He pushed away from his desk, standing straight as he put the bottle down. "What's the matter?"

  "I—" What the hell did I say?

  Apologies work well.

  The idea of an apology made my mouth dry out. I wasn't usually one for them because the way I figured it, if I was being my authentic self, I had nothing to apologize for. But now was not the time to be stubborn.

  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left. And you were right. Middleton is dangerous. I think I've bitten off more than I can chew."

  His eyes went wide. "Did he hurt you?" Before I knew what was happening, he was striding toward me, but his body had lost some of the grace that I was used to. Instead, his charge was forceful. Determined. I had nowhere to back up to. When Bridge reached me, his big hands roamed all over my body, but not in a sexual way. This wasn't about wanting me. This wasn't about the kiss on the roof. He was checking me for harm.

  "I'm okay. He didn't hurt me. He just scared me, I guess."

  "I'll fucking kill him." His voice was barely more than a guttural growl.

  The scent of scotch wrapped around me and also a faint vanilla scent. "While that would make me ever so happy, I don't think that's going to work. Something tells me he's hard to kill."

  Bridge frowned then, releasing me and taking a deliberate step back. "What happened?"

  "It was a job." I inhaled deeply, and then let the air whoosh out of my lungs, emptying them. My body sagged, the tension rolling away with his nearness. "He was testing me, I think. I handled it like I would handle anything. This guy, Weston Price, his wife vanished, right? And it was like Middleton wanted to see what I would do with the details. The first thing I always tell my clients is that I will not to be lied to. I can't help them if they lie. We want to avoid judgment even if we have done terrible things. We don't want to be ostracized from the community. Little lies can be dealt with, but big lies, like, 'Hey, I killed my wife, now you help me cover it up,' I'm not okay with that. So I ran down my spiel to him and said that he shouldn’t lie to me. If you killed your wife, let's call the police. Let's get you a lawyer. We'll find a technicality to get you off. Those kinds of things, that's what I say to my clients. And then—“

  Bridge frowned and interjected before I could go on. "You think he killed his wife?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. I don't think so. There were some clothes missing. A few kid clothes and toys too. I think she left. Middleton claims that Price had told him they'd been having problems. But there was something about the way he said it. Like he knew a lot about their family. A lot about the wife. I don't know. I wish I could explain, but it just… It sent a shiver down my spine. He asked me what I would do if Price had killed his wife. I told him I'd call a lawyer and get the police there. And while my answer was right and he said he was very impressed with it… I don't know. I felt assessed in this kind of way that frightened me. I can't explain it. Can I say I came back because I was scared and I got a bad feeling about all that?"

  Bridge nodded slowly. "Of course you can, Ems. Middleton and his friends, they did that to Toby. By all regards, it was negligence, but it might have been deliberate. They left him to die. These people are deadly and dangerous. And of course you should be scared. Knowing what I know now about the inner workings of the Elite, do I think more than one of them is capable of actual murder? Absolutely. Do I think Middleton is one of them? A hundred percent. So you're right to be scared. That's why we wanted to handle this together as a team."

  I nodded. “ I see that now. And I should probably listen. I just don’t like to be left out. I thought that's what you were doing. I still think you're doing it, but I am pretty sure you are also trying to keep me safe."

  Bridge nodded as he shoved his big hands in his pockets. “Exactly."

  I lifted my gaze to him. "Are we going to talk about that kiss?"

  He swallowed hard. "Ems…"

  "We have to talk about it. I don't want to be in this house with you at war. You kissed me. And yeah, okay, cool. I get the impression you're pretty pissed off about it. I get it; you never wanted me. But if we're going to live here together, you can't do that hot and cold thing. You can't kiss me like you want me and then go all cold and distant again. It's confusing the hell out of me. And because we have to pretend kiss in front of people all the time, it will make it worse. I like to know where I'm at."

  His gaze blazed on mine. "You think I don't want you?"

  I laughed. "Fine. Since we're doing the honesty thing right now and I come with my tail between my legs, I’ll have you know, I've had a thing for you since I was little. Since I was ten years old. Through the years, you've made it very obvious you don't feel the same. Which I get, because God, I was a pill. A really hard one to swallow, I know. I'm a lot to handle. I get it. And that's fine. Although, there's clearly something wrong with you if you don't want me. But since we have to fake it in public, I'd rather you didn't fake it when no one's around to see it."

  "You know I'm still going to kiss you. I have to."

  Why was he acting obtuse? "I know, but what I’m saying is that I don't want you to kiss me when there's no one to see it. It confuses me. It's not fair. After all, you know how I feel about you, and it feels like you're toying with me, which isn't fair, and it's cruel. You're a lot of things, Bridge, but you're not callously cruel. I know that as a fact."

  "You think I was being cruel when I kissed you?"

  "Weren't you?" My voice was husky and soft, and I forced myself to tilt my chin to meet his gaze. He was searching mine. But he nodded.

  "I won't kiss you again."

  "Right. Awesome." My heart squeezed again. "Now that that's taken care of, you want to tell me what the fuck happened with the glass shards?"

  "Ems…"

  I shook my head. No more displays of emotion in front of him. "Why are you having lots of scotch lately? Last time I checked, you barely even drink. You only have one glass when you are with the lads. But I noticed it’s become a regular occurrence lately. What is happening?"

  He looked like he wanted to say something but then stopped himself. Then he opened his mouth. "My father, that's what's wrong. Tonight he approached me after the meeting. As a matter of fact, he told me to stay the fuck away from you. And he admitted that he paid Mina to pretend to be in love with me for three bloody years. I've known that for months now, but hearing him say it so casually sort of set me off. That first glass of scotch wasn't even doing the trick. I didn't know where to direct my anger, thus the scones. And when I was still mad, the glass."

  "Is that going to be a habit now?"

  He shrugged. "It's no secret that I like my control."

  "What? You need to be in charge of things? I'm shocked. I never would have guessed it, honestly. I always thought you were a little fast and loose."

  The corner of his lips twitched then, and that warmed the center of my chest just a little. I liked that I could at least start to pull him out of his dark mood.

  Because you're a glutton for punishment.

  "I really tried with Mina. I had to be that guy. I tried to be open and tried to be what she wanted. She was the perfect kind of woman. At least what I thought was perfect then. Now I realize that all she represented was all the things I'd been denied as a kid. The kind of woman my father was with instead of my mother. Sophisticated and poised. I didn't even realize that through the years I'd been conditioned to want a woman like that because that’s what had been denied me. I was Lord Edmond Edgerton's son, but I had none of the things that came with the name. And as a kid, I thought I wanted it. But almost from the moment I had Mina, I knew something was off. I felt it. And still, I thought it was me. So I tried to make her happy, tried to atone for not knowing all the things I should, not having all the things I should, even though as an adult, I have more than enough. And hearing my father try to control me and keep me from you just… I don't know. It set me off. He insisted I give up our charade. He doesn't want me marrying you for some reason."

  I frowned. "I don't even know your father."

  "That's just the point. It's not about knowing him. It is a matter of him trying to control me. Again."

  "Ah, so let me guess, you're more determined to marry me now?"

  To my surprise, he shook his head. "I was going to marry you before he even said anything."

  I told myself this was no different from what I already knew. I’d just said that I was done with the whole let's-not-play thing. But then there I was, wishing that he'd come forth with feelings for me.

  Idiot.

  "I promised you I would see this through. I promised you that I would get justice for Toby. I gave you my word. And currently, this is the only way. The safest way, because your way was dangerous. And so I give you my word. Unfortunately, that requires you marrying me. Now, if you don't want to, I will find some other way. But you’ve waited eleven years, and you deserve closure. I promised I would give it to you. So here we are."

  I watched him. There was something about him that reminded me of the boy I once knew. "Bridge, you don't have to do this."

  "It's not about having to do anything, Emma. It's about wanting to. You should go to bed. I'm going to get this mess cleaned up."

  I frowned at him. "You're not going to call someone?"

  He hung his head and shook it. "No. My mess, I clean."

  I watched him for a long moment, and then I turned and walked out of the study. That was the most information Bridge Edgerton had ever given me in my entire life. The most he'd spoken about his feelings. He was trying to help me find closure for Toby. And I'd been fighting him.

  The problem was, even though I had resolved to not let my feelings get in the way of what had to be done, his quiet declaration of how he was doing this for me only made me fall harder.

  So much for determination.

  I went to the kitchen and grabbed the dust bin, a wipe cloth, and some brushes. I immediately returned to the study to help him clean up. I found him in the exact same position, but with his shoulders sagged. I stood in front of him, and he lifted his misty gaze to mine.

  It crushed me to see him like that, but I tried to ignore it and handed him the rag. "I'll get all of the big pieces, you wipe up the rest."

  His gaze searched mine and then dipped to my lips before lifting back up to meet my eyes again. "What?"

  "We're a team, Bridge. And when we're a team, your mess is my mess. And my mess is your mess. Come on, let's get this cleaned up and get to bed. I have the impression that we're going to have to revamp our plans tomorrow."

  And for the first time since I'd agreed to this arrangement, Bridge and I worked together.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emma

  I knew it was a dream. I always did. But cognitively knowing it was a dream and actually experiencing it as a dream, were two different things. Because in the moment when the fear wrapped around me, and I wanted to cry, it was no dream.

  "Daddy, Daddy, please don't go. Please don't go. Don't leave me." And the man whose face I could never see clearly would peel me off of his legs and walk out the door. Like he was making a narrow escape for his life. It didn't matter how many times I chased after him. I could feel it in my bones, the fear, the sadness, the worry. All of those were real as I lay there in my bed, wishing, hoping, and praying that Daddy, whoever that was, would come back. But he never did.

  I could feel the warmth of my mother's arms around me, holding me, her voice crooning and shushing me, telling me that it would be okay. But I knew better. I knew that it would not be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

  And then there was Toby, chasing after the car on his bike, his little legs going as fast as they could. He was throwing things at the car and shouting until his bike crashed into a telephone pole. And he laid there, his little body on the street, my mother running after him, screaming, "Tobias, Tobias, get up. Get up." And there I was sitting on the pavement, watching other cars right on the road. Some pausing to make sure that the little boy at the side of the road was okay, others driving on. My mother screaming after Tobias, running after the man in the red car. I was sobbing and wailing because the man had left us. Walked away never to be seen again.

  I knew it was a dream. But still, every single time it happened, it felt so real, so palpable, and crushing my very soul. I woke up in tears, sobbing and gasping, the pain all too real and vivid. The pain was like fresh wounds torn asunder, bleeding and weeping over everything.

  "Ems, are you okay?" Bridge’s strong arms were on my shoulders, shaking me alert as I sobbed and blubbered.

  Slowly I dragged my eyes open through the sorrow. "Uh, ah, what?"

  "Ems, you're crying."

  I scooted back against the headboard and wiped my tears. "I’m sorry. It was just a dream."

  Bridge eased back on his haunches. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but boxers. I got the impression that the boxers were for my benefit and that maybe he slept nude. But just the idea of it made my whole body warm, and soft, and pliant. "I was… I have it all the time."

  "That's some dream, love. What's it about?"

  I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. Go back to bed. I'm sorry I woke you."

  He watched me for a moment. "You don't have to be sorry. We're partners, remember? You can talk to me."

  It was at the tip of my tongue to tell him that I didn't need him and that I didn't need anyone. I was fine. The same lie I'd been telling myself for years and years. The same lie that wasn't accurate or true. Or useful, honestly. Instead, I whispered, "I think it's a memory of the day my father left."

  Bridge rolled forward on his knees and braced his arms on the edge of the bed as he listened.

  “I think I was three, so Toby must have been six. He looked about that size. The man, who was presumably our father, climbed into his red BMW. No, it was maroon, I think. That’s a more accurate description. I wrapped myself around his legs as I begged him to stay. I knew if I could just hold on tight enough, he would feel so guilty and he wouldn't want to go. Instead, he just picked me up and hugged me, gave me a bit of a squeeze, and told me to be strong for my mama because she was going to need my help. And then he left me there on the bottom stair. In the dream, I break down crying. My mother wrapped her arms around me and held me tight, telling me it would be okay and that she loved me. Toby chased after the car on his bike, but then he crashed against some kind of pole, and then my mother chased after him and I was left there, crying. My whole family was devastated by the man in the maroon car who drove away. And that's when I woke up crying. So sorry about that."

  Bridge's voice was soft. Full of gravel, but soothing. "I'm sorry. That's terrible."

  "Yeah well, like I said, it could be a memory. It could be made up to fill in the gaps of what happened with my parents, you know?"

  "That’s why you still go to their flat, isn’t it?"

  I nodded. "How did you know?"

  He shrugged. "You're not going to like the answer."

  I tucked the duvet around me, under my armpits. "Tell me."

  He sighed and gave me a sheepish smile. "Ever since, you know, what happened to Tobes, Ben, East, and I, we've been looking out for you. Your mum didn't like it, so we stayed out of sight. Whenever you were having trouble at school, or she seemed stressed out, we'd put a private investigator on it. Someone just to look out for you. Security from afar, I suppose."

  I frowned. "What?"

  He shrugged. "Yeah, sorry. Except, I'm not, because one of the guys followed you to the rooftop of a flat across from another building of flats. A little investigation, and we found out that the place had been rented by a corporation. East, of course, being East, unraveled it. It's your mum's flat. Your father bought it for her. And every now and again, you would go when you were feeling sad. Or even when something good happened, you would go and sit up there and drink. I can only imagine how much it hurts."

  "Well, you don't have to imagine. You have access to your father, and you hate him."

  "Yes, but your mum and dad were different. They loved each other. My mum was just a fling who got knocked up. He stuck it out for the first year, all right. He'd send her money and things, but then it all dried up. He didn't turn back up again until I was ten and off to boarding school. He insisted. So to really piss him off when I got there, I changed my name to his."

  My eyes went wide. "You changed your name on purpose?"

  He nodded. "I mean, I could do whatever I wanted, right? After all, he gave his consent by putting his name on my birth certificate. And like it or not, he is actually listed on my birth certificate as my father."

  That surprised me. "He allowed it?"

  "I think in the early days, a part of him wanted to claim me, but as my mother's demands increased, he wanted none of it anymore. But it was too late for him to change his mind like that. Although I had my mother's last name, he was listed as my father. So at boarding school, I took his name on purpose to piss him off. You should have seen it. Ugh, he was well ticked off. He came to school once screaming at me about why I did it. But there was nothing that could be done about it unless he wanted a scandal, which, of course, he didn't."

  "So he has never claimed you?"

  Bridge shrugged. "Only when I was tapped for the Elite. I think he hoped I would fail the tests."

  I frowned. "What are these tests?"

  Bridge chuckled. "Nice try. You know I can't talk about that."

  "Oh come on, these tests killed my brother."

  Bridge's gaze snapped to mine. "The tests didn't kill your brother. Toby passed the tests with flying colors. Initiation night killed your brother. Three men killed him. Two of whom, we've made to pay. We're working on the third."

  I watched him. "There’s something about the way that you say you're going to make them pay. Is it bad that it gives me a little bit of a thrill?"

  He laughed. "Not bad, exactly. It just makes you an odd duck."

  "Oh, I'm odd." He didn’t know the half of it.

  He smiled. "It's okay. I like odd." He pushed to his feet.