's stupid,” Bridget said, shaking her head. “They take candids and pictures from the yearbook and compare them to recent pictures of everyone. It's called the 'Then and Now Slideshow'. Bryce Channing asked me for pictures of myself when I ran into him at the store a few months back, but I never got back with him.”

  “Huh. No one mentioned anything to me.”

  “How could they?” She asked, pulling him toward two empty seats. “You were off saving lives and playing soldier.”

  “Marine,” he corrected with a smile.

  “Whatever. Sit down so we can get this over with. The sooner we play nice, the sooner we can leave.”

  After pulling out her chair and kissing her cheek, he scooted her back up to the table and squeezed her shoulders. “I like the way you think.”

  They both sat quietly as everyone waited for the Alumni Association to get the show on the road. Small groups of classmates made their way around tables, introducing spouses, flashing pictures of children, and catching up quickly. A few even made their way to Bridget and Garrison's table and filled in the empty seats surrounding them.

  No one was surprised that Bridget had opened the animal sanctuary; that was common knowledge in town. They were, however, surprised to see Garrison's strong arm slung over her shoulder. The men from his class wanted to hear stories about his time in the Marines, and he was happy to recall a few of the tamer tales. A cluster of women stood around, not listening to a word he said as they drooled and completely ignored their own husbands.

  Bridget didn't deny the fact that she was drooling right along with them. Garrison seemed truly passionate about his time in the service and hearing him speak so openly to a crowd of people he barely knew anymore was inspiring. He lit up as he spoke, and another chunk of her heart gave itself over to him.

  When the lights dimmed, Bryce Channing, the class president and local dentist, announced that the slideshow was about to start. Bridget turned and snuggled in close to Garrison, enjoying the possessive way he held her waist with one hand while the other slid down her hip and rested at the edge of her dress.

  She was dreaming of all the different ways she was going to have him tonight; their last night together. When tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she thought about that particular goodbye, she took a deep breath and vowed not to ruin it.

  She wouldn't sob. She wouldn't beg him to stay. She would be strong.

  Yeah, right...

  Garrison took a deep whiff of the vanilla aroma of Bridget's favorite shampoo. He wasn't even gone yet, but he already missed her. He leaned in close and felt the tension lining her shoulders. He wasn't sure what she was thinking or feeling, but if their last night together meant as much to her as it did to him, he bet she was struggling to imagine what tomorrow night would hold.

  It was going to be hell leaving a woman like Bridget behind, but he had to figure out what he was going to do with his life before he invited someone else in. Bridget had all her ducks in a row. Garrison's ducks weren't even waddling in the same continent.

  As the music started and images began flickering on screen, he peered around the room and took everyone in. Husbands and wives were holding each other close, watching in rapt suspense, ready to see what had become of their classmates. They were all smiles, all enjoying the nostalgia, and he turned his eyes forward in an attempt to join them.

  But when his eyes caught on who was running the projector, his entire body went on high alert. There, behind the computer, was Shawn. Although his hair was disheveled and he wore dark circles under his eyes, a smile of triumph and excitement stretched across his thin face.

  Just when he was about to find a way to excuse himself and threaten that jerk within an inch of his life, someone walked through the back door and came to stand beside Shawn. That particular someone wore a suit ten times more expensive than Garrison's and a look of mischief that said he wasn't there to have a good time.

  Nat Stilton looked like the devil himself.

  Fucking shit...

  “Awe, look at you.”

  “What?”

  Garrison managed to pull his attention away from the two conniving assholes long enough to see what Bridget was pointing at. A picture of Garrison stretched across the screen.

  It wasn't much. Just him sitting in the library flipping through the pages of an encyclopedia. He readied his eyes to turn away, thinking they wouldn't have anything recent to use in the slideshow, but he was wrong. Somehow, they'd dug up two photos taken while he was enlisted.

  One was originally a group picture of him and his buddies celebrating his return at a bar. Everyone else had been cropped out, leaving him there in his uniform, leaned up against a pool table with a stein of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. Not exactly his best picture, but he still smiled at the memory.

  The other picture was of him and Owen from a newspaper article. The headline read 'Local Marines Take First Place in Triathlon'. Even though Owen was holding up his medal and grinning like a fool, Garrison was scowling. Bridget giggled at that one and he rolled his eyes as she tried to mock his facial expression.

  Those were the only pictures of Garrison, even though almost everyone else in the class had gobs of pictures. Weddings. Births. Family photos. State Fair contests. There were even a few pictures of happy couples standing outside new houses next to SOLD signs. He figured those were thrown in just so people would have an opportunity to brag.

  They were going in alphabetical order, so Bridget would be last. Since she didn't supply anyone with pictures, they both figured they'd see nothing but maybe a photo or newspaper clipping of her work with the animals.

  But the image that flashed on screen after her graduation photo was definitely NOT the animal sanctuary. Laughter and gasps erupted from the entire room as everyone stared at the blown-up picture of Bridget.

  Her eyes were sleepy, hair a mess, expression seductive as she laid in bed, one ass cheek peeking out from under the white sheet strung across a king-sized bed.

  Garrison's vision glazed over with a film of red as Bridget swayed in his arms.

  “Oh, God.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bridget turned and buried her face in Garrison's chest. Thankfully, he held her close, trying to cocoon her in the safety and protection of his arms. But that was a joke. She wasn't safe, not from the laughter and not from the prying eyes of everyone in the room.

  “Oh, God,” she repeated. “Oh, my God!”

  Panic infused her blood and it was useless to try and calm herself. Every cell in her body was screaming, running, pleading for it be a bad dream. She wanted the floor to open up right then and there and swallow her whole. She wanted a sniper to pop out from behind the podium and shoot her between the eyes. She wanted a tornado to tear through the building and lay waste to everything around her. Anything to put an end to the humiliation she was enduring.

  She knew who took those pictures. She knew where to direct her anger, but her overpowering embarrassment made it difficult to conjure a stronger emotion.

  “Stay here.”

  Garrison's chest was suddenly gone and she was left there to drown alone as he marched across the room, the visual definition of a man on a mission. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to curl into the tiniest ball she could manage. But it was no use. Everywhere she turned, people stared, pointed, or laughed.

  When her eyes dared to flit back up to the screen, she eyed yet another picture of herself, this one taken on a Halloween when she'd decided to dress as a slutty nurse. Normally, the costume wouldn't be that bad. However, in the photo, Bridget was in the process of getting dressed so the entire front of the costume gaped open, revealing more than a little skin.

  Bridget slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Everyone around her was either sucking in air for another round of laughter, preaching about what a heathen she was, or was shocked into silence. There were even a few degrading catcalls thrown in for good measure.

  Dying of humiliation had always seemed like a metaphor to Bridget, but right then, she truly wanted it to end. She decided that dying was better than spending another solid minute in that room surrounded by all the people who were looking down on her, judging her, and making her out to be an even bigger joke than she was before.

  She fought to tune them all out as her eyes lifted to search for Garrison. She needed him. He could heal her, protect her, pull her out of the darkness that was threatening to swallow her whole. For once in her life, she wanted to reach out and let a man save her. She wouldn't even object if he wanted to take her in his arms and rush her out to the parking lot. She'd do anything to get away from the torture that damn screen was carrying out.

  But when her tear-filled eyes finally found Garrison through the darkness, her heart stopped.

  It skipped a beat, or five, too stunned by what she was seeing.

  Garrison.

  Shawn.

  And Nat.

  All standing around the computer.

  Shawn held up his hand, waiting for Garrison to give him a high five, while Nat slapped him on the back in a friendly, welcoming hug.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  He wouldn't.

  Absolutely not.

  He...

  As the class held their breath, waiting for another picture to grace the screen, Nat's voice met her ears.

  “She's a great lay, huh?”

  God, no...

  No, no, no!

  Bridget clawed at her chest, wondering why the fuck her ability to stand and run away was evading her. She wanted out. Away from all this. Away from the prying eyes. Away from him.

  Just when another cry was threatening to tear from her mouth, Garrison turned.

  His bright eyes fell on her and everything just... clicked.

  Revenge.

  Her heart wanted to explode as realization dawned and the truth registered. He never cared about her. It was all a front. Every time he touched her, kissed her, whispered sweet nothings in her ear... it was all just a ploy to get back at her for everything she'd done.

  It was retribution.

  Suddenly infused with the knowledge and anger she needed so desperately, Bridget stood from her chair and ran. She ran straight for the door, dodging classmates as they laughed while picture after humiliating picture still flashed across the screen. Pictures of her half dressed – or not dressed at all – stood out in the darkness for all to see.

  “Bridget, wait!”

  Her soul tore in half as Garrison's voice followed her, but she refused to stop. If she stopped, it was over. She would break. And that was the entire point of his seduction coup. To break her.

  She could hear his Italian leather shoes running after her, but she didn't slow. She burst through the doors, charged through the hotel lobby, and finally found blessed freedom in the parking lot. As her lungs pulled in long hauls of cool night air, she cursed herself.

  She didn't know when she'd become such a naive fool, but her hands tore through her curled hair as she shook with the need to disappear. Her world wouldn't stop spinning. Everything was tumbling out of control, everything the universe pitched her way was slaughtering every sense she possessed. It was crushing her under its impressive weight.

  “Bridget!”

  Her name slithering off those conniving lips was enough to stoke a fire in her chest. Who the fuck did Garrison Beckett think he was? She'd proven a hundred times over that she had changed. And yet... he still wanted to destroy her. He wanted to rake her name through the mud until she was the laughing stock of Till Park.

  Well, mission accomplished.

  He could go home now.

  She stopped as he called her name again and this time she turned to face him. She could feel hot tears streaming down her face, but she didn't care. If he wanted to see what he'd done to her, so be it. She'd give him a long, hard look.

  When she spoke, she was surprised by the calm control resonating in her voice.

  “Who's the deceitful one now?”

  Garrison jerked to a stop a few feet away, lungs panting as he raised his hands in surrender.

  “Bridget, listen. That wasn't what it looked like, I swear to God. I can-”

  “I was young and stupid and scared when I did those things to you, Garrison. What possible reason could you have for doing this?” Seething and heartbroken, she pointed to the door. “What justifies what you just did in there? Do you really just hate me that fucking much?”

  His stern, pleading expression softened.

  “I don't hate you at all, Bridget.”

  She turned on her heel, more than ready to walk away and forget he ever existed, but he grabbed her by the arm and spun her back around.

  “Dammit, listen to me!” He roared.

  “Why?” She screamed right back. “So you can continue to lie to my face? So you can gather more ammo to use against me? No thanks. I've had about enough of that for one night.”

  He held onto her shoulders, making it impossible for her to turn and run like she so desperately wanted.

  “Bridget, I'm sorry! I had-”

  She slammed both hands into his chest and shoved. He staggered back, surprised by her burst of strength.

  “Sorry?! You don't have to live here, Garrison! You get to leave and go off to who the hell knows where and forget this town ever existed. Forget I ever existed! But guess what? I have to be here for the rest of my goddamn life! I have to see these people every day! You've ensured that the rest of my life will be miserable and degrading and I'll never be able to look any of those people in the eyes ever again. So, thank you for that. You've successfully ruined my life. Retaliation complete. I hope you're proud of yourself.”

  She turned on her heels to finally escape, but her entire body felt his misplaced desperation as he followed.

  No.

  This ends.

  Now.

  She whirled around, balled up her fist, and let it fly. Her knuckles burned as they connected with the hard angles of his cheek, but she felt zero remorse.

  Clutching his jaw, he turned to her, his once-beautiful features shrouded in defeat as she jabbed an unsteady finger into his chest.

  “Do. Not. Follow. Me.”

  Garrison let Bridget walk away. There was no use following her, calling after her, so he let her go. Because even though he didn't have an active role in Shawn and Nat's little scheme, he knew damn well he didn't deserve someone like Bridget. He'd known it all along. But that knowledge didn't stop him from falling for her.

  At first, that free fall had felt amazing. Intoxicating. He loved the adrenaline rush he got every time he was with, around, or inside Bridget. But that feeling was long gone. He was done falling.

  He'd landed on his ass, but not before plowing right through that damn barbed wire fence again. Only this time, those sharpened spurs weren't guarding a pasture.

  They were guarding her heart.

  He tore that buffer to shreds. Shot right through it and obliterated everything he touched.

  Bridget would never trust him again.

  Ever.

  Seething with a rage he had nowhere to direct but at himself, and knowing that he just lost everything in Till Park that mattered to him, Garrison abandoned his car and walked the few short blocks to his motel. He stopped in and grabbed two bottles of whiskey at the liquor store and a pack of cigarettes. He'd never been a smoker, but the draw of filling his body with a barrage of poisons appealed to him.

  When he turned the lock and stepped inside his abandoned motel room, it welcomed him like an old streetwalker. It beckoned to him, telling him that he belonged there; belonged to the filthy, peeling walls, the clogged pipes, the dead heater. He wasn't good enough for her. Never was. Never would be. He'd forever be Gary Beckett: Local Nobody.

  “Fuck me.”

  He lowered himself to the foot of the bed and scrubbed his weathered hands across his face. Remorse tore through his chest like a rusty nail, refusing to be ignored or eased. He greeted it, knowing that it was well deserved. After all, he'd ruined the one thing in his life that had ever felt good and right while simultaneously obliterating the heart of the person who was responsible for bringing that feeling forward.

  Whether he knew it at the time or not, Bridget had been a salve. He'd been angry, aimless, and conflicted about what to do and where to go. But when he was with Bridget, all that melted away. When he was holding her, when he felt her happiness seeping into him, none of that mattered. But it was too late. That fence had been mangled with one stupid misunderstanding. Post by post. Panel by panel. Barbed wire by cold, vicious barbed wire. It was wrecked.

  When anger gave way to tears, he grabbed hold of the edge of the mattress to keep from sinking to the floor. A half-cocked sob threatened to choke the life out of him, and instead of opening himself up to the feeling and basking it in like he deserved, he opened a fifth of whiskey.

  After downing half the bottle in one breath, he fell back onto the bed, not giving two shits about his Armani suit. He'd probably burn the damn thing anyway in an attempt to keep the agony at bay. He didn't want something hanging in his closet, taunting him, reminding him of what could have been if he'd only been man enough to stop one idiot. Or to warn the one person he cared about most in the whole godforsaken town.

 

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