“Birdie, come and sit down and talk to your old man.”

Bridget set the two beers down on the coffee table and then collapsed onto the small love seat across from where her father lounged in a club chair. She’d been to lunch with him on the first day he’d gotten into town, and of course had seen him play earlier in the evening, but now, with her father sitting in her living room and her being a captive audience, she knew he expected to have a talk with his only child. She was just thankful her mother hadn’t followed through with her threat to accompany him. Liam massaged his temples, and Bridget suddenly became aware of how much older and tense her father seemed.

“Pop, is everything okay?”

“It’s fine, Birdie. But your mother—”

Bridget groaned. Of fucking course.

“Bridget, she just wants what’s best for you. She’s worried that this is all a reaction to this thing with Kevin—”

“Divorce, Pop. The word is ‘divorce.’ ”

“It was just so sudden, Birdie, and—”

“Sudden? Sudden? We had been separated for over five years. I’d been asking him for a divorce for more than three. But when he decided he’d met the love of his life, he finally realized he needed to get divorced, but it’s my fault the marriage fell apart? I’ll tell you what, Pop—it takes two people to make a marriage, but it also takes two people to break a marriage. But it’s done, finally, and I’m ready to start over.”

“Wait—you’re divorced?”

“Yeah. I got the papers a few weeks ago.” Bridget gave her father an anemic smile. “I’m officially single now.”

“Oh, Birdie, come here.” Liam moved over to the couch and wrapped his daughter in a tight hug as she sobbed against his chest.

Bridget hated crying, and she especially hated crying over Kevin Donahue. She’d promised herself there would be no more tears over a man who’d constantly lied and let her down, and she’d kept that promise until tonight.

So, safe in her father’s arms, she allowed herself to mourn her marriage, at least for the moment. When she was all cried out, she sat up, and with a sniffle, took a long draw on her beer.

“Thanks, Pop. I guess I needed that.” Bridget blew out a breath and turned to her father. “I know you worry. And I know you think that I’m settling, that I’m going to do exactly what I did back home. But I’m not. Hell, Junior won’t let me.”

It was Liam’s turn to laugh. “He been riding you hard?”

“Oh my God, he’s brutal. That man doesn’t play at all.”

“I, uh, noticed you have a nice shiner there.”

Bridget’s fingers drifted to the bruised flesh around her eye. “Yeah. I got distracted, and Tig popped me good. That’s what I get for not paying attention. He’s got quick hands.”

“You’re sparring with a man?” Liam frowned. “I don’t know about this, Bridget.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pop, we’re in the same weight class. He’s a good partner for me, believe me. This is a good thing.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Pop in and say hi before you head into the studio tomorrow. I know Paddy wants to see you, and you can meet Tig and the rest of the guys. It’ll be good, yeah?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah, but don’t expect me to be there when you get started at the crack of dawn. I’m a musician—the only time I see the sunrise is when I haven’t been to bed yet. And speaking of, I know you’ve got an early day, so I’ll let you get some rest.”

He hauled himself to his feet and kissed the top of Bridget’s head. “Night, Birdie. I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I’m glad you made the move. You needed a change of scenery.” After a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, Liam bid his daughter good night and disappeared into the guest room, leaving Bridget alone with her thoughts. She washed the beer glasses and put them away and put a load of laundry in to wash, all the while replaying the evening’s discussion in her mind.

If she was being truthful, she’d been thinking a lot about what she was actually doing in Atlanta. Was she just running away from everything? Avoiding the inevitable whispers and pitying looks?

Maybe she was.

But she also wasn’t willing to pass up the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a brand-new weight division in women’s fighting and the chance to train with one of the best teams in mixed martial arts. For once, she was in the right place at the right time.

She also knew there was no way she could have done this, any of it, while she was still married to Kevin. Although chronically underemployed, Kevin was content to work part-time and had even turned down a full-time job, with benefits, because he didn’t like the potential of not being able to take off whenever he wanted to in order to work on his music. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Bridget had grown up the child of a professional musician and had seen her father work two jobs in addition to playing gigs all up and down the East Coast. No, Kevin wanted the accolades and the fame, but he didn’t want to put in the work.

To make matters worse, he wasn’t content to stand by her or even take a step back if she was the center of attention. Now that she was five years removed from the situation and had completely severed ties with him, Bridget was finally honest with herself about the fact that he was never fully supportive of her career, no matter what it was, unless he was able to glean some sort of benefit from it, and he actually seemed to resent any success that she achieved, no matter how small.

The end of her marriage was a good thing, and she had to remember that even though the divorce made her sad sometimes, she was much happier for it. She knew Kevin was as well, though she wondered how long this newfound soul mate would last once she figured out he wasn’t going to be content to be merely the guy with the successful girl.

“Bridget Therese Doherty, you’ve spent way too much time thinking about the past tonight,” she admonished her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You’ve got a big fight coming up, and you spent the evening dancing with a great guy. Those are two things that never would have happened in Boston. Get a friggin’ grip, lady, and snap the fuck out of your funk.” She gave herself another stern look and finished getting ready for bed.

Bridget instantly awoke when her landline rang, as good news rarely happened when a call came at three o’clock in the morning.

She scrambled to get the handset off the cradle and then uttered a panicked, “Hello?”

“Baby, what’s going on?”

“Jaysus, Kevin! What are you doing calling me in the middle of the night? Is someone dead?”

“Oh no, baby, no, no. I just wanted to hear your voice, Birdie. Just wanted to talk to you, make sure you’re doing all right.”

“Kevin, I’m fine. It’s really late. Why don’t we talk when you’re not fucked up and I’m not half asleep?”

“Baby, I’m not fucked up,” he slurred. “I just had a few drinks with the boys, and we got to talking about old times, and I knew I needed to talk to you.”

“Kevin, this has got to stop . . .”

“Birdie, babe, you gotta listen to me.”

“Good-bye, Kevin. Please don’t call me again.” Bridget slammed her hand against the switchhook and then calmly replaced the receiver on the cradle. She flopped back in the bed, simultaneously wide awake and exhausted. Talks with Kevin always wore her out. In the early days of their relationship, she found his manic demeanor exciting, but as the years passed, she recognized it for it what it was, and it just made her tired. Chances are he wouldn’t even remember that he called her when he looked at his phone the next day. Then he would call again, surprised, and ask her why she’d called him. It happened every few months, the same thing every fucking time.

After lying in the dark for a half hour, Bridget decided a nice hot bath was what she needed to ease her tension and hopefully help her unwind enough to sleep. She popped into the bathroom and turned on the tap before going into the kitchen and pouring a small glass of wine as an additional sleep aid. 

When she got into the bathroom, the tub was almost full, so she stripped and sank into the almost too-hot water. As the bath worked its magic and she savored her last pre-camp vino, Bridget found her mind wandering back to Nolan. They’d danced a lot that night, and Bridget had to admit that she’d wanted to see just how the hair of his beard felt. Was it soft or rough? She bet it was soft. And he’d taken an unexpected meeting with her father in stride. Not that there was any sort of significance in meeting Liam—it was completely random. But still . . .

Bridget, stop thinking about him.

Determined to unwind, Bridget let her mind wander until the obnoxious beep of her alarm nudged her to get out of the bathtub. She hauled herself out of the tub and quickly dried off. Then she slipped across the hall, back to the bedroom.

Bridget flopped down onto her bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, and tried to sleep, knowing she had to be at the gym in just a few hours. Absentmindedly, she rolled a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. The central air felt good on her exposed bits, and she allowed herself to succumb to self-pleasure. She thrummed one nipple, and with her other hand, stroked between her legs. Nolan’s face surfaced in her mind’s eye, and she refused to think too much about why exactly he appeared. Instead, she imagined the silky-rough hair of his beard between her thighs, touching herself until she couldn’t stand it anymore. And with a thrust of fingers, she came. Shortly after, she fell asleep, to dream of his sweet smile.