Chapter Two
Practiced concentration would stop the pain that crawled up my throat. A hum forced my vision back on my car, and when that wasn’t enough, I let my attention fall to the aches in my muscle. I’d been clerking at the firm for the better part of five years, had been through three moves when the business grew, and had finally settled beneath one of the kindest partners we had. The only downside? Nights to myself had become a thing of the past. I’d worked nearly 60 hours over the week as we pushed to prepare for trial, and as I wobbled out to my car, groaning muscles reminded me I was nowhere close to being able to rest.
Not once I saw that bouquet on my doorstep, at least.
The flowers should have brought a rush of excitement. If I’d come home to them two years ago, come home to them in another life, they might have. Now that I’d found the second bouquet left on my doorstep this week, all I really felt was a wave of nausea. The scent made me want to crawl out of my skin, but the routine was too ingrained to question anymore. I stooped to picked them up, and once I was inside, in the dark, I let myself fall into the only pattern that felt right anymore.
Turn the lock.
Slide the chain back into place.
Pretend life wasn’t hanging by a thread.
I mewled with comfort as I slipped out of my shoes and immediately groped through the dark for my only savior. A glass of wine would help me think, help me break out of the numbness that came with the dark. Coming home on a Monday meant my kitchen was pitch black— another perk of staying late to file for court the next morning. Not that it mattered. All light did was remind me of the overflowing garbage in the corner. A garbage which now housedtwobouquets of sickly roses.
If the weekend had gone as planned, I might have had the energy to properly clean the place. For the first time in years, I agreed to go out on a date only for the guy to completely flake out on me. Though, as I pour myself a glass, the truth bubbled to the surface. That wasn’t the reason last weekend felt so draining, was it? Tristan showed up again, chasing me down like a puppy. To come home and see those flowers,hisflowers, on top of it all was just the icing on the cake.
All I wanted was peace.
All I wanted was for things to be the way they used to be.
That wish, the one I worked so hard to smother, brought memories an entire bottle couldn’t swallow down. Memories of Josh’s hands on me, of my pleas for him to stop, of Michael’s fists bringing an end to it all. Most of all, though, that wish reminded me of the way he looked when he left, of the endless lies he’d forced me to tell police.
A knock at the front door raced through me like a gunshot, a screech on my lips and half a glass of wine down the front of my blouse. My lips sealed shut, my hand flying over my mouth a minute too late, and I waited for the sound to come again. If it was nothing, just some kids playing a harmless prank, then I might have been able to stay in the dark, but when the sound came again, that last bit of hope vanished. It was when I wanted to hide away the most that people seemed to be the best at finding me.
And lately, all I wanted to do was hide.
“Bridget!?”
Brushing my dark hair back, I tried to straighten out my stained shirt. The programming was so quick to take over that I hardly noticed. It was only when I started to turn on the lights of the hallway, when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, that I was reminded of the life I’d fallen into. I wasn’t the undying optimist I was in college. I didn’t wear my scars like a badge of honour. But maybe it wasn’t all bad. As I swung open the door to reveal Tristan, I was reminded of another change.
The auburn-haired college girl never would have been able to turn him away.
At least the tired legal assistant wastryingto set boundaries.
Tristan’s blue eyes scanned my face frantically. On his boyish features, it almost seemed sweet. Until his eyes fell to my chest, at least. “Are you—” His words didn’t come back to him until I tried to close the door another inch. “Are you okay? I heard a scream.”
The lie came out easier than I thought.
“Just scared me is all.” My lips stretched into a polite smile, and when his ease didn’t lighten, my brow furrowed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” The murmur had a way of snapping him back to attention, of turning him back into the boy I’ve had to discuss with HR twice now. “Yeah, I just wanted to stop by and talk to you. I know you said you needed a bit of time on Sunday, but I just thought—” His blue eyes gleamed with a new challenge, and when my smile fell, Tristan tried another approach. His gaze fell to his shoes, and when his hand scratched at the back of his neck, he blurted out the false kind of vulnerability that kept my mouth shut. “Can we talk?”
The only thing that tugged his eyes back up to me was a weak smile. Part of me had to believe that, at the very least, this was a chance to get it all out in the open. Maybe this conversation was finally going to be the one where he understood the truth, but as I waved him inside, my stomach twisted again. No matter how hard I’d tried to change, tried to take Michael’s lessons seriously, I never was good enough at giving up on the hopeless. The man pushed past me without another thought, the vulnerable act falling to the side as he strolled into my kitchen.
A few weeks ago, we used to spend nights there all the time. A few weeks ago, Tristan used to come over nightly, laughing about workplace gossip and pretending things between us were normal. Pretending he was friendly. After the Christmas party, things between us changed. There wasn’t much room for pretending anymore.
“I was gonna call it an early night.” The lie pulled his attention, but it wouldn’t tug his gaze from the trash. “This Ryerson case has me completely wiped out.”
It wouldn’t take another word for Tristan to fall back into the routine he spent years building— the one he was so quick to put an end to. He wouldn’t ask permission as he moved throughout my kitchen, as he started me a cup of his favourite tea and dug through my cabinets for his favourite cookies.
Like nothing about this was wrong.
Like nothing hedidwas wrong.
“I just wanted to talk to you about the other night.” When I wouldn’t respond, he choked out another lame excuse. “I really was just trying to help you get home. If you thought I was trying to take advantage—”
Taking a seat at my table, I straightened out my skirt. “I already said I just want to move on.”