by Sarina Bowen
“Usually we go to Hartley’s mother’s house. But this year he’s going to be with his fancy dad on an island somewhere. So I thought we’d stay here,” he said. “But then my fire door neighbor,” He paused to raise his eyebrows suggestively, until I laughed. “He invited us to his place, which is about ninety minutes away. Lucy and I might stay for the weekend.”
“That’s so nice,” I said, hoping to convey the proper amount of enthusiasm, even though I’d rather have him here with me.
“Yeah, it is. But you know how I feel about accepting help. And I don’t want his parents knowing that Lucy lives with me. But I also don’t want to ask an eight year old to lie. So I haven’t decided what to do.”
Stay here with me! I thought loudly. “What are you going to do about Christmas?” The vacation was three weeks long, and the dorms were closed. I’d already checked.
When I looked into Bridger’s eyes, I saw that I’d asked exactly the wrong question. Because there was an exhaustion there that hurt me to see. “No idea. We’ll probably go to Hartley’s for some of that time. I’ll try to find a house-sitting gig, or something.”
I squeezed his hand, wishing I could offer any kind of help. But my options were as limited as his.
That afternoon, I didn’t get to have lunch with Bridger, because Lucy’s school let out early for an in-service. This seemed like very bad luck, at least until I got back to Vanderberg, where an unfamiliar voice called out to me.
“Shannon Ellison.”
The sound of my old name stopped me cold. But I didn’t recognize the petite woman in the suit who was waving me down beside the entryway. “That’s not my name,” I protested.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said with a frown. “It’s Scarlet now, right?”
I must be the biggest idiot alive. Because this woman had just gotten me to confess to my old identity. I looked over both shoulders, checking to make sure that no one was near enough to overhear. “Who are you?”
“I’m Madeline Teeter, assistant district attorney for your home state. I’d like to speak with you. And I figured you would be coming back to New Hampshire for Thanksgiving. Let’s set something up now, and we’ll meet next week.”
It took me a second to process the idea that the D.A. had come all the way down to Harkness to ask me for a meeting. I almost felt sorry for her. “I cannot speak to you. And just to put your mind at ease, I wouldn’t be any help anyway.”
She shook her head. “We can subpoena you, Scarlet. We can schedule a deposition. You don’t want that. That’s a whole room full of lawyers and a sworn testimony. It would be so much easier for you to just answer a few questions voluntarily. Come in for the interview, Scarlet. If you have nothing for us, it will keep you off the witness stand.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. Surely she knew that. My parents would have me boiled in oil.
To her credit, the prosecutor didn’t look surprised that her ninety-minute drive would be in vain. She handed me a business card. “Take this. If you change your mind, my cell phone is right there. Think about it, Scarlet. A chat with me would be quick and painless.”
I took the card between two fingers. “I’m not kidding. I don’t know a thing.”
She nodded, still calm. “I believe you. But it’s my job to ask a lot of questions, and to learn what there is to learn. And there are boys who need me to ask. If you talk to me, you’ll be helping some people who are in a lot of pain. Even if you think there’s no point, do it for them.”
Well, ouch. She was willing to play the guilt card. But it didn’t really matter, because I truly knew nothing. I fished my key card out of my pocket. “I’m going now,” I said. My voice only shook a little.
“Call me,” she said, turning away.
I didn’t watch her go.
Chapter Eleven: Consonance and Dissonance
— Scarlet
Now that I was in on Bridger’s secret, and I’d met Lucy properly, he began inviting me to spend time with them. One chilly Friday night we all went out for pizza. “I like olives on my half,” Lucy explained. “Bridger likes sausage. I guess we can ask them to divide it into three halves if you like it plain.”
“Three halves, huh?” Bridger winked at me from across the table. “Maybe it’s time we did a little work on fractions, Lulu.”
Somehow his offhand comment hit me hard. I’d spent the afternoon trying to memorize a bunch of Italian verbs, and thought it was tough going. But Bridger was responsible not only for feeding Lucy, but for whether or not she learned math. My twenty-one year old boyfriend was somebody’s only real parent. He just killed me.
“I like the Christmas lights here,” Lucy said, pointing at the ambitiously early holiday display over the bar. “Bridge, we could have Christmas lights on our window.”
“I suppose there’s no reason why not,” he agreed.
Since I’d seen some at the drugstore, I promised myself I’d buy a string of them tomorrow. “You’ll be all ready for Santa Claus,” I said. But then I wished I hadn’t. Because I had no clue where Bridger and Lucy would go for Christmas — a full three weeks when the dorms were closed. And Bridger didn’t have the cash or the space for a holiday gift fest.
But Lucy only rolled her eyes at me. “I’m not a baby, Scarlet,” she said, as Bridger bit back a grin. “I used to believe in Santa, though,” she said quickly, as if she might have offended me. “…Before. When I lived with my mom.” She picked up her pencil and drew a tic tac toe board on the place mat.
My chest felt tight, just thinking of what this kid had been through, and what uncertainty awaited her. Yet she looked perfectly at peace, sitting next to her protector, doodling on the paper.
Under the table, Bridger reached for my hand and squeezed it.
On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving — our last day of classes that week — I caught Bridger staring at me during the music theory lecture. When I looked into those green eyes, he winked and looked away. But I felt his eyes on me again a few minutes later. And when I met his gaze, its intensity startled me. The way he looked at me was serious, but also warm. I don’t think anyone had ever looked at me that way before.
Since we were seated in the back of a big lecture hall, nobody noticed when I reached over to pencil “what?” into the margin of his notebook.
He gave me a sweet smile before returning his attention to the professor. The day’s lecture was about consonance and dissonance.
“A consonant chord sounds pleasing to the ear,” the professor said, “while a dissonant one makes the listener uncomfortable. Traditional music is structured to take advantage of both comfortable and conflicted emotional tones. Listeners, upon hearing dissonant chords, crave resolution. They expect consonant tones to follow dissonant ones.”
Bridger swiped my notebook off my lap. When he gave it back, the margin read: “my dissonance craves your consonance.”
I drew an arrow pointing at his words, writing “DORK” under it. When I angled the notebook toward him, I heard him laugh. He snatched my notebook again, scribbled something and then handed it back.
Make love to me. Right now, it read.
Just reading it, my face and neck heated.
Beside me, Bridger flipped his notebook closed. He got up, hefted his backpack and walked out of the lecture hall.
When I stepped into the hallway a couple of minutes later, Bridger took my hand and began walking.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To my room, of course,” he said. “I’m not used to bringing anyone there, because they’d ask questions about the extra mattress with the Hello Kitty sheets on it. But since you’re already in on the secret…”
“And she’s at school…” I said.
“Just once,” he squeezed my hand. “We’re getting an A in that class anyway.”
My pulse went into overdrive, and I picked up our pace. We made it to Beaumont House in record time.
The moment his door shut behind me, Bridger braced me ag
ainst it. His kiss began on my forehead, slid down my nose and landed on my waiting lips. His thumbs grazed the sensitive skin of my neck, before his hands moved down to cup my breasts. My own hands were busy unbuttoning this shirt, so that I could see that beautiful chest in broad daylight.
“For once, we don’t have to rush,” he said, unclasping my bra.
“But I want your hands on me,” I breathed, yanking on his belt buckle.
Bridger moaned into my mouth. He tugged down the zipper of my jeans, then steered me over to the bed, where he covered me with his warm body. His tongue began to stroke mine, and I heard myself whimper in appreciation. Our kisses were so deep I could taste more of Bridger than myself.
Then he dropped his lips to my ear. “Scarlet,” he whispered, his hand sliding between my legs. “This was the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”
“Noted.” His finger dipped inside me and I gasped with pleasure.
He kissed me, and we began touching each other everywhere. His body was so beautiful and strong, and the daylight meant I could see every curve of every muscle. I followed the ginger trail of hair down his belly and between his legs, sneaking looks at his… erm… equipment. I scooted down until I was eye to eye with it. I mean eye to…
Right.
Bridger propped himself up on his elbows, and looked down the length of his muscular torso toward me. There was a smoky gleam in his eye, and I realized that it was time to step up my game a little. I put both hands on his body, fanning out my fingers in the reddish hairs I found there. Under my touch, Bridger’s hips twitched with anticipation.
Okay, penis, I steeled myself. Let’s get acquainted. Anyone could do this, right? Time to think about ice pops.
Right.
I took a closer look. Long and jutting, it stood at attention in a way that body parts don’t usually do. Interesting.
Sorry, penis. I shouldn’t stare, should I?
Any time you’re ready, it seemed to reply. Don’t give us a complex.
Slowly, I leaned in, giving Bridger a tentative kiss right where it counts. Above me, he let out a sexy hiss. So I did it again, sweeping my tongue all the way around the top. With a happy moan, my boyfriend let his head fall back on the pillow.
Okay, penis. We’ve got this. I channeled my inner Katie and went to town. I must have done something right. Because his stomach clenched, and his hips danced. And the unconscious growl he gave was so sexy I could hardly stand it.
Eventually he reached down, gently nudging me away. “Stop,” he panted. “Or I’m going to come all over you.”
When he said it, I felt a zing of excitement everywhere. I had always thought this would be a little demeaning. But instead, it was a power trip.
“Oh well,” I said, reaching for him again. I loved having such an effect on Bridger — making him lose control.
Applying my newfound skills one more time, I heard him let out a monstrous groan. “Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it. But you’ve been warned.”
I backed off. “Where do you hide your condoms, Bridge?”
After suiting up, Bridger sat down at the foot of his bed. “Come here, Scarlet,” he said, tugging on my hand.
“What?”
“Up here,” he said, easing me into his lap, until I was straddling him. I hesitated, not quite sure I was ready to drive this bus. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “But I’ll last longer. And you’ll… Well, you might really like it.”
I stared into his green eyes, which were lit with warmth. This wasn’t me. It seemed impossible that I was really here with this gorgeous man, in broad daylight, climbing onto his naked body.
But I was. And I did.
It was a tad awkward lining him up underneath me. But when I got it right and sank down on him, I had a perfect view of his eyes squeezing shut with pleasure. He gave a big sigh and looked up at me again. “Damn, you make me crazy.” Then he wrapped his big hands around my hips and pulled my body tight against him.
At first I was tentative. But after only a moment or two, I forgot to be embarrassed. Controlling our contact felt absolutely amazing. A decadent pressure began to build low in my core. I strained against Bridger, while his eyes became unfocused, and his head flopped back. “So good, Scarlet.” He pulled on my hips to urge me on. The look on his face was precious to me — blissed out and trusting. For a year I had found it impossible to live in the present. But every moment I spent with Bridger was bright and fully realized.
And what a moment it was.
With my weight on him, every tiny movement created a sweet friction against him. I shifted my hips, experimenting, until I found an angle of contact that felt almost unbearably good. “Bridge,” I warned. He moved his hands up to cup both my breasts, and I felt the wave begin to carry me under. I dropped my lips onto his and moaned.
“Oh, oh yeah,” he panted, shoving his hips off the bed while my body quivered against his. And then he gasped, letting loose with a masculine growl of satisfaction.
All too soon, we lay coiled in a slightly sweaty heap, breathing hard and feeling happy.
“That was not on the music theory syllabus,” I whispered.
“But you’re a prodigy,” he chuckled, stroking my hair with clumsy hands. “You make me feel lucky.”
“That’s because you just got lucky.”
He shook his head. “That’s just extra.” We were quiet for a few minutes, as my heart swelled with joy. “Scarlet,” he whispered eventually. “Can I ask you to do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Would you look into getting some birth control pills?”
“Sure,” I said, my voice hoarse. The Katies had already told me what to do. I just had to make the phone call.
He raised himself up on an elbow. “I don’t mind using condoms, but it would be nice to have some backup.”
“Okay,” I touched his face. “We sure don’t need any more drama.”
“So true.” He pulled me in for a kiss. “But the universe must not hate me too much.”
“Why?”
“Well, it dumped a lot of shit on me this year. But it also gave me you.”
“The universe and I are on similar terms,” I said.
At that, his face became serious again. The intensity I’d seen earlier was back. “I hope you know,” Bridger said, his lips brushing my forehead, “you can tell me all your shitty stuff too.”
I held him even more tightly. “I know I can,” I whispered. “But I don’t want to.”
“I can take it, Scarlet. Whatever it is. You know that, right? You might feel better if you got to talk about it.”
The very idea was terrifying. Even thinking about it made my stomach twist. Bridger’s secret — caring for a helpless child — only made him more attractive. No matter how crazy or ill timed, the purity of his motive was clear.
My family secrets were only ugly.
I pushed up and out of his embrace. “We should get up.”
“…She said, quickly changing the subject.” Bridger snaked an arm around my bare waist. “Stay here a little longer. I won’t interrogate you. I promise.”
I obeyed, of course. There was nothing in the world so good as snuggling into his embrace. I stared at the side of his face until he turned his head to look at me.
“What?” he asked.
“I love you,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss his jaw.
“Thank you, universe,” he said.
Later, I was trying to finger-comb my hair when someone knocked twice on the fire door.
Bridger glanced in my direction to make sure I was dressed, before calling out, “What’s up, Andy?”
As the door opened, I was busy worrying that Bridger’s neighbor had overheard us having sex. But then I got a good look at the neighbor’s face, and I realized that I had a much bigger problem.
He was just as tall as I remembered, but he had filled out. His face was broader, more mature. And the Harkness Basketball sweatshi
rt was an improvement over the Star Wars t-shirts he’d always worn to our high school.
Andrew Baschnagel.
I forgot to breathe. For a second, we stared at each other. Then he laughed. “Shannon Ellison. How’s your slap shot these days?”
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. Bridger’s head swung in my direction, and my chest was suddenly tight. I took a step backwards, and then two more. When my back hit the door to Bridger’s room, I fumbled for the knob. As I wrenched it open, I heard Andrew’s puzzled voice. “What the hell did I say?”
I fled.
PART TWO
“Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers - stern and wild ones - and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss."
— The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Chapter Twelve: The Baschnagel Boy
— Scarlet
I ran down the stairs and out the entryway door. Beaumont College was a beautiful Gothic labyrinth, and I had to run beneath three pretty granite archways to reach the outer gate.
“Scarlet!” I heard Bridger’s voice behind me somewhere. But I couldn’t talk to him. I didn’t want to see the look on his face when he realized who I was, and how much ugliness there was in my life.
I’d tried to be someone else. For almost three months, it had worked.
I hustled up the sidewalk toward the gate to Fresh Court. Ahead of me, the door of a shiny black car opened onto the sidewalk, and I angled to avoid it. But the passenger — a man in a suit — lunged forward and grabbed my hand.
Startled, I whirled to face him. It was Azzan, my father’s bodyguard.
“Shannon, come with me,” he said.
I yanked my hand back and tried to propel myself away. But a second man blocked me, allowing Azzan to get his hands onto my lower back and steer me toward the car. The other guy — a driver I’d seen before — opened the back door.
“No!” I said, confused. I did not want to get into that car.
“Yes,” Azzan said simply. He gave me a gentle shove, but it was enough to send me pitching toward the leather of the back seat. His hand came down on the top of my head, which probably kept me from scraping my scalp against the frame of the car during my graceless entry.