Page 100 of When We Burn

“Pickles,” Birdie says, happy to see her favorite feline. “Come sit with me and I’ll tell you all about school. It wasnota good day.”

Bridger’s eyebrows climb as he looks over at me, and I nod in agreement with Birdie.

“Come here.” He crooks a finger at me, and I walk right into his arms. He folds himself around me, and I cling to him. And then, to my surprise, I feel Birdie hug me from the side, and I reach down to hold her against me. “Family hug time.”

“Oh, this is really nice.”

Birdie lets go first and goes back to talking with Pickles.

“You have to call someone, Bridge,” I whisper to him. “Right now. Because I don’t know what her deal is, but she’s in a mood, and?—”

“I’ll make a call as soon as I know thatyou’reokay,” he replies, clearly understanding who I’m referring to.

His ex-wife. The woman who’s clearly been in town for weeks and just tried to take my kid.

“I’m okay.” I square my shoulders and lift my chin, pulling away from him. I already miss his warmth and the safety of his arms, but I can go back there after we take care of some business.

I want to keep things as normal as possible for Birdie.

“Hey, pretty girl, your daddy has to make some calls, so why don’t you and I go make a snack in the kitchen?”

“Can I have some yogurt?” she asks as we walk into the other room, and Bridger walks down the hall to the bedroom to make his call.

“Of course, you can. Do you want some granola and honey in it?”

“Yes, please.”

Keeping myself busy is the best thing for me right now, because if I let myself think about what happened at the school, and what it means, or could mean, I’ll make myself nuts.

Not to mention, Angela’s mean girl antics were right on brand for her, and she sent me right back to being fifteen and completely unsure of myself. I’m shaking so badly that I have to try three times to get the lid off the yogurt.

“I got this,” Bridger says, his big hand covering mine as he takes the container from me. “Go change and take a breath, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want her out of my sight,” I whisper, unable to look up from the countertop. If I look him in the face, I’ll cry.

I’m barely holding it together here.

“I’m right here,” he reminds me. “Baby, I’m right here.”

My nod is jerky, and then I walk down the hallway and close the bedroom door, leaning on it as I swallow through the fear and anger in my throat. I manage to getmy skirt and sweater off and grab my leggings and one of Bridger’s T-shirts out my drawer, but then I sit on the end of the bed, just in my underwear with the clothes in my hands, and stare blindly ahead.

Angela tried to take her. She’s been gone foryears, but she showed up today and wanted to take her.

Why?

Why now?

I knew that I saw her at that concert. When Bridger and I were dancing, and I was people-watching, I knew it was her that I saw, but then she was gone, and I thought I was seeing things.

This is my fault. I should have said something to Bridger, right then and there. At least then he would have known she was in town, and we all could have been on alert.

“Jesus, why didn’t I say something?”

I hear the door close softly, and then Bridger’s kneeling in front of me, pulling my hands away from my face and placing them on his chest before he cups my cheek.

“Say what to who, baby?”

“It’s my fault.” I’m shaking my head.

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