Barbed Wire Bandages Page 4

  She knew she'd made a mistakes – or tons of them – and she was paying for it.

  Garrison looked away, not knowing how to respond to this woman; this woman he didn't know one single bit. As he scrubbed his face nervously, he tried to compose the response her rant warranted.

  But there were no words. No words to cover up how big of an ass he'd been to go to her home in the middle of the night in order to boast his success while drowning her in her shortcomings.

  “This was a bad idea,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “What?”

  He popped his knuckles nervously.

  “I said, this was a bad idea.”

  Bridget's eyes grew cold as her face contorted into a hateful grimace he knew all too well.

  “You're damn right it was.”

  The venom infusing her voice was familiar. Too familiar. Garrison recognized it as the same venom that hardened his heart as her and her friends laughed at his ineptitude all those years ago. The memory still hurt. Although it was heavily tarnished, Garrison knew it would never quite turn to rust and get swept away by the wind, no matter how much salt and water crashed against it. That feeling would always be there, deep inside him, simmering, fighting to be contained.

  Clenching his fists against the painful onslaught of a million decade-old feelings, Garrison turned on his heel and headed for the door.

  “I'll fix your fence,” he called over his shoulder.

  What little hope he had for her sunk when he realized she didn't have anything else to say. She wasn't moving from her post in the kitchen, and that was fine by him. They'd both said enough.

  He quietly let himself out and began the soggy three mile jog back to the city limits of Till Park, where his motel room waited for him; the room he should have locked himself in when he got the ignorant idea to visit Bridget Warner.

  Garrison awoke in his motel bed hours later, sore from the mattress he was convinced doubled as a Whack-a-Mole game. As he looked around, his brain still foggy and sleep-addled, he tried to locate the source of the noise that pulled him from his tamest nightmare.

  Quiet vibration caught his ear and he turned to his bedside table where his cell phone danced against the coffee stained wood. Groaning, he grabbed the contraption and rolled over onto his back and accepted the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Dude! What the hell happened?”

  Garrison sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

  “Who is this?”

  “It's Shawn!”

  He dropped his hand and looked around, befuddled.

  “How'd you get my number?”

  Shawn scoffed into the receiver. “You called for a tow. That's my old man's gig.”

  Once his brain was firing on a few more cylinders, he remembered flipping through the phone book on Bridget's counter and calling Metcalf Towing. No one answered, so he'd left a message detailing where to find his rig and that it needed to be taken to the nearest shop.

  “Oh, right. Uh, where's the car?”

  “The shop. Dad found your rental agreement in the glove box. Your insurance covers it, so you're good to go. The rental service is sending a new rig from a satellite branch. Should be here in the morning.”

  He let out a breath, thanking the car gods for their leniency.

  “Great.”

  “So? What happened? Did you rip her a new one?”

  The thought of Garrison ripping into Bridget was laughable. He'd never seen a woman more distraught by her actions than her. She still had a certain fire to her. She was still headstrong. But something had changed. Something drastic.

  He was a pro when it came to reading people, and even though he still held some semblance of a grudge, it was clear Bridget Warner was no longer the same Bridget Warner he thought he knew.

  Maybe it was a front. Maybe she wasn't as genuine as she seemed. But he doubted it.

  “I crashed through her fence.”

  Riotous laughter exploded from his phone.

  “You've gotta be fucking kidding me!” Shawn yelled. “That's awesome! Just... fucking awesome!”

  Garrison shook his head before draping an arm over his eyes. Light from a nearby street lamp seeped through the rips shredding the haggard curtains, and the sight of their state only served to piss him off.

  “Yeah, tell that to the hood of my rental.”

  “Hey, I saw it outside the shop before I went home. Wasn't that bad. So, did you talk to her?” Shawn sounded excited, even borderline ecstatic.

  “Yeah. She drove me to her house. We stood in the kitchen and talked for a full five minutes before she figured out who I was.”

  “And then?”

  “And then she had a full-fledged freak out and I left.”

  “This is so perfect,” Shawn mused, his voice lowering a few decibels.“This is the best in we could have asked for.”

  In?

  He didn't know that he was looking for an in with Bridget.

  Confused, Garrison scooted up, turned on his bedside lamp, and tried to rewind Shawn.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Shawn was silent for a beat, then he came unhinged.

  “The plan!? The payback! I can't believe you forgot! Jesus Christ, dude, we played that scene over and over in our head for months senior year. You honestly don't remember?”

  He tried to jog his memory, but came up empty. He didn't remember any grand plan he hitched against Bridget. He couldn't even remember anything regarding Nat. But that had been years ago. He'd slept since then. He'd been shot at since then...

  “Refresh my memory?”

  “The reunion prank! We used to scheme up ways to get those two back. Like laxatives in their punch, or ketchup in her seat, or sneaking a skunk into Nat's car. You seriously don't remember any of that?”

  No. He honestly didn't. But the idea wasn't far fetched. He was a grudge holder and a plotter, though he'd never been brave enough to take action as a teenager. Now, ten years later, he was all action, very little plotting. He ran into everything full steam ahead. Shoot first, ask questions later.

  But he wasn't evil.

  He'd never be able to do something like that to anyone, not even Bridget.

  “Shawn, that was a bad idea ten years ago; it's an even worse plan now.”

  “No! Think about it,” Shawn continued. “It could totally work. I mean, are you seeing her again?”

  “I'm fixing her fence tomorrow.”

  The moment Shawn started laughing, he knew he should have kept his big mouth shut. He didn't need anyone sticking their heads in his business, not even his good buddy from high school.

  “I'm going back to fix the fence, apologize to her, and then drive away and forget the whole damn thing ever happened. End of story.”

  Shawn's slurred voice bumped and grated over a laugh.

  “Oh, it's far from the end, my friend. So very fucking far from the end.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning greeted Bridget with the soft tinkling of wind chimes and the happy singing of birds. She rubbed at the soreness of her sleep-deprived eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed, ready to start her day. Even though she wanted nothing more than another hour of shut eye, she forced herself to stand and greet the sun.

  Bridget lived by a very strict morning routing, and although she was a bit off-kilter by her run in with Garrison, tiny lives were leaning heavily on her shoulders, counting on her every move to be the right one.

  She made coffee, dressed, threw her long hair up in a pony tail, brushed her teeth, and stepped into her boots to feed the animals. It was only then, when she stepped out into the warm autumn air, that her muscles tensed in confusion.

  Her head jutted forward and her eyes squinted as she studied the black car parked in her driveway. When the sound of a post hole digger hitting sloppy, saturated dirt met her ears, she immediately ordered her feet to move.

  But not forward.

  Not yet.

  She
retreated back into the safety of her house, pressing her body against the door as her mind pirouetted like a psychotic ballerina inside her skull.

  Garrison had no right to be there.

  He had no right coming into her life and attempting to make her feel like the scum of the earth for what she'd done. She already awoke to that feeling every day of her life. She didn't need any input from him.

  Did he want to rub her face in the fact that he'd gotten out of Till Park, made a life for himself, and turned into a strong, confident person? Well, if that was the case, job well done. She was happy for him, but that didn't mean she was going to suffer through his gloating.

  When the house phone next to her head began to ring, she startled but made no move to answer it. She knew who it was. Same shit, different day. She didn't have time to deal with that particularly embarrassing ghost of her past. She had another one sitting right down the road.

  As the ringing continued, she growled in frustration. Mostly because her morning had gone to hell in a hand basket, but also because she couldn't muster up a single ounce of anger for the man currently fixing her fence. Not even a teaspoon. Not a thimble-full. Nothing. The anger she'd been clinging to over his surprise visit had been washed away with the rain, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

  Maybe it was because she hoped all he was after was some semblance of closure. Or - if she were really spreading her hopes far and wide – forgiveness. Or maybe the anger was gone because - although she didn't want to admit it - she was actually attracted to the man who'd trudged his muddy boots into her house.

  Either way, looking into his eyes, feeling the heat and disbelief smoldering there, she was thankful he'd turned into the man he had. She was happy for him. Thrilled, even. He'd gotten out of Till Park and overcome some of the harshest and most relentless bullying she'd ever had the displeasure of witnessing- or doling out.

  “Dammit.” She cursed, wondering where the absence of anger left her.

  Well, there was only one way to find out.

  She shook her head, hating herself even as she filled two travel mugs with coffee, kicked open the door, and trudged through the squishy grass. The dogs ran to the front fence to meet her, shaking their tails exuberantly, but their ears fell when they realized she wasn't carrying food.

  “Back in a bit, boys.”

  She avoided the gravel road, knowing it would be quicker to cut through the field instead of wading through the overflowing ruts. As she made her way toward the vehicle and the person responsible for her restless night, she tried to drum up something to say, but her mind was irritatingly blank.

  Still holding a cup of coffee in each hand, she rocked back and forth on her heels, watching silently as Garrison hammered away at the fence post his car had knocked down. A fence stretcher sat on the ground next to his feet, along with a coiled length of shiny new barbed wire.

  She cleared her throat, swallowed her pride, and spoke.

  “Morning.”

  “Good morning,” Garrison answered, not bothering to look up from his work.

  Bridget was thankful for that small mercy. She wasn't sure what his eyes would reveal in the bright light of day. It was crystal clear the night before that he'd been expecting someone much different than the person who stood before him, and she was thankful she wasn't the same Bridget Warner he graduated with. She'd learned a lot over the years, most of which left her ashamed of the person she used to be. Happily, she'd left that evil girl back in the halls of Till Park High School. She was gone forever; buried along with the narcissistic air she'd lived in for the first eighteen years of her life.

  Bridget was no longer that foul, mischievous girl. She was still a bit calloused, but tried her damnedest not to be cold. She considered herself a warm, loving person, even when others didn't. It was a difficult feat - tearing down high school reputations - but one she'd managed to put a dent in. Still, she didn't blame Garrison for keeping his eyes forward and away from the new, barely improved version of Bridget that stood before him.

  “Brought you some coffee.”

  Soft green eyes darted up to meet her, but only for a second. His gaze dropped back to his hands before she could get a good read on him. That combined with his eerie silence made her even more nervous, and she fought to swallow around the ball of anxiety threatening to choke her.

  “Thanks.”

  The air around them grew tense, and Bridget hated it. For years, she'd thought about all the people she'd hurt, and Garrison was at the top of that list. She was cruel, even when she knew he was sneaking glances at her as she sat in class, walked the halls, and ate lunch with her friends in the cafeteria. Back then, she'd been intrigued by that strange boy, but her arrogance and hard heart had buried that curiosity six feet under. The image she was expected to hold of herself was all she cared about, and that had been her biggest mistake, and her greatest downfall.

  But ten years later, there Garrison stood, wearing a tight-fitting gray t-shirt and carpenter jeans like the most laid-back roughneck on the planet, and she was struck with a sudden and very acute awareness of just how imposing and physically magnificent he was. And how much he hated her...

  “I'll be done in an hour or so.”

  His deep voice rumbling through the morning air snapped her to her senses, and she realized just how much the tables had turned. And how far the mighty had fallen.

  She cleared her throat and prepared herself to make amends. If that was even possible.

  “Look, Garrison... I want to apologize for the way I acted last night. You just- you surprised me, showing up like you did. I know that's a shitty excuse, but nevertheless, I'm really sorry.”

  Garrison nodded dismissively. “It's okay.”

  She stepped in front of him, sending mud splattering up the calves of her jeans. She didn't care. She just wanted to see his face. She needed him to understand.

  “No, Garrison, it's not okay. And everything that happened before- that's not okay either. I'm not that girl anymore. I don't talk down to people and I don't look down on people for things they can't control, or even things they can. That's... that's not me. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did and I shouldn't have made you leave in the middle of a freaking thunderstorm. You didn't deserve that, and I just wanted you to know that I'm truly, truly sorry.”

  Garrison surprised Bridget by closing his eyes, lowering his head, and letting out a deep, aggravated growl before his broad shoulders began shaking with laughter. She held her breath, wondering what he was thinking, what he was working through, and if he thought her little speech was to be taken beyond face value.

  When he finally returned his green gaze to her blue, his eyes were soft as small sparks of gratitude flickered with every blink.

  “That's a lot to process, Bridget,” he said, “but thank you. That means a lot.”

  After taking in an uneven lungful of air, Bridget handed Garrison his coffee with a smile. His gloved hand reached out and took the cup before she stepped away. She'd said her piece, but still had no idea where that left them. They were strangers. Nowhere in her book of social etiquette did it say what to do in her situation. The author had completely skipped the chapter on what to do if the person you bullied in high school crashes into your fence, looking like a Greek god, ten years after graduation.

  She shuffled her feet nervously, still clueless as to why Garrison came back to fix her fence when he had no obligation to do so whatsoever. But she found that she didn't care. She was just thankful he'd come back. For one, so she wouldn't have to fix the fence herself and curse Garrison while doing so. And two, because watching him work was one hell of a show.

  His body moved like that of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, muscles working almost effortlessly as his intense eyes honed in on the project at hand. The light sheen of sweat that covered his forehead and arms only served to make him that much more captivating. It was right then that Bridget realized what he really was, and why she didn't care why he wa
s back.

  He was a temptation.

  One she should walk away from, but couldn't remember why.

  When Garrison took a deep swallow of still-scalding coffee, she watched the muscles in his neck shift and wondered what it would be like to touch – or lick – the skin right beneath his jaw.

  Jesus, Bridget... get your head on straight.

  When he moaned in appreciation and wiped a stray drop of coffee from his bottom lip, her mouth jumped ship and took off without her.

  “Would you want... when you get done here... maybe we could have lunch? I could make you something, if you want. If that's something you'd want to do... with me?”

  Bridget cringed at the sudden and monstrous case of verbal diarrhea she'd just slung into the air. She just asked him to lunch like twelve-year-old Bridget asked Jason Rodriguez to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Somehow, every ounce of confidence and certainty she'd ever had shattered milliseconds before the words spewed from her mouth.

  Garrison's lips pursed together, trying to contain his laughter while Bridget mentally face-palmed herself. Just when she was hoping that lightning would strike her dead, Garrison let loose a deep, hearty laugh that pierced the air around her and caused her to smile in return.

  It was the first time she'd ever truly heard Garrison laugh, and the sound was infectious. The gravely boom of his laughter, even thought it was at her expense, warmed her chest enough that she didn't care about her embarrassment. When he laughed like that, the furious blush that had streaked her cheeks died out and she didn't seem to mind making an ass out of herself.

  “I'm not sure if that was an invitation or a seizure,” he said, still laughing.

  Bridget tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and licked her lips before answering.

  “An invitation. Definitely an invitation.”

  Garrison wiped the sweat from his forehead as he tried to compose himself and pocket his laughter. When he finally did grow quiet, she began wondering why a man like him would possibly want to spend time with a hot mess like herself.