Barbed Wire Bandages, page 14
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The drive back to Albany was excruciating, filled with flashes of time spent with a woman he'd likely never see again. But the minute the Marine Corps Logistics Base came into view, Garrison sighed in relief. Owen, his closest friend, was somewhere inside those gates, and he needed a friendly face to remind him that he wasn't the scum of the earth.
Because that's what he felt like. The lowest of the low. Technically, he hadn't done anything wrong, aside from neglect to warn Bridget that some asshole drunk might have something up his sleeve, but the guilt remained buried beneath his skin.
He stoically waited on a park bench outside the fitness center, popping his knuckles as the reunion scene played over and over again in his mind. He unloaded every awful detail to Owen over the phone the second he pulled out of Till Park, so he was hoping his friend had had enough time to drum up the words that would set his head straight. Or at the very least find a way to make the roaring of his gut and the sour taste in his mouth fade away. And his heart... something needed to be done about his goddamn heart.
“There's my favorite fuck up!”
Garrison smiled despite his grief as Owen sauntered out of the gym, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“Shut up, dick. I didn't DO anything.”
They embraced in a quick hug, thumping each other on the back with gusto.
“Only because you changed your mind,” Owen reminded him as he slumped down on the bench. “You drove out to her place with intent-”
“That was before. Way before.”
“Yeah. Before your dick started thinking for you. And before you grew a heart. And before she saw you getting friendly with her ex-husband. And before-”
Garrison raised a hand to stop him. “Yeah, I get it. I'm an asshole. So how do I fix this?”
“Whoa... Fix it?” He laughed. “Boy, you're lucky that woman doesn't have your nuts swinging from her rear view mirror like a pair of fuzzy dice.”
Garrison wrung his hands. “Could you can it for one minute and at least attempt to be helpful?” If his best friend didn't have any advice for him, he was screwed.
Owen rested his elbows on the back of the bench and eyed the civilian sitting before him. His light blue gaze was calculating, curious, and glazed over with pity.
“You really want to fix it?”
“Yes!” Garrison yelled. “I really fucking do!”
“As in... you want to go back there? To her? To Till Park?”
“I-”
Garrison's response died on his lips. He wasn't sure if he could fix what happened without returning to his hometown. He hated the idea of that place. The memories. The awful people. And yet... there were also good people there. People like Bridget Warner far outweighed the small-minded, judgmental kooks that used to reside there.
But Garrison had to ask himself - was Till Park really that bad a place? And if it wasn't, was it a place he was willing to stay? Willing to tolerate? For her?
“Fuck yes.” He nodded once, resolute and willing to do whatever it took to patch what needed patching. “I want to go back. I want to park my ass in that godforsaken town and be with her.”
Owen smiled proudly. “I never thought I'd see the day... You're goin' home, son.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Till Park was never my home. Not really.”
“But it sure feels like it now, doesn't it?”
Garrison hated the way Owen could see right through him. He hated the way he always knew what was best for Garrison, even when he didn't see it himself. And he hated the way he was so damn smug about it. Because he was. Smug. And right. Always fucking right.
“Yeah,” he said, remembering how content he'd felt with Bridget in Till Park. “Maybe home isn't so much a place as it is a person.”
“That's so sweet.” Owen pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “All Lifetime Movie and shit.”
Garrison punched Owen in the shoulder, sending him toppling over before he caught himself on the edge of the bench. Owen laughed, rubbing the growing red welt, but then he grew serious.
“Speaking of home, have you been by your apartment yet?”
“No. Why?”
He'd driven seven hours straight to base, stopping only long enough to gas up and grab coffee and stale truck stop food.
“Uh, that houseplant you had? I think I killed it while you were gone.” Owen's mouth pulled down in a sorry grimace, but Garrison couldn't care less.
“As long as you didn't burn the place down, I don't care what you did while you were there.”
Owen smiled. “Good, because I also broke one of your bowls.”
Garrison narrowed his eyes. “My bowls are plastic.”
“Well, it's not so much that I broke it as it got chewed up and spit out.”
“What?”
“Well, I was feeding the dog and-”
“I don't have a dog!” Garrison sifted his hands through his hair, wondering what the hell went down while he was away.
Owen held up a finger. “Well, technically you don't, but you do have a stray.”
Hearing the word 'stray' caused a pinprick of pain to stab its way into the lining of Garrison's heart. He was a stray as far as the world was concerned. Always wandering from place to place in search of something more.
But things had changed. In the span of two wonderful weeks, he'd started hoping for roots, whether he realized it or not. Now, he knew where he belonged.
With a person who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
“You're thinking about her, aren't you?”
Garrison's head snapped up. “What?”
“You just got that dreamy, pussy-whipped look in your eyes.”
Another punch to the shoulder. “Shut your face.”
“I'm just saying!” Owen hit him right back, laughing as Garrison tried and failed to block his fist. “What's your plan, loser?”
Garrison dropped his hands to the bench, his chest rising as he sighed.
“I don't have one.”
They sat back and fell into a comfortable silence, both contemplating ways to get his ass out of the predicament he found himself in.
Garrison looked around the open courtyard, watching as Marines filtered in and out of the surrounding buildings. That used to be him. He was strong, skilled, and always had a plan of attack. When the enemy pushed, he pushed back harder. And yet, when it came to Bridget, he was completely fucking lost.
“Did you ever think of maybe putting yourself in her shoes?”
He looked at his friend, the urge to smack him so overpowering that his palm twitched.
“Dude, I'm not being a prick about this. I can imagine she feels betrayed and embarrassed and wants nothing to-”
“That's not what I'm talking about. I don't mean empathizing. I mean, like, literally putting yourself in her shoes.”
Garrison's eyebrows drew slowly together as he tried to figure out what the hell Owen was getting at.
“Are you suggesting I dress in drag?”
“No, RuPaul.” Owen scooted in close, holding his hands out in a silent plea, as if praying and asking for Garrison to understand. “I'm talking about humiliating yourself as penance.”
Garrison tossed those words around in his head, trying to make sense of them.
“...What?”
“You know... show her that what everyone thinks doesn't matter. Put yourself in the exact position she thinks you put her in. Take one for the team and make damn sure she knows you'd never purposefully do something like that to her.”
Garrison continued to stare blankly at his friend. He understood the general idea, but had no clue as to how to put it into action.
“What are you suggesting?” He asked.
Owen cracked his neck from side to side, wearing the shit-eating grin he was famous for.
“You're not gonna like it.”
Garrison didn't care. If it meant Bridget forgave him, he'd do practically anything.
“Let's hear it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bridget finally summoned the courage to venture to town after a week of moping, drinking and rebuilding her tough outer shell. She knew she couldn't avoid the people of Till Park forever, no matter how appealing that idea sounded. Her fridge was running dangerously low on ice cream, beer, and microwave dinners. As she looked at her pitiful shopping list, she sighed out a laugh, wondering just how pathetic she'd look at the checkout counter, but then decided she just didn't fucking care.
After feeding the animals, she huffed it outside, pulled herself into the cab of her truck, and set off for town with every intention of keeping her head held high, her shoulders back, and her middle finger at the ready. Till Park was her home. She refused to let the townsfolk make her feel like less of a person just because of a few less-than-classy pictures.
Her beloved Ford rattled as she neared the stretch of road that morphed from gravel to asphalt, and she clung tightly to the wheel. As she passed the new stretch of fence that now served as a painful reminder of what she'd lost, she tried not to reminisce. She kept her eyes forward, not allowing herself even the briefest of glances. But her eyes had a mind of their own.
When something flashing in the wind caught her eye, she did a double-take and eased her foot off the gas. She rolled to a stop and squinted to make out what seemed to be a single sheet of white paper nailed to a post. She quickly considered driving right by and ignoring it completely, but then something far more irking demanded her attention.
The entire length of fence had been cut straight through. The broken wires curled around the surrounding fence posts, offering entry to anything or anyone who dared step foot on her land.
Angrily, she shoved the truck in park and cursed as she hopped out the door. The growing wind laughed as it repeatedly slapped her in the face with her own ponytail. She crunched through dying grass and neared the fence, pulling up the hood of her jacket as she silently calculated how long it would take to mend the damn thing. Again.
She made a mental list of everything she would need from the hardware store as she tore the paper from the post and flattened it in her hand. When the bold words jumped off the page and registered to her brain, a sharp pain lanced through her rib cage. Her breathing sped, and the aching fever that had dulled over the past week returned in a most unpleasant way.
I'll fix this.
-G
“What the hell?”
She didn't know why Garrison was back in Till Park, or what the hell he thought he was doing on her property, but the more important question she couldn't answer was what was he was planning to fix?
Her fence?
Her reputation?
Her mutilated heart?
She wasn't sure. Either way, she crumpled the note, tossed it in the bed of her truck, and continued on to town. As she drove, swerving to miss pot holes and roadkill, her anger grew.
She hated not knowing what that damn note meant. She hated that she had to fight to bring herself back down and find her happy place again. Well, her content place, since she was still searching for the happiness she had before everything fell at her feet. But more than anything, she hated that Garrison was back.
Not because he humiliated her then skipped town.
Not because he let his friend embarrass her.
Not because he hid the lengths of his hatred for her.
No.
She hated that he was back because she missed him. Fiercely.
She missed the way he held her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. She missed the deep rumble of his voice as he told her she was beautiful. She missed the way her heart leaped in her chest when she heard his car coming down the drive and all the animals went into a tizzy, waiting for him to walk through the door.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't completely banish him from her thoughts. Yes, what happened still hurt, but it would hurt so much less if she could just move on. It was just a couple weeks. How had she given herself over so completely in such a brief amount of time?
She wasn't sure. But she damn well wasn't going to do it again. No. She didn't need a man in her life. Not one like Nat and certainly not one like Garrison. She was just fine on her own.
Just. Fine.
In fact, she was more than happy to-
“Ahh!”
Bridget screamed as she turned the corner and slammed on the brakes.
She blinked her eyes, vigorously trying to clear her vision, just in case what she was seeing was a mirage. It had to be. There was no way in hell it could be real. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. Either that, or she'd gone off the deep end and lost her goddamn mind.
But when she refocused her eyes, she was greeted with the same, impossible sight.
Stapled to every pole, every bench, every storefront... was a picture of Garrison.
Garrison Beckett.
Buck ass naked.
As quickly as she could, Bridget whipped into a parking spot and jumped out. She needed a closer look. There was no way in hell what she was seeing was real.
After frantically sprinting to the nearest light pole and tearing the eight-by-ten off its staple, her jaw dropped.
It was no mirage.
There he was, flashing his ass to the camera. An M16 hung across his back as his green eyes stared coyly over his shoulder. Every inch of his muscled physique was flexed and on display. The picture was... well, if she was being completely honest with herself, the picture was hot as fucking hell.
A startled gasp interrupted her somersaulting thoughts and she looked up, only to remember that it was noon on a Friday and every single Till Park resident was milling about, getting lunch, doing their grocery shopping, or just killing time. Due to the photographs, that translated to parents covering young children's eyes, single women discretely folding the pictures into their purses, and men laughing and pointing at Garrison's bare ass.
“Dammit, Garrison!”
Abandoning her grocery list, Bridget jumped into action, tearing as many of the pictures down as she could reach. The townsfolk were oblivious to her as she ran around like a woman possessed, trying to get her hands on as many of the photos as possible. She wasn't sure what made Garrison do such a thing, but deep down she knew that it had everything to do with what happened at the reunion.
“He should be ashamed of himself, making a scene like this,” an elderly man said as he helped his wife from their car. “Indecent exposure, that's what this is. They should lock him up right now.”
His wife chuckled as she steadied her cane on the sidewalk . “Oh, Harold, don't be such a stiff.”
Bridget looked up, only to witness the woman stuff a picture into her over-sized bag when her husband wasn't looking. She had to laugh. She knew Mrs. Miller would be sharing her little treat with all her friends at the senior center later, and she feared for a few of their pacemakers.
Once Bridget realized there were too many of Garrison's asses flapping in the breeze and she couldn't get rid of them by her little lonesome, she clutched what she had to her chest, scrambled back into her truck, and drove. She drove until Garrison's motel room door came into view. She had a sneaking suspicion that he wanted to be found, and this was where she'd find him. A black rental with Georgia plates sat in the parking lot, confirming her suspicions.
With the pictures still wedged between her arm and chest, she stomped to his door and knocked. It was only then, when she was standing there waiting for him to answer, that she remembered why she'd gone into hiding in the first place. She also remembered that she was supposed to be pissed at Garrison. She didn't want to see him, but...
The door opened, and Bridget swiveled her panicked face to find two sea green eyes smiling down at her. Garrison Beckett stood right inside, clad only in a pair of athletic shorts. Fresh from the shower, water dripped off his hair. It beaded and tumbled down his shoulders, his chest, and soaked into the waistband of his shorts. She followed each drop's path, entranced by the sight of the moisture clinging to his bare skin.
Dammit...
She mentally shook herself, remembering the purpose behind her visit.
“You're insane!”
He failed to contain his cocky grin as he leaned against the door frame. As he crossed his arms, accentuating the coiled muscle that was begging to be touched, Bridget remembered just how hard his body felt. How warm. How strong...
“I've been called worse.”
Ripping her eyes away and scoffing at his flippant attitude, Bridget shouldered her way inside, careful not to touch his bare chest. When she stood in the small foyer, he closed the door behind her and locked the deadbolt with a click.
“No. You're truly certifiable. What the hell were you thinking?” She hurled the pictures at his face and they fell around him like naughty snowflakes. “Was this supposed to make everything better?”
He didn't even bother to catch them. As the last one landed on his foot, he kicked it away and stepped over the pile. They stood, toe-to-toe, Garrison towering over Bridget even though she held her head high.
Bridget refused to be intimidated.
He knew that.
But on the other hand, she thought he was incredibly sexy when he was trying to intimidate.
He knew that too.
“I knew it wouldn't fix everything, but I hoped it would lessen the sting.” A quirky smile pulled at his lips. “You should have seen the face of the cashier at Walmart. I thought she was going to have a stroke.”
Bridget's head fell to the side, exasperated by the crazy man standing before her.
“You let her see them?”
He shrugged innocently. “They were out of envelopes.”
After plopping down on the foot of the bed, Bridget covered her face and let herself fall back onto the hard mattress.
“You're such an idiot,” she said, her voice muffled.
Somehow, between gathering the pictures and stepping foot inside his room, her anger had decided to take a vacation. It was there, but it was packing its shit, getting ready to haul ass to Fiji. She wanted it to stay, but hearing him, seeing him, being in the same room with him, hell- even just smelling him had her tripping over herself. Whatever feelings she'd had for him before the reunion were still there. And with him back in Till Park and half dressed, those feelings awoke like a hungry bear after hibernation.
