Page 43 of Before We Came

“I don’t have to go out there, do I?” I know they wouldn’t make me, but I have to ask.

“Of course not, but we should probably figure out some kind of strategy here. They look like they’re prepared to camp out. Who knows how many more are on their way.”

“Jack, pull Lonan’s car into the third stall. If they run his plate, it will turn into a circus,” Dad instructs, still peeking out the side of the window.

Shit, I didn’t even think about how this would involve Lonan. Jack braves the press and runs outside. The press are peppering him with questions, but he keeps his head down like he’s done it a thousand times before and quickly pulls the car into the garage. I stand around, being 100 percent unhelpful, twisting my wrists, and trying to come to terms with the new challenge added onto the pile. What’s one more chainsaw to juggle?

SIXTEEN

Ipull Ken and Lori aside and offer a possible solution for Bridget’s privacy. All I care about is her not fleeing back to Vancouver—which is why I called the news stations to leak her story. All it took was an anonymous tip that Bridget Hayes has been found alive and is back home with her parents.

She was right, I was eavesdropping on her phone call earlier. It wasn’t my intention, I really was getting a new roll of paper towels, but my ears pricked up when I heard some of her conversation. I didn’t hear everything, but what I caught spooked me.

I’m moving back.

Promise you’ll help me?

When are you coming?

Her words keep replaying in my mind. That was all it took to know I had to act fast. It’s collateral damage. She wants to go home, but with the media involved, she’s forced to lay low here. At least for the next few weeks—and I have the perfect solution.

Was it a dick move? Absolutely. But ask me if I care.

* * *

She’s snuck off to do dishes. Unfortunately, I get the sense she feels like a burden for bringing the press to her parents’ door, and that’s on me. I’ll convince her she has no reason to feel like this is her fault. She’s constantly setting impossible expectations of herself.

“Hey, Birdie, can we talk for a minute?” Ken asks her.

“Sure.” She walks into the living room, her arms wrapped around herself as if she’s trying not to take up space. “What’s up?”

“Have a seat, honey,” Lori coaxes.

She sits, watching her parents faces with a forced grin that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“The choice is up to you, Birdie, but I have an offer for you,” I begin.

Her gaze meets mine, then bounces between the three of us. She probably thinks we’re staging some kind of intervention.

“Okay...”

“I need a personal chef to work with the Lakes team nutritionists and get me on a better diet. The coaches have been riding my ass for the last couple of years to eat better.”

Silence. She stares at me. Shit, did I offend her?

“I’m not following. I can’t work until I have a social back in order.”

“I’d pay you in cash.”

“You want me to cook for you?”

“I also need a house sitter.”Great fucking follow-up, asshole.I’m sure she’s champing at the bit now.

“A house sitter,” she repeats.

“You don’t need to clean. I already have a service that comes by a couple of times a month. I just need someone to turn the lights on every now and then and keep it occupied while I’m traveling during the season.”

There’s no reaction from her, nothing to clue me in to what she’s thinking. So I keep going.

---