Page 14 of The Lucky One

Now is not the time.

“Did you do that?” Weston asks, alarmed.

“No,” I murmur, shaking my head.

What should I do?

He’ll just keep calling if I don’t answer. Or worse yet, he might involve Laila. The last thing I need is for them to know all the gritty details before I can tell her myself. Tellthem.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I press ‘answer’.

“Hey Bridget.”

My pulse quickens, in a not-so-great way. “Andrew,” I say, curtly. “Can I help you?”

“Your mother said you went on a trip, and I wanted to talk to you.”

I scoff. I can’t help it. Two peas in a pod. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Come on, Bridge. You took your break. I assumed you’d be over it by now.”

My eyes dart to Weston, who’s given up on the mystery radio and is trying to pretend he’s not fully invested in this conversation. He’s not very convincing. His entire body angles toward mine in an almost protective stance, his body primed to move.

Weird. It’s almost like he cares.

“Andrew, that wasn’t a break. We brokeup. I gave you back the ring.”

There’s movement beyond my phone as Weston shifts.

Please don’t come over here.

Andrew sighs like I’m being unreasonable.

Am I though?

I left someone who treated me like an accessory, not a partner in life. After watching my sisters find that space, I knew I deserved better. So I made the change.

“You were just mad. I know you, Bridge. You shut down when things don’t go your way.”

He doesn’t get to do this. He no longer has permission to gaslight me into believing that choosing myself is selfish.

Weston stands and I hold up a hand, pleading with him to stay out of it. I don’t need to be rescued.

“I didn’t shut down, Andrew.I left.”

Andrew’s expression hardens on the screen and my body tenses. “You’re being ridiculous. Tell me where you are so we can talk about this face to face.”

For someone with an injury, Weston moves fast. He steps in beside me like he belongs there, andfor just a second, I allow myself to pretend that he does. Andrew can’t see his hand slip around my waist, or his fingers pressing into my side as a reassurance that I’m not alone.

This flip from teasing to tender should shock me, but that’s not what steals my breath away. It’s the electricity that ripples out from where his hand rests, like he’s resuscitated me and brought me back to life.

For once, Andrew has the decency to look surprised, and that alone is worth its weight in gold.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“Her boyfriend.” The words fall from Weston’s tongue like he’s said them a thousand times. He turns to me with a look in his eye that says:trust me.

I don’t know him. Not really.

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