Brazing (Forged in Fire #2)

by Lila Felix

  Carter opened the door, but only a small crack. “Hey Bridge.”

  It was hard to hide my disappointment.

  “Hey, Carter. Is Tate here?”

  Carter looked back into the room like she had no idea where Tate was.

  “She’s here, but she just got in the shower.”

  I smiled, trying hard not to vent my frustration out on her. It wasn’t her fault and I certainly didn’t want her telling Tate that I was rude. “That’s fine. I’ll wait out here.”

  She shut the door a little bit more so that there was only room for her face to fit through. “Well, she’s pretty tired. Maybe it would be best if you just called her tomorrow. She worked all day and then busted her butt studying.”

  I cleared my throat, giving myself a chance to work up a smile. “Sure. Tell her I’ll call her tomorrow. Oh…” I held up the box and she opened the door a little wider to take it. I tried to make the opportunity count and look into the room, but I didn’t see Tate. I don’t know why I expected to, but I did. “I didn’t know what kind she liked, so I bought one of each. Goodnight, Carter.”

  Her friend just stared at the box. “Goodnight, Bridger.”

  I hated the nickname Bridge, but somehow Carter calling me by my real name worried me even more.

  I drove around the city for a while. The quantity of building fascinated me. When I first came here for college, I was alone. West was still a senior in high school. Stockton said I’d have trouble sleeping, all the noise and none of the darkness. It was quiet until West got there with me, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  I’d always wanted to come to the city, sure that the grass was greener here. But the thing about the city was—the only grass was the kind that was planted by the landscapers.

  But going back home had renewed my love for the country life. As stupid as it sounded, I missed feeding the chickens and working on my own schedule. West was here, but I wanted to be home with my whole family. I wanted to be around when Will started dating and I wanted to be there when Stockton and Cami had kids.

  Working in an office floated further and further away on my list.

  I wasn’t sure it was ever on my list.

  Nearing midnight, I was still driving around when I got a call. It was Tate.

  I made my voice sound normal when really I was happier than happy to see her name pop up on the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey!” She attempted to sound excited, but it didn’t carry. Whatever was going on with her, I wished she would just tell me. I thought we had at least progressed to trusting each other.

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “Oh, I am. I just wanted to thank you for the cupcakes. I love them.”

  “I hope they’re good. West found the bakery. They make everything gluten-free. I know that makes you sick.”

  She exhaled heavily into the phone. “You didn’t go to too much trouble, did you?”

  Of course, I did. If she called me and requested I drive all the way back to Constance to get Preacher Wife’s peach cobbler, I’d do that too. I’d do just about anything she asked me to.

  “It was worth it. I was just trying to see you.”

  I couldn’t have sounded any more pathetic.

  “How about tomorrow? I’m off work and I don’t have a class until noon.”

  As stupid as it sounded, I didn’t answer right away. This whole scenario was vaguely familiar, like I was begging for time with her. I’d begged for time with Jesse too. Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I focused on Tate. I knew Tate. She wasn’t Jesse and I was doing her and me an injustice by constantly reverting back to that relationship.

  “Do you want me to pick you up?”

  “If you could, that would be great. This medicine for my stomach—I’m not supposed to drive. It makes me kind of loopy sometimes.”

  “Call me when you get up. Carter said you needed some rest. And if you don’t feel like going tomorrow, I understand. I’ve been worried about you.”

  Though I knew better, I swore I heard her cuss under her breath.

  “Thanks. Could you do me a favor?”

  “Anything for you.”

  “This is going to sound stupid, but could you pray for me?”

  “Of course, Tate. I already do.”

  “Goodnight, Bridger.” She hung up first. I hoped she wasn’t overextending herself by trying to see me the next day.

  To my surprise, a text came in early from Tate. She wanted to know if I’d pick her up in an hour.

  I’ll be there. I texted back and sat straight up in bed.

  Looking over at West, lying face down on his bed, his head under the pillow, I felt revenge coming on. You had to be constantly on watch for revenge opportunities when West was your brother. I knew the thing that frightened West the most—thunder. I devised my plan fast, needing to get a shower and be dressed soon to pick up Tate. I found the track I needed on my iPod and then cranked up the speakers near his bed all the way up.

  Come on Nature Sounds, do your thing.

  With the remote in my hand, I stood at the door of the bathroom, ready to bolt inside whenever he came to. I opened the door quietly and then pressed play. It started out innocently enough, just a few drops of rain and splashing could be heard. West stirred a little but didn’t move.

  A boom crashed through the rain on the soundtrack and faster than I thought imaginable, West sprang from his bed to the top of his desk. He started doing some knees up, head down dance that I was sure was a fertility dance in another country or another century. His arms were frozen stiff in the most awkward, painful position—even his toes were clenched.

  His girly scream could be heard over everything else.

  He probably had just made a mating call to every nearby cat and didn’t know it.

  I didn’t even have time to laugh, it all happened so fast. I stood there in shock.

  The next crash came before he could really wake up and then he changed from dancing to holding onto the broad, commercial plastic blinds like they were a life raft. Sounds of plastic bending and breaking split through the sounds of thunder. I was sure we would be paying for those at the end of the semester.

  So worth it.

  The mating dance began again soon after. I didn’t know my brother was so nimble—or so flexible. He looked like a marionette on crack. We should’ve invested in gymnastics with that one.

  Finally waking up, he realized what was going on and with one jerky movement, he kicked the iPod off the desk and across the room.

  And as soon as it stopped, he whipped his head toward me. His cheeks were puffing out in anxiety.

  Shit, I should’ve recorded it.

  No words were exchanged. My brother knew revenge when it was dished on him.

  Even still, when I saw his face morph from scared to pissed, I ran into the bathroom and shut and locked the door behind me.

  My revenge was two-fold.

  When West was scared, he peed. The boy had a bladder the size of a paintball.

  There would be no peeing if I were locked in the bathroom.

  He really should be nicer.

  I heard nothing. No threats. No promises of retribution. Finally, I gave up and showered as fast as I could. I didn’t hear anything through the door, but I still proceeded out quietly. Towel wrapped around my waist, I came out. West was dressed and wordlessly went into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush and began to brush his teeth after peeing and washing his hands. He sat on his bed and looked directly at me, just brushing like he had nothing else to do.

  “What?” I said, pulling on some pants and looking for a shirt.

  “Nothing. I hope you charged your phone.”

  My shoulders slumped at the mention of my phone. He wouldn’t. Yes, he would.

  “I charged it. Anyway, you don’t know the passcode.”

  He walked slowly into the bathroom, spit into the sink, and turned back to me. “Please. Like your birthday was so hard t
o figure out.”

  “You didn’t.”

  I checked everything—my outgoing calls—my messages—nothing.

  “Whatever.” I shucked it onto the bed and continued getting ready.

  West and I left at the same time.

  I’d gotten him so good.

  Tate wasn’t outside when I got to her building, so I parked and walked up to her room. The door was open, but I knocked on the door anyway.

  “Bridger?” Her voice was back to normal.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “I’m a little slow today. I know I said we could go out, but would you mind terribly if we just hung out here?”

  If at all possible she looked worse than she had that faithful night where I’d spilled my guts to her. Her hair was tied up in a knot on top of her head. A hoodie that must’ve been three sizes too big swallowed her whole and nearly covered every stitch of her pajama pants featuring lemons and lollipops.

  My heart dropped at the sight of her like this, like the vibrancy had been funneled out of her ounce by ounce. I wanted to grab her up, bring her to the hospital, and demand every doctor in the place to find out what was wrong.

  “What can I do? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  She slid on slippers to her side of the room and flopped down on it. “I just need some rest, but I wanted to see you. If you’re hungry or whatever, you don’t have to stay. Don’t stop your life for me.”

  Wherever that last statement came from, I didn’t like it one bit.

  “Actually, I came prepared for Tate duty, whatever that may be. So, are you a chest to chest kind of girl or do you prefer spooning.” I smiled, hoping to prove that I was joking but not joking at the same time.

  “Well,” she shivered and pulled the hood over her head. “I’ve been told you’re into a lot more than spooning. In fact, Carter gasped when she found out how kinky my boy was. I mean that kind of talk so early in the morning? Bridger, you naughty boy.”

  My face must’ve given everything away.

  “I hope you don’t text those things to all the girls.”

  “What did he do?”

  She laughed a little but sobered herself up quickly, like it hurt to laugh. “West, huh? I knew they weren’t from you. They were funny, though I would’ve preferred your sweetness.”

  I walked over to her, desperate to give her any kind of comfort I could.

  “Let’s not spend our time talking about West anymore.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tate

  I hadn’t felt this good in weeks, months maybe.

  Maybe my whole life.

  I lay on the small dorm bed, wrapped in Bridger’s arms and even though I felt like dying, I figured this was a great way to go.

  This boy. This boy and his gluten-free cupcakes.

  My heart ached right along with the rest of my body. I wanted to be honest with him. I wanted to tell him all about my sickness and that I might not make it. I wanted to stop him from getting in too deep with me and wasting his time on someone who might not have any time left.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to open my mouth.

  For a long time, all I wanted to do was live each day to its fullest. I wanted to forget my rough childhood and my even rougher adolescence. I wanted to forget that I was sick and might not graduate college. I wanted to forget that this degree I worked for would be completely useless to a corpse.

  I gave each day everything I had because it might be all I had left.

  And then Bridger came along and now I wanted to dream about the future and a life with this man that had stolen my heart and made dreams on a piece of property where he’d buried notes about me.

  My heart ached and my soul soared. My body succumbed further to the drugs and treatment each week, and the illness that worked so hard to kill me, but my mind reeled with possibilities of a future with Bridger and building our home on his family’s land.

  He stirred next to me. First he seemed to jerk in his sleep as if he couldn’t figure out where he was. Then, he sank deeper into my tiny bed and pulled me closer. His arms tightened around my waist, and his hands splayed out against my body. One gripped at my hip, the other rested hotly on my stomach.

  “Mmm,” he growled against the back of my neck through all my crazy hair. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

  My throat and mouth dried up as I tried not to hyperventilate. He couldn’t just let me sit at the edge of love, he had to come barreling in and knock me right over the edge.

  “Me too,” I rasped. My voice was still hoarse and rough from sleep, even though I’d barely slept while he held me like this. “This is very nice.”

  “Very nice,” he echoed in a whisper. “I’ve missed you.”

  My heart thudded in my chest and I hated the lies that tumbled over my tongue. Carter had disappeared an hour ago and the silence after his confession thundered through the room. I had missed him too. After all the time with him in Constance, and now the time apart, I realized how spoiled I’d been.

  During the worst of my treatment and the low points where I sometimes wondered if death would be better, easier than going through all this, I thought of him. Those stolen kisses, seeing him open up and lose his cranky defenses, reading his message in a bottle… Those had changed me. They’d reached down into me and evolved my spirit.

  But if I told him, if I brought him into this world of mine, things would change between us. He wouldn’t continue to open up, he’d shut down again. His moods would be shaped by worry and concern. Our relationship would continue out of obligation and sympathy. I didn’t want those things.

  I just wanted Bridger. Just like this. For as long as I could have him.

  But that didn’t mean I wanted to lie either.

  So instead, I decided on the truth. The embarrassing truth. “I’ve never had this before.” I rolled to my other side and he settled on his back to accommodate my new position. I snuggled into the nook of his arm and breathed him in.

  God, I didn’t want this to end. Not ever.

  “What? Such strong, sexy arms wrapped around you?” His tone dropped to an exaggerated octave and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Actually, no. I haven’t. I haven’t really, um, dated much before. Not like this anyway.”

  He stilled beneath me. His entire body stopped moving and his muscles went rigid. His arms banded around my waist and held me there against him. I let him. This moment seemed important to him and I hoped that was a good thing.

  He could so easily have realized my secret-loser status. It was okay to be free-spirited and adventurous. But was it really okay not to have dated?

  Ever?

  “You’ve never dated anyone before?”

  I cleared my throat and tried to push away my awkwardness. I hadn’t realized how uncomfortable this would make me feel. “I mean, I’ve been on dates. It’s just never gone very far. I was kind of a wild child in my youth and incapable of taking anything seriously.”

  “What about high school?” His words were concentrated and picked carefully. I wished I could read his mind because I couldn’t tell if he cared either way.

  “Nope, not high school either. Do you think I’m a loser?” I bit my bottom lip nervously. My stomach flipped over and over while waiting for his response.

  “I’m in awe, Tatum Halloway. In absolute awe.”

  And he sounded like it. But I couldn’t just let that go! I needed more adjectives. I needed all the adjectives! “Like… good awe? Or bad awe?”

  He chuckled at my obvious freak-out. The low sound vibrated through my body as his chest rumbled beneath me. “Good awe. Very good awe. I just… I don’t feel worthy of this, Tate.” He nudged me with his shoulder and I lifted my head to look at him. He cupped my jaw with his rough hand and held me so tenderly my chest ached with more emotion than I knew what to do with. “How did I get so lucky with you?”

  My cheeks burned with an emotional blush. I felt the same way; I just didn’t know
how to tell him that without sounding cheesy. “I’m not sure I would call this lucky.”

  His eyebrows dipped down and made an angry slash. “I would,” he argued vehemently. “I would call this lucky, or blessed or divine providence. To find you again after all these years, to be lucky enough to get to hold you, to get to kiss you. And you haven’t done this with anyone else. You’ve saved this for me. Maybe not intentionally. And maybe you didn’t ever think I’d be the one you would give this gift to, but you did. And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

  It was unfortunate that I felt like complete shit. Otherwise I would have attacked his entire body with kisses. Instead, I leaned down and pressed a slow one on his full lips. I let my mouth linger on his until I felt dangerously short of breath and wobbly.

  His expression saddened when I pulled away and I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. “You’re welcome.”

  He laughed again, but it didn’t wipe away the melancholy frown. I pressed my thumb into the space between his eyebrows and smoothed out the grumpy lines.

  “What’s wrong?” I held my breath as I waited for his reply.

  “This is a gift, Tate. You’re giving me a gift and I want more than anything to be able to give it back to you. But I can’t. I have dated. All the wrong women.”

  I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Bridger sounded absolutely miserable as he confessed that he hadn’t waited all twenty-one years of his life for me. As if I expected him to. Silly boy.

  “Bridger, I would never have expected you to wait for me. Neither one of us could have predicted we would find each other again. Or that we’d come to… care for each other. You couldn’t know that I would be waiting for you. And believe me, it wasn’t always by choice. I had… sometimes my life seemed as though I’d never have time for someone else. It wasn’t necessarily something I enjoyed doing or would ever think would pay off. But it did. And I’m really happy it did.”

  He finally let out a long, resigned sigh and nodded. “It did work out. I’m happy it did too.”

  I settled back onto his chest and started making a pattern across his t-shirt covered chest with my pointer finger. “Is that why you were a little relationally resistant? Because of all those wrong women?” My stomach clenched with nerves again, warring against the ever-present nausea.