Barbed Wire Bandages, page 9
What a naive asshole he'd been...
“Did you know Bridget was married?”
The words shocked everyone, including Garrison, who'd been the one to voice them aloud.
“She used to be,” one of the girls answered. “But she let him get away. Stupidest thing she's ever done in my opinion. Nat was sex on a stick.”
Garrison's jaw dropped.
“Nat? Nat Stilton?”
He was so shocked to hear his former nemesis' name that he wasn't sure how to process that information. Yeah, Bridget and Nat had gone steady in high school and it should have occurred to him that he was the mystery husband, but it hadn't even crossed his mind.
The other girl – the more sober of the two – scooted closer to be heard over the music. “Nat was such an asshat to her. So controlling. When they were out, he'd hit on other women right in front of her, just to show her that he was still wanted, to show her that he didn't need her. Bridget was just an option for him. Not his whole life.” The redhead shook her head, pity clear in her green eyes. “That's not how marriage should be. I don't blame her for leaving.”
Garrison, still in shock, tried to finish the beer in his hand while visions of Bridget wrapped around Nat's body swam through his mind. And those walking nightmares turned even darker as he realized what Bridget had to endure while with him.
His drink instantly soured in his stomach. No matter what she'd done to him, he hated the idea of anyone treating her poorly. Although, he wasn't sure why. He should have been back to damning her to hell, but instead he couldn't get her damn smile out of his head.
He was over Nat and Bridget bulling him. Well, for the most part at least. He was working on it.
Surely he could also get over the fact that Bridget hadn't told him about her marriage. After all, they'd only spent a week together. Maybe she was working up to it. Maybe she was embarrassed. Maybe....
Maybe she wanted a fresh start.
Which was the same reason Garrison left Till Park in the first place.
“Shit.”
“What's the matter?” Shawn leaned across the table, slurring his words at an irritating volume.
“Nothing,” Garrison called back. “I've gotta go take care of something.”
Shawn gestured in confusion to the two redheads flanking him, but waved him away as Garrison left the table.
“Whatever. More for me.”
Garrison parked his car outside Bridget's house and ran straight for the door, not bothering to knock. His heart hammered away in his chest, hoping to God he wasn't too late. Praying he hadn't completely laid waste to whatever they'd started building together.
Inside, he shook the rain from his hair and ventured toward the last place he saw her. His breath rushed out in one frenzied exhale when he realized the floor was littered with shards of broken plates and the dinner Bridget had worked so hard on was now resting in the trash.
“Bridget?”
He hurtled over the wreckage and went straight to her bedroom, but she wasn't there. She wasn't in the bathroom either, or her studio, or the living room. Neither were the dogs.
When Garrison realized he didn't see her boots in the mud room, he made his way outside and found the barn light shining bright. With a mixture of hope and anguish fueling his steps, he sprinted through the rain, not bothering to acknowledge the curious dogs as he leaped off the porch.
Inside the barn, he didn't see Bridget, but the rain was picking up and the drumming on the tin roof made it hard to pinpoint her whereabouts. He called out to her, his voice cracking as it caressed her name.
“Bridget?”
A familiar head of brown hair peeked over a stall where Carl and Fiona were waiting to be fed. Her eyes were bloodshot, the corners still tinged with tears she'd shed over him; over his calloused refusal to stay and hear what she had to say, but he solemnly vowed to fix whatever he'd broken.
First the fence. Now her heart.
“What the hell do you want?”
The rain was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sorrow clouding her voice.
Garrison stomped his way into the barn, ready to plead his case. But before he could reach her, Huck rounded a corner and ducked his head, his blunt horns aimed at Garrison's shins.
Alarm shot through his thoughts, and he knew he had only a split second to act. Bridget would obviously be no help at all, so he turned tail and ran into the biggest stall on the end, hurling obscenities as the goat charged him.
The second Huck cleared the door, Garrison jumped past his horns and bounded right back out, slamming the stall closed behind him. Surprised he actually managed to get away, Garrison exhaled a laugh as he dusted the straw from his pants and turned around to find Bridget.
Still pissed. Still hurt.
Not amused in the slightest.
“I don't want you here, Garrison.” Her voice was cold and resolute. “Please leave.”
Garrison refused to be dismissed that easily. After all, he was a fighter at heart. He hadn't known that about himself when he was younger, but as an adult, it was the one thing he knew for certain.
He covered the distance between them with as few steps as possible and took her head in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes even as she fought him. His eyes lasered into hers and he blurted out a confession.
“I'm an asshole. A big, stupid, arrogant asshole.”
“Yeah,” she said, jerking out of his hold. “I got that.”
He took a deep breath and prepared to offer her his heart, lungs, balls- whatever organ she wanted on a silver platter if that's what he needed to cut out as penance. He'd give her the goddamn moon if she wanted it, just so long as she forgave him.
“I cannot believe I just did that.”
She hugged herself as she looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. He wanted to go to her, to take away the hurt, but he knew she wouldn't let him. Not yet.
“Well, you did,” she whispered hoarsely.
“And if I said I was sorry?”
Her head fell back as she laughed. Even as that sad sound reverberated through the barn, twin tears escaped her eyes like two bullets shot straight through his gut. “It's gonna take a little more than 'sorry' for me to forget your 'heinous bitch' comment.”
He cringed. “Yeah... that was pretty low.”
“Yeah,” she agreed as she wiped the tears away. “It was.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it.”
Her blue eyes grew hard and stormier than the clouds looming over Till Park.
“Yes, you did. You just didn't know all the facts before you splashed your judgment all over my shoes.” She removed her leather gloves and tossed them to the ground. “Do you want to know what hurt the most? Forget the name calling, forget the way you handled me, forget the way you left... Do you know what really hurt?”
Garrison was rendered speechless at the amount of pain rushing off her tongue in waves. He thought she'd crushed him, but he was really the one who fucked up the most by leaving. He shook his head and prepared for the chewing of a lifetime.
“You didn't even question it, Garrison. That's what hurt the most. You heard something about me and immediately believed it like it was the freaking gospel.”
He cleared his throat in an attempt to find his voice and lowered his eyes to the ground. “Again, I'm an asshole.”
“You didn't even give me a chance!” She screamed, her voice echoing through the barn. “You just ran!”
“I'm here now,” he said, his voice stern as he stepped closer. “And I'm listening.”
He was hellbent on fighting for her. No matter how low he had to stoop. He didn't care. He just wanted her forgiveness. Wanted her... whatever she had to give. He was ready to drop to his knees and grovel.
“That doesn't negate the fact that you left! You insulted me in my own damn kitchen and then fucking drove off when I tried to explain myself.” She smacked both hands to his chest and shoved. He stumbled back, gripping the skin she just touched, feeling her anger like blistering burns. “This should not have been that big a deal. If you're going to explode every time you get a rock in your shoe, I'm not sure I want to be around for that.”
She tried to push past him to exit the stall, but he held his hand against the wall, effectively trapping her.
“A rock in my shoe?” A disbelieving laugh puffed out into the air. “This wasn't some trivial little matter like you hating mushrooms or hanging the toilet paper the wrong way... It was a marriage, Bridget. A husband. You were married to Nat Fucking Stilton and you never told me!”
“There's nothing to tell!” She yelled back. “We were married for six years, we treated each other like shit, and then we got divorced. End of story!”
His eyes narrowed. “Six years isn't nothing and you know it.”
“Argh, God!” She screamed, frustrated. “You weren't here, Garrison. You know absolutely fucking nothing about my marriage to Nat. Nothing!”
Bridget shoved at his chest again and this time Garrison didn't even try to stand firm. A chunk of his fight fell away long enough to let her leave the stall, but when he regained his footing, he latched the door and went after her.
She had turned the tables and was stoking the fire. He didn't know how to handle the confrontational side of Bridget, but he couldn't deny that he loved her it. He loved the fight in her, whether it was aimed his way or not. Even though she was clearly hurt, he knew she was also one other thing he could count on.
Forgiving.
“Okay. I know nothing about your marriage, I'll admit that. But six years? You were married for six years and I had to learn about it from Nat himself.”
Bridget stopped as she reached the barn door and pivoted on her hell. All the fight seemed to drain out of her as she met Garrison's gaze.
“I didn't want to tell you,” she said, regret cracking her voice. “I didn't even want to think about it.”
“Yet every time the phone rang, you knew it was him, didn't you?”
“I did.” She nodded. “But I also knew I didn't want to waste any time on him when I had you there with me.” She sniffed and leaned her head back in exasperation. “This isn't something huge, Garrison. This-” she motioned between their bodies, “this isn't anything concrete right now. I didn't think it mattered, so I didn't say anything. Okay?”
Okay...
Was it okay?
Could it be okay?
Garrison kicked at a piece of straw at his feet and considered what she was saying.
She was divorced.
That part of her life was behind her.
Nat didn't matter.
But Garrison did. It was obvious he did.
And in the end, that was all that mattered to him.
“Okay.”
Bridget mouthed dropped open, hope shining brightly in her eyes.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” He closed his eyes and considered very carefully what he was about to say. “All that shit I said... that was just me being angry and striking out in any way I could. You didn't deserve that. At all. I just care about you. I care about you a lot and the idea that you deceived me- I couldn't stomach it. I lost my head for a split second and was so tightly wound I couldn't get it back. I dove off the deep end without taking your feelings into consideration and I am so fucking sorry. If I could rewind the clock a few hours, I'd go back, chew Nat's ass, have dinner, then make love to you until the sun came up.”
Infused with a short shot of cautious optimism, Garrison opened his eyes. Bridget was smiling through tears and his feet acted on their own. He went to her.
“You're such an asshat,” she said, crying, even as she opened her arms.
They crashed into each other and hung on for dear life.
“I know. A really fucking huge one.”
Garrison pressed his lips to hers, not caring that she was still crying, still sobbing into his mouth. All he wanted was to banish the hurt, erase the tears, and bring out that laugh that made his heart pause to take a listen every time it appeared.
Without a single word exchanged, Garrison lifted Bridget into the air and wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her deeply as he carried her to the nearest empty stall. Silently, with only their eyes communicating their true feelings, they forgave each other.
Twice.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next morning, Bridget went about her normal morning routine, with Garrison at her side. It was a welcomed change; one she could get use to. He helped make her make breakfast, rinse the dishes, feed the animals, and dole out treats and toys, all while sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking.
Something had changed between them, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The air between them was lighter, yet heavier at the same time. Maybe it was because she no longer had a secret hanging over her head. Or maybe it was because she'd opened herself up to him in a way she'd never done with another partner, not even Nat. Garrison made her feel different, and she wasn't sure if that difference was good or bad. She felt... vulnerable.
As Bridget cuddled each of the cats to her chest, Garrison strolled up behind her, wrapping his long arms around her torso as she leaned against him. In his embrace, she could almost forget her vulnerability, because he also made her feel safe, protected, and cherished.
“Maybe I should take one of these little furballs home when I leave,” he said as he stroked the kittens silky fur.
Bridget instantly tensed beneath him, and she felt the second his smile and playful words faded away. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, ruffling her hair with a heavy sigh.
“Bridget?”
She turned in his arms, trying her best to smile even as sorrow began tugging at the side of her mouth. She knew he could practically see her heart sinking through her eyes, but she couldn't hide it. And she didn't really want to.
“It was easy leaving Till Park before. This time... this time it'll feel like I've ripped out an organ and hung it on your barbed wire fence.”
Her fingers nudged at his shirt, but she tried to fight the need to cling to the fabric in an effort to keep him close. She knew she didn't get to keep him, but the words left her lips all the same, slaughtering them both.
“Then stay.”
The words were so simple. The actual idea, however, was not. In her head, she knew that. It was her heart that was throwing logic to the wind.
“I can't.”
Tears prickled behind her eyes and she fought to swallow the pressure working its way up her throat. “Why?” The word came out clipped and harder than she intended.
“I can't even fathom staying in Till Park” he answered lamely. “It's just not where I want to end up.”
Bridget nodded. “I see.”
She understood. She truly did. But that didn't make the reality of the situation any less crushing.
“Hey-”
Garrison grabbed her wrist before she could get too far away and when she turned to face him, her eyes never moved to meet his. She didn't want him to see her cry. Again.
“I don't have time for this, Garrison.”
“I know, just- stop, please.” He forcefully pressed her hand to his heart. She felt its steady rhythm beneath her palm and wished it beat for her. “I only have a few more days with you and I don't want the rest of our time to be like this. I don't want every second to be darkened by sadness and I don't want to abandon smiles in lieu of missing what isn't even gone yet. Do you?”
She kicked at the dirt beneath her boots, considering. “No.”
“Good. So let's make the most of it, okay? Why don't we go out tonight?”
Her eyes shot up, mostly to see if he was being genuine. “Like... a date?”
“Yeah. A real date. A proper date,” he corrected, softly tapping her on the nose. “What do you think?”
She looked around the barn, tossing the idea around before grinning brightly.
“I'd like that,” she said. “I'd like that a lot.”
“Yeah?” His smile matched hers in both intensity and warmth as he wrapped her in a full body hug.
“Yeah.”
Garrison kissed and tickled his way up and down her throat as she collapsed into his arms in a fit of laughter. That right there- that was something she could live for. Something she couldn't imagine never feeling again.
“You're a hazard to my health, Garrison Beckett. Do you know that?”
“Yes, ma'am, I do.” He pushed himself away, forcing their bodies apart. “But you love it.”
Her head bobbed back and forth teasingly. “Maybe just a little.”
He laid one more loud kiss on her lips, then turned to leave.
“I'll be out to get you around six. Sound good?”
She nodded, biting her lip as she watched him back away. She had so many debaucherous plans for that boy, most of which made her blush even thinking about.
“Sounds great.”
Garrison arrived at Bridget's house at five-forty-five. He was prepared to wait for her to finish getting ready, but when he pulled up the drive, he found her waiting on the front porch.
After throwing the car in park, he stepped out into the cool evening air and made his way toward the house. At the same time, she stood from her porch swing, smoothing out the pleats of her simple red paisley dress as she looked herself over. It was clear she wasn't used to getting dressed up and her discomfort was plain to see in her rigid smile.
“You look beautiful,” Garrison said, taking in her knee-length dress, black cowboy boots, and simple knit cardigan. She wore an intricately designed necklace around her neck made of pearls and diamonds. Its gleam and sparkle directed his attention toward her subtle cleavage, but he tried not to stare like a heathen.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she said, her eyes raking over his freshly shaved jaw.
“You ready?”
