Fight club (thanks for a great day off, guys).

I don't think I'm the feral one after all, though some will say they found me in the corner of a boxcar, lifting the corner of a crate to find me crouched underneath, filthy, unable to speak English and clutching a cone of blue cotton candy. That I grunted something, screamed and tried to run but Lochlan caught me and taught me the words I needed and I fell in love with him and grew up. But when pushed I revert back, so the story goes and this morning, well, I've got the caged look and monosyllable responses down cold.

Both Caleb and Cole were raised to act out their negative emotions physically and I don't understand how that happens. How do you raise a child to lash out in anger and then soften in tender moments to the point where the violence from a moment ago melts away?

I asked him this but he told me he didn't know. He isn't saying much either today, except sorry a lot. No excuses, just that fucking word. Four different letters that don't mean much. He's been saying it since I was eleven and he first cornered me in the camper.

Sorry. 

I didn't mean to. 

I didn't know it would change you. 

I was drunk. 

It's your fault I'm like this. 

Sorry. 

Sorry. 

Sorry. 

Keep the gun, you'll need it out here. There are people like me everywhere and that's one of the reasons I didn't want him to bring you.

I don't hear the sorrys the way normal people do, I guess. Not anymore. Maybe it's just a part of life. Maybe Boxcar Bridget didn't have such an easy life and maybe the fact that I do now in so many ways is a beautiful ending to a terrible tragedy. Maybe it's something I can't get used to and that's why I went screaming back to blue collars and campers so fast, so easily. Maybe it's why I'm more comfortable around old guys with weathered visages and plaid shirts. Farmers. Carnies. Working folk. People who don't have much, if anything. People who aren't so spoiled they can't see the reason for things, they can't control things, they don't understand things and are offended by that.

Maybe people raised with nothing are less demanding. Less judging. Less of everything, sure but better in so many ways.

Caleb's fine though. Lochlan dragged him out of the boathouse, down the steps, across the driveway and the grass too. PJ watched and did nothing which he probably lives for. I think Dalton filmed it to show Duncan. Ben followed them to make sure they wouldn't actually finish each other off, as Caleb is bigger than Lochlan and so Ben was standing close by as Lochlan pushed Caleb right to the edge of the cliff, finger in his face, words flying. Thick red Scottish rage making him unintelligible. To his credit Caleb seemed deflated, unable to push back, unable to defend his undefendable position. He got rough, he has to pay for that. Violence against me is unacceptable. To them. It feels normal to me. It's just the way he is.

(Sorry, Bridget. You just look so pretty when you cry.)

(What a liar.)

Lochlan leaned him way out over the cliff until they were finished the discussion and then started to pull him back and Ben, still pissed off, reached over Loch and shoved Caleb off the edge.

Caleb landed headfirst on a wayward log that was in the water.

Ben then had to go in after him to save his life. Caleb took in a lot of water, has a nasty concussion and was short of breath so we went to the hospital for many, many hours then we brought him home.

Then the sorrys began. but no excuses because he has nothing left.

Caleb is just a monster. One I've spent my life trying to stop being afraid of. One I'll never outrun. That was worse so I've tried to embrace him instead and it's been very hard on me. You don't get it. You'll never get it and that's okay. And Lochlan's grace just shut off like a fucking tap.

But not for me.

Do you want to keep the job? Lochlan asked me in the hallway outside as Caleb was getting ready to leave the hospital.

I nodded.

Why?

I can practice my English, I said and he laughed. It was a strained donkey-bray kind of laugh, more an exclamation of disbelief than anything but I'll take it.

Caleb opens the door. Ready, he said, and the laughter stopped.

Too early, too late.

I'll put my armor on,
Show you how strong I am
I'll put my armor on,
I'll show you that I...

When I came home from work this afternoon Caleb was pacing the driveway. I parked my car facing him and he waited a moment because I didn't get out and then he charged across the brick and opened my door with one hand, pulling me out of the car with the other. I was marched up into his kitchen and let go roughly against the fridge. I grabbed the handles keep from falling and the doors opened and I felt a bit like a duck on skates while I attempted to right myself.

Have you quit yet or do I have to take action? He plucks me up off my precarious hang from the stainless steel handles and gives me a shake like a dog. Hard. My teeth chatter and I shriek at him and he finally focuses again and puts me down rather gently to the floor, making sure my feet are underneath me so I can stand.

I'm not quitting. You don't get a say in this. Sorry, Diabhal. It's a whisper but my guts are showering through.

He stares at me. I don't know if it's rage or resignation for a flicker and then I do. Very well.

(Very well? Who says that? Oh, wait, Batman does. And he's rubbing off on Caleb.)

I nod. Not sure if this means I can keep the job or he's now resigned to murder me after all. My nod falters into a bobble briefly and I square up in front of him, staring at the fourth button on his shirt instead of up into his eyes.

Do you even like it? You've come home crying twice in the first week and I feel as if Lochlan's forcing you into some sort of teenage Bon Jovi song where you go back to having nothing, being nothing because it's 'romantic'. 

I don't like it sometimes but other times I love it. It depends. 

On what? 

If I get the orders right. 

That's a very humble statement to make for one such as you. 

Such as me?

Yes.

I am nothing, Diabhal. 

Not to me.

The would-be sugar poet.

Progress. I didn't cry when I left my new job today. I have a nametag now. It says BRIDGET. When no one is looking I'm going to steal the labelmaker and print one that says BABY.

Just because.

When I got home after the lunch rush there were trucks all over the place again, doing a few little things we noticed after they left that weren't completed so I had to drive all the way down to the end of the driveway and park between the side door and Dalton's patio. My legs hurt and I wanted to lie down and his was the nearest bed from the car so I went into their suite and into Duncan's room, throwing myself on the bed, legs hanging out over the end, heavy black shoes and label still in place. The apron is balled up in my purse, which is now on the floor.

I pull the quilt up over my head, close my eyes and when I open them next Duncan is lying beside me, smiling.

Can I get a refill? He asks and I bean him with one of his pillows.

No. We're closed. 

Do you have to do this, Bridget? What if I...I mean, I can give you money if you need it. 

I'm not doing it for the money. Well, not yet. I'm doing it for the hustle. 

Also you smell like burned strawberry pie. 

Fancy that. As it happens, the cook burned one today. And you should save your money. 

If it means you don't have to do this, I'm fine with it. We'll make our own arrangement. 

Why don't you want me there? 

It isn't the diner in particular, it's just working in general. You're easily overwhelmed. 

Lochlan doesn't think so. 

That so? And what does Lochlan think? Tell me. 

He's so proud. He thinks this is good for me. So does Ben. I get out of my own head. I help others and I can sharpen my skills. 

You going to rob them while you serve them lunch? Or maybe walk a tightrope?

Not those skills, Dunk. 

What skills then, Bridge?

Blending into society better than I do now. 

Oh. So is everyone on board with this? Any detractors or am I alone here?

You're not alone. Caleb has forbidden me to work. 

And?

I will continue to defy him. 

He'll buy the restaurant. 

Oh, probably. But if he does that I'll fire the cook and I'll never burn the pies I make. So it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

Baby Driver.

"Sometimes all I want is to head West on 20 in a car I can't afford, with a plan I don't have, just me, my music, and the road."

Lochlan, to his credit, has been very gracious with everyone. Moreso than he used to be, maybe he is mellowing after all. Maybe he has faith in me and in our grand plan to rule the world, or at least our experience of it as I embark on yet another item on the big list of the life that points us toward our dreams.

The Collective isn't forever. It never was. We know that. We understand that, as does everyone here. It's a stepping stone, a fun time, a helping hand living here where things cost so damned much. Everyone saves money if we all live together and no one has to be alone. The army will stand fast while I weather this long season of Life After Jacob, and the transition back to weirdness that was always the plan. But not quite yet.

In other ways, sooner than we think.

I may have rushed a little part of it. Walking the house spending time talking with everyone, painting a little, writing a little, trying to catch up on sleep and affection, being so OCD with chores and being Organized isn't all that productive. I needed to check off something on my list that would throw all that into the sea. That item that's been waiting for me. Get on with it, Bridge.

I got a job.

And it's not an executive job, no sir.

And I didn't have recommendations or networks. No one's lending me out. No vulture capitalists are involved. No pretty clothes and lovely desks are involved. Oh, you're going to laugh, just as the boys laughed when they realized I wasn't kidding before they turned super-serious.

Aw, Bridge, they all said. You don't need to do this.

But I do.

I got an entry-level job. Working for minimum wage. At a restaurant not all that far from home. Taking orders, pouring coffee, as the owner decided I needed to be the first person people see when they come in. Wearing sturdy black non-slip shoes and a contrastingly pretty apron and dress with my notepad and my bottomless freshly-made coffee pot in hand.

Yup. Me.

I was too busy to hate it until I walked out at the end of my first shift and It hit me that I didn't really learn enough to go back, but I will be returning. Tomorrow. Already.

Yes, I cried on the drive home.

That's sixty low-quality minutes (and a level of crankiness no one's even seen before now.)

I had an iced coffee yesterday midafternoon and it cost me all but a single hour of nightmare-laden, restless birdsong-filled sleep and today now I am weirdly high-strung and faintly miserable and yet I can't go to bed until at least ten-thirty tonight because that's when Ruth gets home from work.

I'm never drinking that shit again. I might go off coffee again altogether because wow. That was so awful I can barely quantify it. It's bullshit, is what it is.

I would love to be a coffee or tea-drinking fanatic but strangely it seems too challenging. Sam says some people just can't. Others are hardly affected. I asked him why it takes a mountain of heroin to get me high but just looking at a cup of coffee leaves me awake for weeks. I was hoping to shut him down with horror but he was incredibly matter-of-fact and I got a long lecture about different drugs creating different results using our individual biochemistries. Then I got a lecture about trying to shame the shameless and the devout. Ouch, Sam.

It's okay though, Ben was game to stay up all night, since he generally does. And we are all caught up on time with each other, mutual depravity and maybe a little shame too, but only if you look us both directly in the eye.

(Snort.)

And it's ten fucking degrees today, which means no pool time for Bridget, who doubled-down on chores yesterday afternoon so I could free up all of today for myself and that freshly-filled pool and this is what I get for my efforts. Nice.

Coffee for your thoughts? Sam asks as he veers around my scowl.

I won't write down the words I said in return.

Not even ambush..this was full PRObush and I love him so much it's gross.

Ben doesn't even wait until we're on the beach before he deploys his fears and I have to grab the railing with both hands so I don't wind up carried off on the tide of his words.

I want second place back. I don't want to be the third.

Who said you were second? 

Who demoted me to third, or maybe fourth when I was busy? 

No one, Benjamin. Maybe we just need more time together. 

I was trying to give you time with Loch. And that seems to translate into time with Caleb. And I don't know if I want to encourage that. 

You used to be fine with it. 

I was there. Now I'm nowhere. I feel like I'm running to catch up now. 

You're not a third wheel. You're not falling behind, Ben. I love you. 

Burning building?

Oh, don't even. It would be you. Lochlan would save you over me. You're the first person on our minds always. Especially when you hole up to work. You think I don't miss you? You think I like coming down and finding the light on and having to turn and go back upstairs because I can't come in and see you when you're working?

You keep calling Caleb your boyfriend. 

He's asked for that formality. 

Well, now I'm asking to be above that. So it's very clear to him and to everyone how this works. 

Well then what do we call you? 

Lovers? He grins. He suggested that when we first got together. He refused to be friends anymore, and wanted to be lovers so we cemented it at Nolan's cabin and we've been inseparable ever since.

Lovers. I grin back.

We should cement this with some serious fuckage, Bridge. 

We have a birthday dinner to go to, remember? 

Okay, after. 

After are the speeches. I can't miss them. I'm the birthday girl!

And then? 

After the speeches we will go to bed. 

What if Caleb wants to see you? Or Lochlan? 

Well, we can bring Lochlan but Caleb doesn't get to come. 

Okay. Maybe Loch could use some serious fuckage too. 

From you or from me?

Don't matter. 

Wow, Ben. 

What?

Now I'm wondering where I am in this hierarchy, because if it's third, I don't want to know.*

(Editing for clarity. Though, who needs clarity when ambiguity is such a wonderful thing? Ben's first love is music. So that would make me second or possibly third, if Lochlan is loved more. Which he might be. I picked the right two, I think.)
 

And this is just the first couple of hours.

Guess where I woke up?

In the camper, on the beach (!!!), the sound of the surf filling my ears so beautifully it supposedly took Lochlan five tries to whisper Happy Birthday to me as we curled up together in sleep in a bed so tiny I slept like a baby, and never felt even once like I was falling. Our history in these tiny trailers is the reason why I can only fall asleep if I'm pressed in between solid things. Like a wall and a person, two people or absolutely packed in tight with heavy quilts. Otherwise I don't sleep and if I wind up untethered in the King size beds in my room I feel weightless and unprotected.

So yes, PTSD for everyone, as Lochlan didn't sleep at all. He fretted about whether we'd be warm enough, even as Ben and John carried the heaters down to the beach just in case, Caleb rolled his eyes and lamented Lochlan's choice of camper, without a heater. He would have spent more. Hell, he would have just built a house there.

But who needs a heater when Lochlan is fire incarnate?

I wasn't cold. I slept so hard I may never sleep in the house ever again, and being by the water's edge far exceeded the camper up in the backyard. But Lochlan finds it difficult to return to a time when he rarely slept, always on edge, always on alert. So I don't know how to fix that except the way I've been taught. If you're afraid of something the only way to stop feeling the fear is to immerse yourself in it. It worked with me for elevators, and Caleb's dominance, and isolation when I remained behind in the Prairies packing up the castle when we moved the Collective here to the West coast. It hasn't worked for heights for me though. I can't subject myself to anything higher than a Ferris Wheel, or in this case the Wonder Wheel. Planes are okay but buildings, ziplines, gondolas and chair lifts make me scream and I won't go.

I keep veering off-topic though.

We were starving when we woke up and Lochlan had breakfast ready to roll. Coffee pot in the fire. Croissants and cheese and apples. He put the croissants on a stick and warmed them over the fire while the water boiled. It was amazing. I didn't want to leave but maybe we'll be back tonight. We dressed in yesterday's clothes and made the climb back up the cliff.

Reluctantly.

And the backyard was finished. The inside is finished. The trailers are gone. Tools are gone. Mini-backhoe is gone and and flowers are everywhere. Decorative shrubs are gone and the steps are finished. The low walls are finished. The palazzo is finished. The yard looks incredible. They structured the back to match the front with its brick walkways and driveways and the fountain of the most alabaster fine concrete I think I've seen or touched, something that weathers to a beautiful soft ash.

And then I realize the pool is full. The chairs are back. The shades are pulled up, the barbecue is set in place in the outdoor kitchen and it matches the new outdoor kitchen here in my yard and wow.

Supposedly they worked all night on the landscaping and cleaning to get it done and then when it was finished Caleb and Andrew got up at four in the morning to begin to fill the pool.

And I didn't know of or hear any of it because we were sleeping at the bottom of the cliff, on purpose. So it was a huge group plan and Lochlan took the hit because it means more to him that I'm happy than that Caleb wins.

Except he didn't. I won't tell him though. I think it will be obvious when he sees I've transferred all of the costs of the camper and barge from his account back to Lochlan, since Caleb piggybacked on Lochlan's plan, taking advantage to score points.

Caleb comes out to stand beside me in the wind as I look over my new beautiful...er...grounds. I can't call this a yard. It would be demeaning and inappropriate at this point. Even the new grass looks expensive.

What do you think, Neamhchiontach? 

(Not Happy Birthday, not Good Morning but how did I do in the contest?)

It's incredible. I love it! And he looks so pleased with himself as I turn and look up at him. But I'm angry with you. And I leave him there to figure it out. I really need a hot shower and some new clothes. I need to change the trajectory of this day. It's my day, after all and Caleb isn't going to make it his.

First of all, it's not a contest, dickheads.

Caleb snapped at something or other when he was leaving this morning after bringing back a couple of books and so I chased him outside and asked what was wrong.

Oh, let's just say the playing field isn't level. 

What are you talking about?

Lochlan's allowed to make all of these sweeping gestures and when I try you won't allow it, send it back, refuse, or generally hobble all of my efforts, Neamhchiontach. I just want to spoil you for your birthday and every day and instead I have to watch Pyro win all the time by renting a goddamned barge and putting a camper on the beach. 

Is that how?! Wait, how did he get it off the barge? Does it float? Oh my gos-

With a crane. He puts his fingers to his forehead as if I've given him a headache. The barge has a crane so you lift it onto shore. There was a tug involved. It took a fair effort to get it far enough back from the tide. But you've missed the point. 

Which was? 

Why can't I make the gestures?

Because your gestures involve things like buying me the Eiffel tower or twenty-carat rare diamonds or-

Would you like to go back to Paris? 

Look who's the one missing the point now. 

So you're saying my gestures are too large. Too much. 

A little. Okay, a lot.

And I'm supposed to step out of the way now so the man who made you sleep in goat pastures gets all the glory. 

Caleb-

He'll never be able to do for you what I can. That barge stunt cost him his entire bonus for the project, you know. I don't think he had any idea of the costs involved before he planned it. Or how he's going to get it off the beach now that it's there. In any case, I feel like he's learning a lesson about going up against someone with actual means-

This isn't how life works. They don't learn. Someone doesn't love you because you impress them, they love you because you finish their sentences, you're within reach, you're alike in so many ways. You make them feel comfortable and safe. It's a deep attachment you can't put a price on or give a trophy for.

I leave him standing there and go find Lochlan, who is in the library reading, his glasses halfway down his nose, a fresh, significant haircut to start a new chapter of life (and also because I did manage to knot his hair up good yesterday and he actually doesn't want his dreads back).

Your bonus from the network. What are you going to do with it? 

Surprise the love of my life. 

Oh my God, he was right. 

Who? 

Caleb said you spent the whole thing on a barge to make the beach campsite.

He's wrong. 

Oh, thank God. 

The cost of the camper was actually slightly more than the barge but not by much. If you add them together then yes, that was my bonus. 

Why did you spend it all on something that's going to bring up bad memories? 

Wait, wait, WAIT. Who said it's going to bring back anything but good memories? And I can spend it how I please, so if I want to make good on a promise you won't let me make good on, since you want to live in a camper by the sea but you also won't move, I'm then limited to making campsites and hiring barges. 

Oh. Yeah.

Oh yeah yourself. 

I still love it. 

You'd better. 'Twas expensive. 

(Oh, he's using Doppler radar. The faster I move away from him, the faster he closes the distance between us.)

Fate itself unraveled
Make the emptiness my home
Into the starlight will I go
Soaring into the unknown

I think I spoiled my own birthday surprise and I couldn't be happier.

Everyone seemed so busy today. Lochlan was so wrapped up in emails (not related to the project he's just completed but a random host of beta-software testing, Cirque du Soleil presales, random confirmations of upcoming appointments for his truck, teeth, eyes, arm followup, etc. etc.) that he let me start random dreadlocks in his hair. Though I don't know what I'm doing.)

PJ said he was just back and had a lot to catch up on. 

Like what?

PJ eyes left and right. Uh, you guys suck at deep-cleaning kitchens.

I don't. I even wiped every single blind on blinds I only drop down to clean. I scrubbed the crumb tray in the toaster oven. I bleached the inside of the dishwasher. Fuck you, Padraig. Find me a crumb.

Dalton and Duncan are nowhere to be found. Ditto August. Emmett is available, walking toward me and so I quickly turn and head briskly in the opposite direction.

Caleb is about to go for a run. Daniel is out. Andrew is out. Batman isn't taking the bait as he's smarting over the past week's rebellions and Jay's probably a bad idea. Sam is sleeping. Gage is away. ARGHHHHH. I just want to go for a walk on the beach.

Maybe tonight? Ben says helpfully from behind his giant mixing board.

Sure, I lie. It's come to this. Promise?

Do my best. He smiles distractedly and I head back upstairs, turning left down the little hallway behind the kitchen that also leads to the back foyer where the patio doors circle the entire back of the house. I don't even grab shoes. Who needs shoes? I walk purposefully across the backyard, skirting the concrete-pouring extravaganza and disappear behind the gate.

I look out before I head down the steps and right away I see it.

I scream-whisper because I know damn well I've ruined it but I don't care. I also don't want to scream-yell or they'll all freak and come running and I'm not supposed to go down to the beach alone. Too many steps. Too steep a drop-off. Slippery rocks, hazards, sometimes sea lions. Sometimes distracted Bridget and a hungry Pacific. Sometimes just to make them feel better I listen to them. Sometimes I agree with them.

But not today because look at that.

I turn back to the right to head down the steps and bump right into Lochlan. Who was standing behind me probably the whole time, because he has weapons-grade hearing skills and a loaded, somewhat angry smile.

Peanut. You fucked up my plans to surprise you.

Oh no I didn't.

The grin becomes relieved. Excited?

You have no idea.

At the other end of the beach, there's a brand-new tiny shiny camper set up. A fire circle is built. Two chairs are opened in front of the door, under the canopy. It's safe from the tide but not back far enough for me to miss, tucked in safely against the cliff.

This is my dream.

I wonder if he'll let me sleep out there, with him? I wonder what the weather is like for the weekend. I wonder how they got it down here. I wonder if it's finished inside. I wonder if I'll ever come back up except to spend time with the kids. If he wanted me all to himself, he's done it. I don't even think anyone save for us could fit into it.

That's the idea.

We're going to live here?

Maybe. Maybe some nights. But you don't get to go down there until Friday evening.

My birthday's on Saturday-

Right. Don't you want to wake up there? By the water?

And then I'm crying. Geez, not the pretty cry. I don't even have that feature. Naw. All streaky-red, blubbery gratitude-soaked relief that he did this. Finally.

Glad to see you're happy about it. He shrugs in mock doubt, pulling me in close, dropping the act, confidence blooming back. You think I don't know what you need but I do. I promise I do and I'm trying to make it happen. It may take me a little longer, you may think I'm not paying attention or understanding you but I am. Also what did you do to my hair? 

The renovations have spilled outside and they're going for broke. You know, while the 'guys are here'. Someone save me.

What would you like for your birthday, Neamhchiontach? 

He is thrilled today. So, so pleased that I demonstrated my allegiance past the end of his bedpost. Happy that I stuck it to the (Bat)man, beyond relieved that I set a boundary and for once Caleb winds up on the same side as me.

To have the pool filled!

Not until the work is finished. Too dusty. 

They're working here, not in Daniel's backyard! 

Soon, Baby. Soon. Trust me, I'd love to see you in a bikini again. 

Why? You see me naked. 

Something about it, I guess. 

Huh. Well, I've never wished in a million years I could see one of you in a speedo, so that's where we deviate, I guess. 

If you saw me in one, Bridget, you'd change your mind. 

Let's not continue this line of conversation. 

And he laughs. What a lovely sound. Not even a tinge of evil in it today. Done. Let's get back to the topic at hand, which was birthdays, if I'm not mistaken. 

Yeah. 

You're impossible. You hate surprises but you refuse to give me a list. 

You'll buy everything on it. 

Because you're conservative. Most women pull out the 'I want a private jet' card. You do the math and learn it's cheaper to lease one when it's required. Sort of a singular Sugar Baby, in that. 

I have everything I need..

Except? 

A night of really crazy horror movies and chocolate cake and maybe a walk on the beach. 

Done. 

Yeah but you'll fly me to New York, rent out a theatre, have a Michelin-starred chef bake a cake and the beach is in Montauk. 

I figured Lochlan had that covered. 

Oooh! I hope he does. 

So much for the singularity. 

I'm petty sure we'll fly commercial. 

He laughs again and we didn't actually sort anything out so I really hope my birthday present is an end to this endless construction and my house and yard back.