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I pull it back, wincing in pain. “Ineed to ice it immediately. Back home. In my apartment. Alone.”
“Bridget, please. Just let me take care of you. We can go to my place—it’s just around the corner—and we can talk. Baby, we can talk and I can explain everything and you can yell at me and call me an ass—because I am. I know I am. But please, come home with me and let me explain everything while I take care of you and?—”
“Stop. Just… Stop. Will—or is it Liam?—I really don’t want to hear it right now. Just let me go home. Let me have this.” The exhaustion and heartbreak must be clear on my face because Will’s eyes grow glassy, his brows pinching as if in pain.
After a moment, he nods. “Okay. Okay, Bridge.”
“Okay.”
Will presses his lips together, as if searching for the perfect words to make this better, but we both know there aren’t any. At least not now. Maybe not even ever.
“Can I at least take you? Make sure you get home okay?”
“It’s fine,” I tell him when he tries to help me to my feet. “I’ll take the train, and it will all be fine.”
“What? No. You can’t take the subway like this.”
I snort. “Well, I’m certainly not going to take a cab. It’s almost four o’clock—the start of rush hour—so there’s no way I’m going to be able to find one now. And if you’re worried about the fact that I look like a tear-streaked lunatic, no one on the subway is going to be shocked by a woman crying in their car. This is New York. It’ll be like any other Tuesday afternoon on the F train.”
“I—” He hesitates, struggling to speak. “I actually have a car service. Which we could take. To your apartment, if you’d like.”
I gawk at him. “Car service? Just how rich are you?”
“I’m not rich.” He groans, looking away in embarrassment. “The car service comes with the role of CFO. Which is new. Orwasnew, since I put in my notice today. My grandfather wanted me to use it during business hours so people think I’m hot shit or something. But I only use it for trips to and from work.”
“Nepobaby.” I scoff again and he flinches. “Is it a limo?”
“It isn’t a limo,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “But it does come with certain… amenities. One of which is a fully stocked minibar and ice for drinks. Which means if we take my car, we’ll be able to ice your wrist on our way to your place so we can talk.”
“I’llbe able to.I’llbe able to ice my wrist. Without you.”
“Bridge—”
“You can’t seriously believe that things are going to go back to normal after what just happened, can you?”
“Obviously not. But I would love to have the chance to explain myself. I was going to tell you after it was all over.”
“I still don’t know whatitis!” My voice echoes in the lobby. Suddenly, I realize there are one too many people staring at us and Ireallydon’t feel like being someone’s slow motion car crash they can’t look away from. “I’m not even sure I understand what’s going on. All I know is that you aren’t you, and you’ve been lying to me about pieces of who you are for some reason.”
“So let me explain. You don’t want me in your apartment? I totally get it. But let me take you home, ice your wrist while we talk on the way back to your place. Give me the car ride home to tell you everything.”
It’s his use of the wordhomethat gets me. I hate myself a little for folding so quickly, but it’s true. Since having him in my life, since our relationship took that next step, my apartment—my shitty, six floor walk-up, bug infested, miniature apartment, where nothing ever works—has quickly turned into ahome.
I swallow once and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to process the different layers of pain my body is made up of. My wrist is definitely sprained at the very least. But my heart? That’s for sure broken.
In all honesty, I don’t want to spend a second more with Will than I have to. The embarrassment cuts too deep. But I know I’ll drive myself crazy with questions that will be left unanswered if I don’t give him a chance to explain himself. Sure, there’s a chance they’ll all be lies, but I’ll at least have something to go off of. And right now, I need that.
I take a deep breath to steel myself because I know that this car ride will be agonizing in more ways than one. Still, it needs to happen.
“Get the car. I’m only giving you the ride back to my place to tell me everything.”
WILL
Over the past five years, Will’s grandfather, Liam Stevenson III, has taught him how to command the room in front of the industry’s biggest titans. He’s taught him how to speak clearly and concisely—get to the point in an assertive and confident manner. To do it in a way that could terrify both the smallest employee at the company to the chairman of any board. The elder Stevenson has taught him to be the perfect orator, to be utterly persuasive.
But even so, Will already knows from the look in Bridget’s eyes that not even the best speech, not even the most perfectly strung set of words, will get her to forgive him.
And honestly, especially given the way she found out, he wouldn’t blame her.
