Chapter 27
Bridger
I stare down at the small, plain headstone that says nothing more than “Levi Payne” and the years that encompassed his life. There were thirty in total. It sits five rows back and three plots over from my mom’s headstone. It merely says “Abigail Payne – Loving Mother and Wife”. She died when I was six, a tragic accident where she apparently slipped trying to get out of the tub, hitting her head on the edge hard enough to crack her skull and damage her brain. She lingered for almost a week before she died. I don’t remember much about it… just bits and pieces of the ambulance there and Dad trying to keep me away from it all. Sadly, my memories of my mom are just as dulled, not because I want them to be, but just because I think that’s what happens with the passage of time. Still, I hang onto a few memories that are vivid to me—like her helping me with homework or cheering for me at soccer practice. I’ll visit her grave when I’m done here with Dad, but I have no clue why they’re not buried near each other. I assume she had something to do with that.
My dad’s death was just as tragic as my mom’s, maybe even more so since he left me all alone with a monster, yet he went much quicker than my mom. Head-on collision with a drunk driver.
Instantaneous death.
I stare at his grave impassively. I want to hate him for leaving me with her and trusting her to take care of me. But if I’m being fair, and I know I should be, she didn’t show any nastiness while they were together. She was kind and attentive to me. She had me snowed, so I guess it’s only fair to assume she had Dad snowed as well.
I wonder if he loved her.
I wonder if she loved him.
I’ll never know, but really… how could I? I don’t understand the concept of love. Not between a man and a woman, anyway. I’ve never had any role models by which to learn. I can barely remember my mom and dad together, and my dad and stepmom were only together a few years. I spent many of my formative years where my only familial relationship was my stepmom beating and fucking me, always in that order. After, I spent some time on the streets, and then with an Episcopalian priest who was single and apparently content to be so. While Adrian is kind, loving, and paternal, he could never teach me about the type of love that I’m so fucking confused about right now.
That’s not to say I’m without some guidance. I’ve watched over the past year as each of my friends fell deeply in love. I mean passionately—will die for you, am nothing without you, together to the ends of the earth type of love. I can’t say as I know what each of these dudes are feeling, but I see the things they’ve sacrificed to be with their women, the lengths they go to make them happy. I’ve seen each of them give up The Silo because whatever was leaving them unfulfilled in life before has been filled and is being continuously replenished by whatever fucking love mojo those women bring to their lives.
Most importantly, I see my buds happier than I’ve ever known them to be.
Turning from my father’s headstone, I cut over five rows and then turn right, walking past two more plots before I look down at Abigail Payne’s little concrete stone. It’s not fancy marble, but I expect my dad couldn’t afford much better. He was a blue-collar man, working for the city water department as a meter reader. My mom worked part time as a cashier at a grocery store, but she was always home in the afternoons when I came home from school. Or so I seem to vaguely remember. At any rate, he couldn’t afford fancy marble. I consider now that perhaps I should upgrade both of their stones.
Better yet, maybe I should have them both moved so they can have side-by-side plots.
I squat down, reach out, and pull a few tall weeds from the base of the stone. My fingers brush against the cold surface, and I grimace. I don’t have a pair of gloves. I regret not breaking down and buying a pair. It’s fucking twenty-seven degrees outside and while I had the foresight to pack a heavier coat when I decided to come “visit” Adrian, I sure as shit forgot my gloves and a hat.
But even as the temperatures continued to drop over the last few weeks, I kept telling myself, You’ll be headed home soon. No sense in buying gloves when you have a perfectly good pair at home.
Except, I never did go home, and here I am freezing my digits off as I pay my respects to my parents. I look at the grave marker for a few more minutes, and yeah… I think it will be nice to arrange for my parents to rest beside each other. When I’m done, I stand up, feeling my knees crack as they straighten back out again and turn to see Adrian patiently waiting for me in his car.
I trudge across the cemetery, cutting diagonally across the rows until I reach his olive-green Ford sedan and climb into the passenger seat, immediately putting my hands up to the vents to let the heat warm them up.
Adrian puts the car into drive and slowly drives through the cemetery to the exit.
“All good?” he asks after he turns back onto the main road and heads back to the rectory.
“Yeah,” I say with a smile. “I think I’ll move them so they can be beside each other. Maybe next spring.”
“There are some plots available in our parish cemetery if you’re interested,” Adrian offers.
I smile in appreciation. “I’d like that a lot. You can look over them in my absence.”
“Let me guess,” Adrian says dryly. “It’ll be another thirteen years before you come back to visit.”
I laugh. “That sounds an awful lot like whining to me, and here you’ve been bitching and moaning at me every day to go back to Jackson. You can’t have it both ways, old man.”
Adrian snorts at the old-man comment, but then he goes straight for my throat. “But seriously, Bridger, when are you going back? It’s past time.”
“Can’t believe you’re sick of me already,” I grumble.
“Oh, cut the shit,” Adrian snarls.
I jerk in my seat, my head snapping to the left to look at him. I think that may have been the second time I’ve ever heard Adrian cuss, the other time being when he was trying to drive a nail into a two by four when we were building a garden box one summer, hit his thumb instead, and dropped the unholy of unholies… the dreaded “F” word.
“Damn,” I say with a low whistle. “I’ve pissed you off, haven’t I?”
Adrian’s lips flatten out in a grimace but when he turns to glance at me before turning back to watch the road, I see a wealth of exasperated affection in his gaze. “Bridger… I love you like a son, but you are wasting your time here. Your life is back in Jackson. You have friends there who are like your family. You have a business to run. You need to go back.”
Yeah, but I also have a Maggie there who I’m terrified to confront.
It’s been six fucking weeks since I left my “I’m sorry” note—a fact Adrian chastised me severely over—and I’m pretty positive any remaining splinter of a bridge has been burned.
Demolished.
Obliterated.
“Bridger,” Adrian says somberly. “What can you possibly be afraid of?”
“Not afraid,” I tell him assuredly. “Just unsure.”
“You’ve been unsure for weeks,” he reminds me. “Surely, you’ve gotten some clarity.”
Not really.
I mean, I’m as clear as I ever was. From the day I told Adrian everything about Maggie, I’ve been pretty clear in my head about things.
I love her.
I fucking love her so much.
But I have no clue how to go about accepting that about myself. I have no clue if she feels the same. And let’s just say we are both on the same page—I am beyond confused about how my life will play out because I don’t understand how to be committed. I don’t understand how to be monogamous. Well, that’s not hard to figure out. Haven’t wanted anyone since Maggie, but still… how do I be a good man for her when I am completely and utterly fucked up in the head when it comes to sex and intimacy?
What if I end up hurting her because I can’t be what she truly needs?
“Still running through all the self-doubts in your head?” Adrian asks, and it goes to show how well he knows me.
I sigh. We might as well hash this out again and see if I’m ready to really listen. “I don’t know that I can be everything Maggie needs.”
“Do you even know what she needs?” Adrian asks. “Ever bothered to ask her?”
“No,” I say sullenly. Because we hadn’t been big on deep conversation.
“Then I suggest you ask her,” Adrian says simply.
I push that aside, because yeah… that’s easy enough. “Okay, let’s say I can give her what she wants. She wants me and accepts me warts and all… what if I end up closing off? What if I decide I just can’t hack being in a relationship? What if I hurt her?”
“What if a comet strikes the earth and incinerates us?” Adrian points out. “What if you get hit by a bus tomorrow? What if, what if, what if? Come on, Bridger… don’t let the unknown scare you. You’re far braver than that.”
Am I? Am I really brave enough to do this? I sure as hell have felt like the world’s biggest pussy these last few weeks, not even able to make a move one way or the other. I’ve been content in just knowing Maggie and Belle are safe, well cared for, and seemingly happy. Well, that’s at least what Woolf is reporting to me, and I don’t hesitate to ask him during every phone call how she’s doing. He happily reports with details if he can, but it’s not every call. He goes days without seeing her at times, but it seems like she’s definitely adjusting nicely to life outside of Mayhem’s Mission.
My phone rings, cutting into my thoughts, and I recognize Woolf’s ring tone—Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon”.
Get it?
Woolf. Moon. Bark at the Moon.
I answer the call because Woolf has graciously watched over The Wicked Horse for me, and I need to be available to him in case he needs something. It’s been several days since we talked. While I know he’d do it if I asked, he has stayed away from The Silo. I asked the other guys to watch over that instead. With Callie’s dad coming into an election year, Woolf has to keep his nose well beyond clean.
It’s no worries him helping to oversee a bar.
A sex club, not so much.
“What’s up, man?” I answer the phone and look out the driver’s window as Adrian navigates his way to the rectory.
“Just checking in,” Woolf says.
Every time I hear his voice on the phone, I get a pang of loneliness. It’s been hard being away from Maggie for sure, but I also miss the shit out of this dude.
“Want to let you know everything’s running smoothly at The Wicked Horse, and Cain says The Silo is fine too.”
“Appreciate it,” I say in return, a rumble of guilt coursing through me that he’s running my business while I’m sitting on my indecisive ass. “Everything else going okay?”
“As in?” Woolf hedges.
“Well… you know. How’s Callie?” I stammer.
“She’s fine,” he says, but offers no more.
“The guys?”
“Fine.”
“The girls?”
“Which girls?” Woolf asks.
“Jesus, dude,” I grumble into the phone, but I immediately shoot a guilty look at Adrian for taking the Lord’s name in vain. He ignores me thankfully. “How are Maggie and Belle?”
“Well, Belle’s doing fantastic according to Maggie. I told you they got a rescue dog, right? At any rate, that kid is so damn smart. Not even two and a half and can already say her ABCs and count to ten. Plus, she can sing any song after she’s heard it only a few times.”
Christ, I miss that little monkey.
“And Mags?” I ask after clearing my throat.
“She’s doing great, Bridger,” he says gently. “No need to worry about her.”
This is usually where our conversation ends. The minute Woolf assures me I have nothing to worry about, I become a fucking pussy and take him at his word. I choose to put her out of my mind as best I can and trust in Woolf that she’s doing okay without me.
But for some reason, I decide to push it a little further. “How’s she doing at work?”
I did know Woolf put her on at The Wicked Horse, because he told me so. I’d asked him to help her find employment, and I wasn’t bent out of shape she’s at The Wicked Horse. It might make it awkward if I eventually return, but it’s fine for now.
“She’s doing fantastic. Works mostly night shifts, but sometimes she’ll pick up extra shifts when she can.”
“Why’s she doing that?” I can’t help but ask. I’m too fucking curious about any news about Maggie. Like does she still smell amazing, is her hair any longer, or does she talk about me at all?
“She… um… she rented an apartment and is looking at buying a car, so she needs some extra cash,” Woolf says cautiously.
“What the fuck?” I growl into the phone. “I left her plenty of money. She couldn’t have blown through it already, and why would she rent an apartment when she can stay at my place?”
Woolf’s voice is completely chastising, as it should be. “Come on, man. Did you really think Maggie was going to live on your generosity? Or, as Maggie refers to it, your ‘guilt money’.”
I wince. “That’s harsh, dude.”
“It’s the truth, Bridger,” Woolf says candidly. “You did it to ease your conscience.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, completely pissed that Maggie is struggling. Well, not really struggling but totally refusing my help.
Woolf is silent, and I’m quite sure he’s afraid to poke the bear.
“Is she… has she moved on?” I ask, my words practically clogged in my throat and barely able to get out.
More silence, but then he finally says, “She says she has. She’s going on a date soon, so I guess that’s moving on, right?”
“A date?” I wheeze out. It feels like someone just took a sledgehammer and hit me smack in the middle of my chest. “With who?”
“Ted,” Woolf says quickly. Almost too quickly.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I practically roar into the phone, and Adrian’s head snaps my way again. I ignore him. “He’s a fucking Fantasy Maker at The Silo, Woolf. He’s got a big fucking dick, and he knows how to use it. You do not let him take her to The Silo, you hear me? Better yet, you do not let him take her on a date. You go and tell him that—”
“You go and tell him yourself,” Woolf says softly. Even though it’s said softly, his words pack a resounding punch.
“What?”
“If you don’t want Maggie to go out with him, stick your hand down the front of your pants, fondle your balls to make sure they still work, then get your ass home and tell him yourself. Better yet, if those balls do still work, drag Maggie off, fuck her, and make her yours again, but do not ask me to do your dirty work for you. Man the fuck up, Bridger.”
I blink in surprise over his harsh words and the frustration in his voice. I look sideways at Adrian, feeling slight mortification that Woolf just threw my balls into our conversation, and even though Adrian didn’t hear him, I’m sure God did.
But Adrian just sits there, looking out the windshield with a smirk on his face. I figure he knows I just got my ass handed to me.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out. “Woolf…”
“Bridger,” Woolf says, now in a gentle voice but no less firm. “Get off your ass and get home. Profess your love to Maggie or let her the fuck go, but get your ass back home. You have a life here, and it’s passing you by.”
Maggie’s going on a date.
With fucking Ted McKeon. I’ve watched that dude in action, and he seriously knows how to fucking please a woman. If she has sex with him, she’ll totally forget all about the asshole who ditched her six weeks ago with an “I’m sorry” note.
Am I going to let that happen?
Am I going to risk losing Maggie forever?
Up until now, I’d been able to rationalize that I’m sort of on a hiatus from life. In my mind, I chose to reason that meant everything else was just staying status quo until I could figure out what I wanted. Even though I know it’s ridiculous to even think Maggie wouldn’t move on, it was easier to let myself believe she would always be there if I ever got off my ass like Woolf suggested.
But she’s moving on, and she’s doing it in a bold way.
If I want her, it’s time to shit or get off the pot.
“Okay,” I tell Woolf impulsively. “I’m heading back. But you do not let her go on a date with him, you hear?”
“Sorry, man,” Woolf tells me, and I can hear the laughter in his voice. “Means that much to you, I suggest you get your ass here fast.”
“Asshole,” I grumble affectionately and disconnect the call, tapping the phone against my chin in thought.
“Your girl forcing your hand?” Adrian asks quizzically, but I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“Well, let’s just pretend I didn’t hear that part about big… um… appendages and stuff, but the gist of what I got was that Maggie’s going on a date with someone and that finally got you motivated to do something?”
“Appears that’s the push I needed.” This I also mutter because I know Woolf and Adrian are taking perverse joy in how quickly the tables have turned on me.
“Then let me impart one more piece of advice,” Adrian says wisely. “Do not give up. She isn’t going to make it easy on you, I suspect, and I think I’ve come to learn a lot about Maggie from you. So if she denies you, don’t give up. Keep groveling. Apologize, accept responsibility, be genuine in your feelings, and be kind. Don’t hold anything back. Be honest.”
It all sounds like fantastic advice, and I’m going to need it. Still, I can’t help but give him a little ribbing. “What could you possibly know about this stuff? You’re the eternal bachelor.”
“Accept responsibility,” he repeats. “Be genuine. Be kind. Be honest. That doesn’t just pertain to love, Bridger. That should be how you live your life every day to every person you meet.”
Damn… Adrian is still and will always be the wisest person I’ll ever know. He amazes me.
Reaching out, I put my hand on his shoulder, just like he’s done for me so many times. “Thank you, Adrian. For everything you’ve ever done for me. I’d be dead without you.”
Adrian snorts in a self-depreciating way. “You would have survived just fine.”
“That’s up for debate.” It’s all I’m willing to concede to him. “But plan on me coming back soon with Maggie and Belle. I really want them to meet you.”
Adrian laughs with delight. “That’s the spirit. Don’t expect you to come back without them.”
Damn right.
I’m going to get my family.