Oh well, I now understand certain things all of them have in common aside from romantic streaks ten miles wide and extreme focus. And unruly cowlicks, dark eyes, devastating smiles and beautiful hands. They all like hot dogs with Russian mustard. And ginger-ale cut with cranberry juice.
And hugs.
But anyway, when I arrived this morning (day one of a hundred days to earn what's sitting in my bank account), I find Caleb lying on the floor. I didn't panic, for his eyes were open and he said hello when I walked in. But there he is, in the middle of the living room floor between the coffee table and the window.
What are you doing?
Wishing I had kept you there one more fucking day and then I never would have let you leave.
Ah. I said ask, not kidnap.
Same thing.
Actually it isn't.
Sure it is. You love me anyway even though I've physically kept you with me.
Stockholm syndrome.
Soulmate syndrome.
Munchausen syndrome.
Ouch. Why are you here, Bridget?
To work.
I have nothing for you today.
Then for every day I don't work between now and your birthday I will put that day's percentage back in your account.
Oh, Bridget, just keep the fucking money. I suddenly don't care about it.
Why not?
I do believe you've ruined me. Finally. The day fucking Pyro has been waiting for has arrived. How you could possibly admit to setting out to ruin me and in the next breath you say you would have left my brother for me is just beyond my capacity to understand, at present.
I never would have done it, Caleb.
Why in the hell not?
I wouldn't have destroyed the bond between two brothers, fucked as it was, and I would never have defied Lochlan.
But you said you didn't trust him.
That was then, this is now.
Oh God, listen, Miss Hinton, could you crawl out of your teenage self for two minutes and tell me what I'm supposed to do now?
Nothing.
I've bested my lifelong rival and you want me to do nothing.
Right. Because you clearly didn't best Lochlan.
YOU JUST TOLD ME I DID.
I said I didn't trust him then because he had a history of forsaking me when things got tough. He doesn't do that anymore. Therefore, I married him. Sort of. So stop shouting and get up already.
He will forsake you again. Lions don't change their spots.
What?
I don't know. I feel lobotomized.
Maybe you need some cheese.
You did not just say that, Bridget.
I fucking well did. That's one of your tricks, isn't it? Deflect important conversations with offers of dairy products?
I suddenly understand why Lochlan is perpetually frustrated, more and more each day.
Wow. And boys still suck. THIRTY YEARS LATER.
