He doesn't want anyone to think he's a big softy. I don't honestly give a shit.

(I'll write about him if I want to write about him.)

Daniel and I split a bottle of wine while Schuyler and Benjamin made pizza for us and then after a few spontaneous carols Ben said we were heading out. That surprised me as I brought my pajamas with me and my phone charger but I didn't protest. He said we were going to take a walk so I could sober up. We hugged the boys and left them with most of the pizza for leftovers (a total surprise since Ben is a bottomless pit) and off we went, hand and hand into the night, heading out their front door and up the road, the long way around in the fog.

He put my hand in his pocket with his hand still around mine for warmth. He walked slow, so I could keep up. I was warm, flush with the glow of too much Shiraz and not enough food but this wasn't a dinner about food, it was about company and it was nice to have a normal dinner party and it was nice to leave it on a good note.

I don't get to see you so much these days.

You don't surface much. 

Sorry, Bee. Big projects. That's why Loch-

He's not even home. 

I know. I took a break so you wouldn't be alone. 

I'm glad. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

Lochlan's back tomorrow?

Yeah. Hopefully. Unless there are problems. 

Naw, he'll be back. 

Yeah. 

That's why I didn't let you stay next door. I wanted you to myself for a night. 

All you have to do is as-

I can't ask Lochlan to give up more than he has, Bee. 

Ben, you don't have to-

It's tough. You know? I gave you back and I wasn't ready. 

I'm right here. 

Stick around okay?

I'm not going anywhere, Ben. 

We don't talk to each other enough. We don't tell each other I miss you. We should. 

I woke up this morning half-crushed by his arms holding me against him. His skin wasn't cool as usual. Instead it was broiling. He didn't sleep like a vampire, he slept like a Jacob, he didn't disappear in the night or in the morning and it was like the first days when we were trying to sort out being together when I thought it was forever and he thought he was a bookmark. I still refuse to see it like that because every time he's around we fall a little deeper, we find our way back.

Don't disappear when he comes home. My plea is sleepy but clear in the dawn. Don't leave again. 

I won't, Bumblebee. I'll be here.

I mean all the time. 

When am I supposed to work then?

You were supposed to stop. 

I didn't stop, did I?

No, you didn't. Instead you vanished into thin air, which is a pretty incredible feat considering how big you are. 

And you're still drunk. How do you remember these conversations so well?

I have to concentrate so hard so I can hear you so they just stick in my brain like toffee. 

Sounds delicious. 

No, it's very noisy and I don't like it but it's the way I am.

Plus none.

There he goes, swinging from nice back to not, from acquiescing back to making the rules, from being sweet and kind to making sure I've earned all of these bruises as punishment for whatever it is that he maintains I've done.

Which is nothing but tease him slightly and it was more than enough to send him into a tailspin of dark misery that he saw fit to share and I needed to run from and didn't because we have a trauma-bond.

Hell, yes we do.

Caleb keeps vetoing every single thing I suggest, after he asked me for a Christmas list. Every single thing I offer he counters with something outlandish, expensive or inappropriate. Finally he throws up his hands and asks me to stop, that he'll find something and that I'll like it.

Just because.

Then why did you ask me? This is so stupid, I think I've decided it's the hill I'm going to die on today.

Because I thought maybe you might be reasonable. 

My suggestions are reasonable for what you-

Oh, please finish. For what I am to you? Think hard before you answer, Neamhchiontach, for I like to reward you not for what I am to you but for what you are to me. 

Redemption. 

Hell. Yes. 

Too bad you can't buy your way out of this. 

It is. 

Well...too bad! 

Oh, I see we're just going to slip into some childish frustration now. 

Best I've got. 

Indeed. 

Okay, I'm leaving. 

Why leave when we can fight our way through dinner?

I already have dinner plans. 

With? 

Danny and Sky. We're making pizza. I'd offer to bring you along but they specifically said threesome. I say this just to watch his ears  light up and burn. They said nothing of the kind.

(It's implied, though.)

Does Ben know you're going? (Lochlan is away. Yesterday's sweetness was a going-away party. Not for more than a few days but I am well-supervised for his absence and I miss him enough to cry already.)

Yes, of course. Now I'm just annoyed.

Maybe I'll send them some instructions and they can talk you into something nice for Christmas. They appreciate the finer things. 

Good luck with that. 

Good luck with your dinner. I'll watch for your return. 

Don't bother. I'm staying for a sleepover. 

The face he made was enough of a Christmas gift for the next fifty years of my life. I grinned back.

Adios, Diablo. 

Don't throw Spanish in on top of everything else, he whispers.

Absent frosted Jesus.

I made it through the year and I did not even collapse
Gotta say thank God for that
I'm torn between what keeps me whole and what tears me in half
I'll fall apart or stay intact

With tired eyes I stumble back to bed
I need to realize my sorry life's not hanging by a thread
At least not yet

Lochlan started a fire and came back to bed early this morning, then left once again, returning with cane-sugared doughnuts and very good coffee spiked with Irish cream. I woke up then, when my body sensed the sweetness level rising in the room exponentially.

We ate our breakfast while watching The Legend of Frosty the Snowman on his iPad, and when it was over he asked if I wanted to get up and go to church or stay in bed maybe through lunch, that we could probably find another Christmas movie to keep us busy or if not maybe something else to do besides. I grin with my sticky face back at him. We should probably stay in and finish off these sheets, I'm thinking, because there's sugar everywhere.

He nods. I'll let Sam know we won't be in church.

A commune (you know, like Alcatraz or the Hanoi Hilton).

Bridget this is work that has to be done. It's as much for your privacy as it is to maintain our investment in this property. You saw the assessment. We're sitting on a goldmine here and it's only going to increase in value-

I have a question. 

He looks startled but recovers quickly. Go ahead. 

What if I wanted to leave? Could I?

What do you mean? 

It's an easy question. 

Jesus. People we don't even know come here and put these ridiculous ideas in your head as if you're a prisoner here-

Am I? 

He turns and looks at me for a long time and then takes both my hands in his own as he sits against the back of the island. We're at eye level when he does this.

Bridget. It's safer for you if you stay with us. We'll look after you. I've explained this over and over again. I've showed you what happens when you go out on your own. This is just the way it works. 

So what you're saying is no. That I can't leave. 

You're not a prisoner here-

What would you call it? 

A brotherhood. 

I thought we called it a Collective. 

Only in front of you, Neamhchiontach. 

Good to know.

(Already reimbursed and everything.)

The round table (core group) meeting got a little heated last night and I may have pulled rank, deferring the whole renovation plan until the spring or possibly later, (however long I can stall. Like forever is perfectly fine with me.) much to the unchecked relief of virtually everyone except Dalton, who once again wandered into the room in his pajamas and asked what was going on.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

We can simply get a contractor instead. 

Not for this. 

I stared out the window while they debated. My own reflection stares back from the dark, surrounded by lights. Ransom was an error. Based on name alone they shouldn't have hired him, but he came well-recommended and was brought in from out of province, which was why he was always here. He had nowhere else to go, in town just for this project. They should have let me hire someone based on interviews instead of just forging ahead. They don't know men the way I know men, and he walked in with a keen overreaching awareness that I picked up on instantly and then revealed his hero complex way too soon. I am a liability, I don't need any others and he scared me with his interest right off the bat.

It wasn't until I pointed that out that they scuttled the plans. Apparently wanting to leave the bones of the house alone wasn't a good enough reason, but being afraid is.

Maybe we can paint, I offer to the groans and exasperated expressions around me. Lochlan snorts and gets up. Yeah. Maybe we can paint. 

But later in the dark when he leads me upstairs he asked me what went wrong. He wasn't there, all he has to go on are everyone else's deductions on why Ransom isn't coming back.

He was pushing his way in. He asked me if I was being held here. He could see the marks on me. 

Maybe there shouldn't be marks on you. I wouldn't have acted different if I in his shoes. This looks insane from the outside, Peanut. It only makes sense to the Collective. No one we bring in to do the work is going to behave different. 

Then we need to present it differently. You and I will book the work and the brother-in-law will deal with the deals, because there's no reason to have PJ and Duncan and Ben at the table. We'll just go over options with them privately. 

So we goofed. 

Yeah, we goofed. 

No harm, no foul, Bridge. 

But his words were the same as Ransom's and they make me think, as Lochlan pulls me down into his lap, forcing my arms around his neck and my head tightly into the space between his shoulder and his jaw as his hands slide around my hips in the dark.

Am I being kept here? Is everything okay? If it doesn't look right the outside world, does that make it wrong?

It isn't wrong, Bridgie. Lochlan reads my mind as he loosens my deathgrip from around his shoulders, pushing me away and down on my back before coming back in close so that he can hold me in his arms. It isn't wrong.

The rescuer.

I was up early (Lochlan had to go out early to work and I couldn't sleep after he left) so I went over to August's to see if he was up and making espresso (he was). I figured I could beat the crowds, if you know what I mean.

I was wrong.

On the way back, blowing down the heat of my cup, I ran smack into Ransom, who was exiting his car. I didn't know he would have to be onsite every day or I would have already vetoed this, but they can't get the changes sorted out so until they do, my kitchen seems to be their office.

We haven't been formally introduced. He extends a hand as his own name rolls off his tongue as if he's used to impressing women. That surprised me slightly but I don't acknowledge it. Instead I tell him my first name and shake his hand briefly.

So you are the owner of this beautiful property. They talk about you constantly. I'm actually having a little bit of a hard time sorting out the dynamics in this house. 

Such as? 

Your husband is Caleb? I was under the impression that he lives there. He indicates the Boathouse.

I was under the impression that you're here to oversee the new designs and coordinate with the contractor. Not ask questions about my personal life. 

I just wasn't sure who was officially in charge of this property.

That would be me. 

But Caleb is responsible for payment. 

That's correct. 

Have I upset you? Look, I didn't mean to, I was present for some of the conversations about the property and it went from confusing to impossible to tell who lives here and who does not. So I'm there trying to take direction from six different people and none of them actually live here. I need you to sign off. 

They live all here. Well, across the five different buildings.

How many families? 

Just one.

Bridget, I don't know what I've walked into here-

A design job? A big renovation? If you don't want the work or it's a conflict of personal morals or something you can be excused-

-Are you okay? Are they..keeping you here? Do you need help, is what I'm asking?

She's fine. Oh, there's Schuyler. My perpetual guardian angel. Always close at hand.

Ransom is staring at Schuyler. Is Caleb in charge or isn't he? 

He's financing this, so yes, he is your boss.

Bridget, go inside. Oh, there Caleb is now. I think the question period is finished for now. 

Ransom turns to look at Caleb and his face breaks into a goofy smile. Hey, no harm, no foul. What did I do? Get too close to her? I'm just trying to find the chain of command here. 

I told you on the first day who you would be dealing with. Bridget is not on that list. 

She's the property owner-

Then we'll make sure she signs off on all of it. I'm a lawyer, I understand you need to cover yourself.

That was the last I heard, as I came back inside, followed by Schuyler, who left Caleb to deal with Ransom.

I take a sip from my cup but my espresso is cold. I make a face and Schuyler matches it as I put the cup in the microwave for a minute. 

What?

Avoid him. 

I've actually been trying to! I didn't expect him to be here at eight-fifteen in the morning.

True. He won't be here much longer if he keeps up this curiosity. 

I'd be beside myself trying to figure this out if I were anyone coming in. They can't help it. It's extremely unusual. 

Schuyler stares at me so long I begin to squirm. Finally he speaks and it took so long it startles me. You're right, Bridget. I'll give him a cursory explanation and see if it resolves his interest. But you stay away. Might want a little break from Caleb too. Ransom only asked you if you were okay because you're covered in bruises. 

I'm fine. Just clumsy. 

Jesus, it's me you're talking to, Honey. Don't sugarcoat it, I don't have a sweet tooth. 

Liar. 

For girls. 

Oh, liar once more. I grin as he calls me a brat and shoos me out just as Caleb and Ransom come in to start work. Don't have to tell me twice. I'm gone.

Professionals.

Ben wasn't so keen to be found and distracted and so he shared the wealth and brought me back to Caleb's where I was held down by one and spun out by the other before they traded places and spun me back in. Then Ben went back to work and left me there to sleep but sleep was full of nightmares, bruises and that weird brand of shame I can never seem to shake, though it's been years and I don't answer to anyone outside of the Collective anymore.

Caleb slept like a baby.

Funny, that. The more violent he gets, the easier he sleeps. The true mark of a monster, I guess, though if you put a mirror in front of us and asked us to point out who the monster is we would both probably indicate me.

Ben is angry that I even registered Ransom in the house. Told me not to get into it. Then Caleb threatened to fire him and call in a new architect. Apparently they're a dime a dozen around here, if your dime is platinum and crusted in gems. But I don't want any architects, let alone Ransom, he can just live on the fringe, like Ben.

Except I miss Ben. I shouldn't after last night but I still do because he was moody and quiet and thorough, hurtful and a little bit rougher than I wanted, though maybe it wasn't about me. It might not ever be, and that's okay too.

Caleb was just rough because that's the way he is. Always wants to put on a show, refusing to show any side other than the purest of evil just in case someone finds further weakness in him. Aside from me, I mean.

So today I asked for breakfast in bed so I wouldn't have to deal with Ransom at all.

And I got it, but of course that meant a couple more protracted hours that I wasn't home and when I did get home (when Ransom left) Lochlan was waiting and ready to take his piece of me, carving out most of the shame and ego I brought in and leaving me with more of the former and none of the latter. He said I should be there going over the plans so I know what's happening (this after telling me yesterday I didn't know what I was doing so just stay out of the way) and also if I could stay put that'd be great. I pointed out I was with Ben but Lochlan asked if Ben even knew where Ben was these days and I didn't answer because I knew it was a rhetorical question and then he unrolled the plans across the island and just like that, the subject was changed.

Writing without talking (here is what you missed).

We celebrated Ben's birthday last weekend, on Sunday, not Saturday because he was working downtown and couldn't extricate so at the last minute we moved the whole thing to the next day and had a lovely celebration. This was part of my Saturday-frustration but I wasn't about to blame him for anything other than being a workaholic.

He is forty-seven now and does not want to be detailed here day-to-day. He's mellowing and would sometimes like to fade into obscurity and sometimes not. It varies depending on his moods but he is happy, healthy, loved his presents and his speeches too and ate almost half the cake in one go. I make two now, since one is never enough, but that's probably too much. He's as mercurial as anyone and worse when he doubles-down on a project. I can't pull him away and we both wind up irritated by just about everything. Him by my whining, and me by his endless working.

***

Ransom. Architect. Here doing some work on the house because apparently it's not good enough so they're doing so major renovations. Like, MAJOR ones. Last time I checked it was my house but even Lochlan (you thought I was annoyed you should see him) pointed out my standards end at a 100-foot-square camper and I can't see past the end of my nose to understand things like flow and usable space and multipurpose areas. That I settle for nothing and am too happy about it. That I should try harder to live the way I want to live and not the way I remember it.

This is total bullshit. Someone just wanted to throw my OCD into overdrive because it's not bad enough. Let's just rip the side of the house off and have crews in here all through the holidays.

But that's not the point. The point is that every morning now when I come downstairs Handsome-Ransom is in my kitchen looking at plans with the boys and he'll look up and greet me with much attention. We grin at each other and he'll watch me go and pour my coffee to the point that he usually has to be prompted to return to his conversation.

Just what I need. Another man.

***

Caleb just bankrolls whatever they want as long as they frame it being for my benefit.

This will give you a little more privacy. 

I'm fine.

Neamhchiontach-

I said I was fine. (Just don't look too closely, large parts have been blown clean off.)

He sighs. Where's Ben?

Good question! 

You're more than welcome to stay here while the work is completed if you'd like the quiet or if you're having issues with Ben-

Who said I was having issues?! FUCK.

Ben's right. Your ire ranges from white-hot rage to insolent emotional immaturity. 

I'm...emotionally immature?

Very. Yes. 

Do you know how that comes to be? 

Bridget-

No, really. Do you? Because my brand of it comes from trauma at a young age. Do you remember what that was, Diabhal? 

Shocked into silence, he turns and leaves the room. The conversation is over. I need to go find Ben anyway to find out who authorized them wrecking this stupid house to try and make it better. The only way we could make it better would be to fix the people who live in it. Namely me.

Little blonde clown.

I've decided 2018 is going to be the year that I. start. not. giving. a. fuck.

Yes, I know, I've probably said it before, something something blah blah blah have more fun/worry less. Then I worry more, fold myself into a tangled ball and hide out the days exisiting or surviving instead of living.

I'm afraid of a lot of things. Not like Sarah Paulson in AHS: Cult who screamed like a banshee every time she saw a fucking clown (I LOVE clowns, but not Pennywise, he bores me, overrated, you know this) but afraid of weird things that send my heart plummeting into black dread and my body into fight mode.

(Note? Don't spoil Cult for me, we haven't finished it.)

Because I don't run. No, I'm stupid like that. I go after that fear because how dare it try to do that to me. How dare my fears try to leave me unsettled, get the best of me or just plain make me afraid. They don't get that right. I fight like something you've never seen. I force myself to do it. I march right up to it and demand that it be fixed right now so it isn't scary anymore.

Except for elevators. I haven't figured out how to make them back down yet but I take one if the stairs aren't handy. It's terrifying but I do it anyway because that's who I am.

Or something.

But yeah, this year I'd like to become someone who sort of doesn't give a fuck, doesn't give a voice to the fear, doesn't care if she's tired, doesn't worry about every little thing, doesn't hide and then come out swinging, doesn't worry about it.

I've earned it.

I won't bother listing the fears. Some are valid, some are earned. Some are ridiculous. Some are unfathomable and some are tiny but powerful. They all hold the same weight to my battered brain and I'd like it better if they didn't hold any weight at all. 

Sam calls this determination one of my fleeting moments of courage, in which I'm going to change my world with my Big Plans, only to be the same as ever. I'm not sure if he can see my capabilities better from up there or if he's trying to goad me to actually follow through. You'll have to ask him.

 

A girl, a fix, a prank.

I got part of my wish last night, as August put his Spotify account on my phone. At any given time now I can see what he's listening to, and since I don't have a poker face, I fear that just about every time I look at him from here on out he's either going to be treated to an expression of pure surprise or sheer disappointment, as his musical tastes have always been more than a little strange for a man his age.

We went for a walk out out in the orchard, now laced with a huge chaotic array of those carnival rainbow bulbs, because why not? We did so with some mulled wine and it was perfect. Well, except for the subject matter, which involved a plan to navigate the holidays with as little upset as possible, as that familiar helplessness and frustration came up yesterday that signals a decided lack of self-care, a focus on the negative (but I made a list of the good things!) and a disappointing ignorance of just how good things are.

Suitably stung, I nodded. He's right. He's always right but at the same time I feel an undercurrent of annoyance. I didn't ask for this, it was facilitated to me. My good fortune in life is a debt paid for unspeakable reasons that began long before there was ever any Cole, any Jacob to be worried about and he addresses that too, before I can abandon the walk in a flurry of misery.

Ask for help, Bridget. Before things reach that point. 

I know. 

But do it. You know it and you keep silent. 

It's hard. I want to be capable. 

Capable people know the limits of their capabilities. 

Oh, then I'm not capable at all, nevermind. 

He laughs. Sure you are. As capable as you can be for you. 

I look up at him. In the dark cold if I close my eyes and focus on the accent and not the man, I feel like I could touch heaven if I jumped.

Don't look at me like that, Bridge. 

Sorry. I didn't mean to. 

Jesus. What you're 'capable' of is dismantling the strongest of men with your very being. 

Wow, Augie. See? That's the problem. I don't want to dismantle anyone. 

You can't help it. 

I could go live in a cave. 

You could, but it's going to get awfully crowded, since no one's going to let you out of their sight. Get some sleep, okay?

And with that, we are at the side door of the house and he opens it just as PJ is coming down the stairs. They give each other one of those violent man-back-clapping hugs and then PJ holds the door for me, locking it behind us as August heads back across the driveway to his loft.

Any luck?

Yes, he gave me his login.

Oh, the games are ON now. 

(Supposedly on Spotify you can change the music on another user if you have their info on your deivce. Don't worry, we're not mooching the songs, we're just going to try to brainwash August into slightly heavier music. PJ already hooked me up with my own IHeartRadio account for the all-Christmas station I've been playing when I'm driving.)