"What are you doing with this?"
"I— Bridge, that's not what it looks like," she sputtered.
I shook my head and stumbled backward. "What the hell are you doing with these?"
And then she sat back on her haunches. "That's the folder your father gave me. He called me and said that he had information that would help you, and I was a fool because I believed him. And so I said I'd meet with him. When I did, he gave me those."
I shook my head. "This isn't—"
I couldn't even finish the words. This isn't what it looks like.
Her brows furrowed. "What?"
"He’s trying to make it look like I did this. I didn't. Melissa Carlisle had nothing to do with me. I didn't know her. In school, I was so caught up and busy with work and everything. I didn't— I didn't do this." I was talking fast. "I rarely even went to the boathouse unless Toby was racing. You have to believe me, I did not do this."
Her eyes went wide as she watched me. "Bridge, no, I—"
I shook my head and started pacing because I could see it, the fear in her face, the way she'd avoided touching me. And then I recalled all the ways I'd manhandled her since we'd been here, since we started our relationship. The bile rose up, and nausea overtook me. “I would never hurt you."
"Bridge—"
"No, I wouldn't. You have to know that. I didn't do this. How could you think I would do this?"
She was standing and approaching me as I was backing up. She was afraid of me. She should be afraid of me. Except, she was coming toward me.
Her hand reached out. The panic was taking over, the lack of control, the wave of it was coming to drown me. I could feel it. I could feel it pulling me under and—
She raised both of her hands, sweet and soft and smelling of jasmine, bracketing my face. "Stop it, Bridge. I know you didn't do this."
"What?"
She shook her head. "I know you didn't do this. You have to listen to me. I know."
I couldn't process her words for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"The moment he handed me this, I knew. I knew you didn't. I've been trying to figure out why he wants to frame you. Why does he want to make it seem like you would do this? You're his son. Why frame you for murder?"
"You believe me?"
She nodded. "Of course. I was worried when he first handed it to me, but I could feel it. Something was off, and I wanted to come and talk to you, and then, well, you know what happened. I ended up here.”
Oh fuck. I had scared her and given her an inkling of doubt.
“Fuck me.”
I had no option but to drop the envelope and cover my face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I was just validating everything he ever said. You were scared.”
“When I was first picked up, yeah. But when I saw it was you, I wasn’t scared, I was ticked off. I was scared when you said that what happened with us on the first morning wouldn’t happen again. I was scared when you said you couldn’t love me. That scared me. I was not scared when I saw this. This isn’t real. You have to know that I believe in you."
She believed me. She knew. She saw me. She always saw me.
The weight of her belief pulled me forward, weighed me down, and all I could do was clutch at her to hold me up. But still, I ended up on my knees with my arms wrapped around her, holding on for dear life. "I fucked up. I shouldn't have scared you. I shouldn't have kidnapped you. I should have just— That was wrong. I was so wrong. I'm so sorry."
Her hands were on my hair then. Soothing my scalp. Gently massaging. It felt like I didn't deserve her forgiveness. It felt like I didn't deserve her seeing me.
"Hey," she said softly.
I glanced up at her.
"I'm still mad, but I can be mad and love you at the same time."
All I could do was nod as I tucked my face back into her, inhaling her scent, letting it wrap around me, cocoon me in her acceptance and love. She believed me. She'd known me, and all this time, all I had done was push her away.
Eleven
Emma
I could feel him shaking. The trembling in his hands. Which was such a contrast to the man that I knew. Always hard, always in check, always in control. But his hands were shaking because everything he'd known, his whole world, I'd rocked it with that stupid folder.
He knew I didn't believe it. He knew that I believed him. But still, I could feel it, the uncertainty in him, the worry. I was so attuned to him from all those years of watching him and praying he would see me too. I knew him.
This was fear he was feeling. I eased down next to him and pulled him close. "I'm telling you, I believe you."
He nodded. "I know."
I heard the words he was saying but I knew there was a part of him that was wary. Wary and worried that maybe part of me believed any of the lies.
With an annoyed sigh, I shifted our position and climbed on top of his lap, straddling his hips. Bridge tilted his head, gaze searching mine. "What are you doing?"
"Making you believe me."
His lips tipped up into a semblance of a smile. "I do believe you."
I shook my head. "No, you're still worried."
"But I'm not worried, Ems. I'm not."
"Tell me the truth."
As his dark gaze searched mine, he swallowed hard. "Okay, a little worried that one day, you are not going to believe me, that there's going to be one step too far. Like last night. That was one step too far."
I smirked. "No, that was just right. Think of me like Goldilocks."
He snorted a chuckle. "I could have hurt you Ems, and I fucking kidnapped you. You should be running."
"Yes, but you'd come for me, wouldn't you?"
He shrugged at that. "Yes. But if you didn't want this, I would respect that."
I grabbed his face with both my hands and palmed his angular jaw. "Listen to me. I have wanted you every day since the moment I saw you. I was eight years old, but I knew that you were going to be my first kiss."
His brow furrowed. "At fifteen? There's no way that was your first kiss."
I laughed. "Actually, it was." I could feel his skin getting hot under my fingertips. "Ah, fucking hell, Ems. These are the things you're supposed to tell me."
I laughed then. "And make you run? I know you. What we have now isn't some infatuation. I actually know you. Believe me when I say that."
"Okay. I believe you."
I dropped my forehead to his. And brushed my lips over his. The groan in the back of his throat, was low. In between my thighs, I could feel the lengthening press of his erection.
"I think your cock believes me."
Against my lips, Bridge laughed. "He doesn't get a vote. He makes poor decisions."
"Well, tonight he's making all the right ones."
I slid my tongue across his lips and they parted, allowing me entrance. He tasted like him. A little like mint, a little like scotch. With a hint of musky spiciness that I couldn't quite identify. It was always like I was chasing the flavor. And it was forever evading me just out of my reach. He growled low as I rocked my hips over him again. His hand slid up over my thighs and clasped onto my ass, helping me rock over him.