Building Bridges

Book 1: Bridges Brothers

by Lia Fairchild

Genres: friends to lovers; military hero; contemporary romance series

Synopsis

"A captivating new series packed full of emotions, and a strong family bond." NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author Kaylee Ryan.

Former soldier Logan Bridges never imagined he would go from serving his country to helping raise a house full of children after a devastating family loss.

Dealing with his rowdy siblings and cousins proves to be almost as treacherous as the battlefields he left behind. And though he's committed to making it work, he soon finds he's in over his head.

Until someone from Logan's past, steps in to help.

Mollie has always been independent, but finds herself growing attached to the family, including Logan, and discovering there's more to life than working and solitude.

Logan and Mollie quickly form a strong bond, and when attraction brings them closer, they agree getting involved wouldn't be good for the children. But when they both struggle to keep the blurry line of friendship between them, Mollie won't take that step unless Logan can open up and face his painful past.

* * *

Bridges Brothers series follows four brothers as they attempt to navigate life and love after a tragic family loss. Each book can be read as a standalone but is more enjoyable read in order.

Release date: January 16, 2020

Print pages: 322

Sample

Chapter 1

Logan

Nothing like waking up to the smell of bacon and sweaty socks on a Saturday morning. Ryder is lying next to me—head at the foot of the bed, feet under my nose—on top of the covers. He looks small in a pair of gray sweat pants and one of my old T-shirts. I lie there a moment, grateful for a goodnight’s sleep. Another one where I don’t remember the nightmares. I’m only left with the clues: rapid heartbeat, sweaty forehead, lurking sense of fear.

I turn on my side and face my thirteen-year-old half-brother, pondering how my life went from sleeping across from guys who had my back under the most harrowing of circumstances to playing manny to the family I once left behind.

This is not the first time Ryder has snuck into my bed at some point during the night. He might be a dare devil during the day but sleeping is a different story; I guess we have that in common. His nightmares are different from mine, though—and the person he used to climb in with at night is never going to be there for him again.

I suppose it happens more than it should for a kid his age, but this isn’t a normal situation. It’s pretty screwed up.

I shove his socked feet a few inches away from my smell zone. I won’t admit it to the little runt, but I don’t mind him here so much. Especially because I’m fighting my own demons, so I get needing the company of family. And, I know this guy better than I know any of my three brothers. I don’t give a damn that we have different mothers. I changed his disgusting diapers, pushed him around in one of those plastic cars while he pretended he was in the Indy five hundred. He’s taken a hard hit from life and keeps it all bottled up inside.

Ryder’s long eyelashes flutter and slowly open. He looks so much like my stepmother, Nina, I almost choke on the lump in my throat.

He squints at me with tight lips that say, Are you mad? Considering his own damn bed is literally on the other side of the wall, and I somehow got roped into moving back in to help the family, I should be. But instead, I smile back, and though I’m not sure what, I try to think of something to say—anything to take his mind from losing his mother and dealing with this craptastic family we’ve been left with. But like I said, I know what he’s going through, and now it’s like I’m living it all over again. But none of those other stoic losers are going to be there for Ryder…or each other for that matter. So it’s up to me.

I inhale a deep breath and let it out. Putting words to feelings is not a strong suit among men in my family. Most of us are hovering at precision-level sarcasm or just plain denial.

Ryder flips over so his head is on the same end as mine. “Would you rather eat a bowl full of scabs or lick a dog’s ass?”

“Dude! Too early.” I rub my hand over my jaw and then through my hair.

After a few minutes of silence, I decide to investigate the reason behind his bed invasion. “Did you have a bad dream last night?”

He shakes his head and his face turns solemn.

“What is it then?”

“Is it true?” he asks, tucking his hands under the pillow and staring at me with wide, cobalt eyes.

My brows rise in response as I stall for time. His intense stare tells me I can’t feign ignorance. I know what he’s talking about. The rumors started last week. Given they’d waited almost three months after the death of my stepmother, Nina, and my aunt Sheri, I thought maybe they’d let it pass this time. And when I saw some bullshit post on Justice’s social media page, I’d hoped it would fade away…like it did when my mom died.

“It’s small town mentality,” I whisper, giving the response I’m sure Nina would say if she were here. “And small-minded people.” We don’t exactly live in a small town, though. Ventura: the less attractive, step-sister to Santa Barbara.

Ryder lifts up on one elbow, shoots me squinty eyes, and then sits up all the way, facing forward. “So…it is true?”

I sit up next to him, my stiff body protesting. “What exactly did you hear, Ry?”

He turns his eyes to the ceiling as if he isn’t able to say the words, but I have to know what is going through his mind if I’m going to help him. A moment later he speaks.

“We were doing a chem lab, and I heard Arianna at the table behind me.” He draws in a deep breath and sighs it out.

During the pause I cut in. “She the one giving you the chubs?” I smirk and nod like it’s all good to be sporting wood in the middle of class.

“No…shut up and listen.” His lips pull into a tight line. “She was telling everyone in her group that our family is cursed. She heard her parents talking and saying how all the women in our family die or leave.”

Shit. “It’s just gossip, man. People get bored with their own pathetic lives.” I get up from the bed, recover from a slight stumble, and grab the shirt that’s on the chair in the corner. He watches me but doesn’t say a word, which tells me I’m supposed to keep going. “Her mom’s probably a drunken whore,” I say under my breath.

His eyes go wide, and his spine spikes straight up. “Really?”

“No, forget I said that.” With his brows knitted, I can tell he’s thinking about whom he can share that tasty treat with because I had to shoot off my big mouth. “Hey!” I point a finger at him. “Don’t repeat that or I’ll kick your ass in front of all those weenie little middle schoolers.” He shakes his head, and I come over to the side of the bed and sit. I try to ignore the ache but rub at my thigh reflexively. “Look, some people have nothing better to do than to make shit up to entertain themselves. Trust me.”

I’d heard the same crap when my mom died of cancer when I was a couple years younger than Ryder. Like our family was cursed or something because we have this eerie habit of losing woman. It humiliated me for weeks until the next scandal took the spotlight. But when my dad remarried, Nina couldn’t have done more for Mason and me. Now I don’t give a crap what people say about my family. I already know what we are—falling apart.

I throw the shirt over my head and pull it down as I toss a quick glance at him to gauge his reaction.

He jumps off the bed and plants himself right in front of me, chin jutting up toward my face, a decidedly angry crease in the skin between his brows, which I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. I try not to focus on the fact that no kid should look this wrecked. “Mom and Aunt Sheri are dead…and your mom died, too.” His eyes dart away for a moment as if the fuzzy picture he was trying to see comes into focus.

I wasn’t sure if that was a question for me to answer, and I didn’t know what to say.

We stare into each other’s eyes for mere seconds before his glass over. I pull him into a hug. “It was an accident, Ry. A horrible, terrible car accident. That’s the only reason.” I feel him nodding into my chest. Or maybe the little turd burglar was rubbing the snot off his nose.

I grasp his shoulders and push him back so I can see his face. Steeling himself as he always does, he draws in a cleansing breath and stands taller. I palm the top of his light brown mop of hair. “Let’s get some breakfast before those jack-asses eat all the bacon. It’s Saturday breakfast,” I say brightly.

Ryder heads for the door, but as he grabs the handle, he turns back to me with a slight grin. “Hey, what about Grandma Weezer?”

My lids fall closed a moment, and I drop my chin to my chest. He desperately wants this to not be true. Hell, for all I know, maybe it is true. Or maybe it’s a horrible twist of fate or fucking karma because the fact is the Bridges men have never been worthy of the women in their lives. I know the reality I need to impart on my little bro—that life sucks. But that will have to wait until after bacon.

“Sorry, Ry. Grandma Weezer is my mom’s mother. She’s not on the Bridges’s side.” He doesn’t need to know our dad’s mom—Gramps’s wife—took off when Dad and my uncle Frank were teens.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, and his shoulders slump as he walks out the door.

I follow Ryder out to the kitchen, expecting a boatload of brash Bridges to be fighting for a spot at the table as Gramps hunches over our old stove. The cold silence should have been a clue, but instead, the reality of the lifeless scene slaps me in the face. Ryder stops and I press up to his back and lay a hand on his shoulder. We both gaze into the almost empty kitchen where Gramps sits alone at the table, scooping the last bit of eggs up from his plate. Just to the left of him sits a large bowl of scrambled eggs and a plate of crispy brown bacon. Clean, unused plates are neatly stacked next to the food, and sparkling clear juice glasses sit in a row on the other side.

“There's plenty,” he grumbles with a nod.

The sound of the television in the other room floats into my ears and I knit my brows. Nina never allowed the TV to be on during Saturday breakfast. My chest tightens. I turn and glance to the doorway, catching a glimpse of two denim-clad legs stretched from the couch over to an ottoman. Most likely that's my uncle Frank, because sitting next to the ottoman with his knees drawn up to his chest is my cousin Colton. My uncle and cousins moved in a few weeks after Nina and my aunt Sheri passed, unable to cope on their own.

“Where is everyone?” Ryder says to Gramps.

Just like I helped raise Ryder, my granddad helped raise me, especially after my own mother died. His eyes shoot right to mine with what feels like a warning. Keeping my gaze, he lifts a hand. “They’re around. Just get yourself some food, Rebel Ryder.” That is the nickname Gramps gave to Ryder because he’s a crazy little shit.

I hand Ryder a plate, and he reaches out for it slowly. I can see realization dawn in his eyes. “This sucks! They promised.”

I should have thought to prepare him for how different life would be without the two women who held us all together. Saturday breakfast had always been a constant in our house. Loud, chaotic, but full of love and laughter, the two families of Edward (my dad) and Frank (my uncle) Bridges gathered together to share food and our lives. Of course, we all had things that kept us away sometimes, and Uncle Frank's family couldn't always make it, but it was never like this. Three months. That’s all it took for the Bridges men to prove they weren’t shit without the women who raised us and kept us going.

Of course, I didn’t assume everyone could make it, but this is ridiculous. And where the hell is our dad? I know he’s not at work because Mason says he’s still showing up late and cutting out early—leaving the eldest Bridges brother to pick up the slack. None of us has the balls to ask what the hell he’s been doing lately, though.

My eyes catch the pink juice cup on the counter next to the sink. It’s full. A knot forms in my gut, and I take in a measured breath. “Gramps, where’s Belle?”

As slim of a chance it is, I hope she’s at the park with my dad. Sometimes he takes her there to give Uncle Frank a break. Raising two kids while you’re unemployed, freeloading, and lazing on the couch with your hand down your pants must be freaking exhausting.

“I’m not running a damn day care, Logan.”

I pull my lips tight, and before I can voice my annoyance, Gramps shoots me with, “She’s in her box.”

That statement alone could earn us a visit from Child Protective Services, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. Belle took a couple of packing boxes when they moved in and made a little fort for herself to hide in. Her brother, Colton, is the only one she lets in there with her. Probably because she knows he won’t talk much.

I turn back to look at Colton in the living room as Ryder fills his plate. At just eight years old, our fair-haired cousin has barely uttered a handful of words since he was told his mother was never coming home. He reserves most of his speaking for school, which he does to survive.

I watch as he appears to be watching television, but the look in his eyes tells me whatever's on the screen is not even registering.

“Get some of that juice, Rebel Ryder,” I hear Gramps say.

I can't seem to tear my eyes from Colton. I know Ryder is hurting and he needs me, but Colton looks so lost and Uncle Frank is completely useless. Yes, he’s got to be hurting like hell to have lost his wife, but we’re all struggling here. And if I'm being honest, Frank was a has-been before Aunt Sheri died. Part of me wants to grab him and shake the sense back into him. Scream at him to be strong for Colton and Belle.

I turn and give Ryder a nod to make sure he's okay, and I see him sitting right next to Gramps even though the table is surrounded by empty chairs.

“I'll be right back,” I say to them before heading out of the kitchen. I go the long way around so I can stop by the “bunk room” and check on Belle. That’s the den we made up for Colton and Belle’s bedroom.

The hardwood floor of their room is barely visible under the piles of toys, clothes, and trash. Two large boxes form a teepee shape in the back corner of the room. I don’t want to get her riled up so I pass stealthily by just to make sure she’s okay. I catch a glimpse of a tiny pink sneaker sticking out from her hiding spot, and a few incoherent words from her adorable voice echo from inside. For a moment, I try to imagine how my three-year-old cousin will turn out, the only female in a house full of stooges. Though I know it’s ridiculous, I send a silent prayer that what people say about my family isn’t true. For Belle’s sake.

At the end of the hall, I turn and head back to the living room. I cross in front of Frank and Colton, stalling when I'm right in front of them, blocking the TV. Neither of them blinks or even looks at me. I continue on to Gramps's recliner chair and take a seat. I see now they are watching Pawn Stars, my granddad's favorite show, which means neither of them bothered to change the channel.

“Hey, Colt. You smell that bacon?”

No response.

When I glance up to Frank, he harrumphs as if I’m wasting my time. I ignore him and slide down from the chair to sit on the ground so Colton and I are eye level. I tap on his black Nikes.

“Buddy, are you hungry?”

His crystal blue eyes turn in my direction and grab hold of me. He’s asking—no pleading—for something much more than food. I work to keep my expression calm and comforting, but I’m pissed that I feel so helpless, and I’m more pissed that Frank is wallowing in his own pain instead of helping his kids.

Colton’s always been an incredibly smart boy, but pain and grief have given his face a look of maturity that saddens me. His eyes pull from me as if he senses I’m no use to him. I follow his gaze down into his lap where he’s holding his mom’s old smart phone. Obviously, it’s been disabled, but Colton clings to it—has since the day we lost them—scrolls through her camera roll a dozen times a day looking at her selfies and images of her and the kids. Funny, there aren’t too many of Frank in there.

My stomach grumbles so loud Colton looks up at me, and I see him fighting a smile. “This is your fault you know? I’m waiting for you to eat.” I almost quote my stepmother’s motto: No one eats till all asses are in the seats, but I think better of it. Instead, I stand and take a different approach. I reach my hand down and pull out my authoritative voice. “Let’s go, Colton.”

He glances to his dad who doesn’t flinch and then looks back up at me. I don’t waver, only pull my lips tighter before saying, “Now.”

He gets up and I can’t help but feel a little parental satisfaction. I put my hand on his shoulder and guide him back the way I came so we can get his sister. Before we reach the room, a loud crash and a piercing wail send my heart straight to my stomach.

~ ~ ~

Chapter 2

Logan

The double doors of the hospital slide open, pulling me into the not-so-unfamiliar setting. When you grow up in a house of all the boys, especially ones as crazy and completely devoid of common sense as we were, you spend a lot of time in places like this. Man, those were some good times, though.

As I look for my uncle, I remind myself this is Belle we’re talking about. I can't help but feel partially responsible for her being here. She’s not even four yet, still just a baby, and we all let her down. When we raced into her bedroom, it was like she was a tiny leaf among giant redwoods, and we let her fall. Her ankle had already swollen up pretty damn good, but amazingly she was barely whimpering. My tough little cousin being raised by a bunch of loud, obnoxious oafs. I can see her future—all dressed up for her senior prom, probably with her dress unknowingly tucked into the back of her underwear, wobbling on some tacky, spiked pumps and swearing like a sailor.

I head to the intake desk, but before I reach it, I see Colton sitting outside a room down a short hallway. He's looking down at the phone in his hand. It's the way he self-soothes. I’d emailed my mom’s brother in Kentucky who’s a shrink, and he said for now, just let him do what makes him feel better.

I assume Uncle Frank is still in with Belle and the doctor, so I take a seat next to him and try to think of something to say. Selfishly, all I can think is, Why is this shit up to me? How have I become the Dr. Phil of our family? It’s one of the reasons I left home in the first place. And it’s not like I don’t have my own issues to contend with.

I run my hands through my hair and rest my head back against the wall behind us, giving Colton a little more time to look at pictures of his mom and sister. Hell, who am I kidding? I'm stalling for time and scrambling for words that don't sound lame. I can't blame this on Frank; we all know he hasn't been in his right mind. But this can't happen again. Things are going to change even if I'm the only one who has to make that happen.

I turn toward Colton, ready to tell him everything is going to be fine when the door slides open and a young woman emerges. She catches my eye for a moment before shutting the door behind her. I jump up and inadvertently land right in her face. And, I might add, she’s not in the least fazed by me invading her personal space.

“How’s Belle?” I ask.

She raises a dark brow and tilts her head like I can read her mind.

Maybe I can because I answer her silent question. “I'm her cousin and I help take care of her.”

For a moment, our gazes lock as if we are sizing each other up, but the power seems to be in her favor. Two wide, gray eyes take hold of mine as if they’ve just discovered something. Then her lids drop, and she moves aside.

“Belle’s going to be fine. She's a sweetie.” Though her words are endearing, her body language and expression are subdued. When I don’t say anything, she narrows her eyes at me and brings a file to her chest before taking a few steps away. “The doctor will give you the details,” she says over her shoulder.

Something in those narrowed eyes hits a chord with me and I call out, “Wait a sec.”

She stops and turns, black shoulder-length hair falling forward, revealing streaks of purple painted on the ends. The contrast of her in this environment throws me, but I ask my question anyway. “Sorry, I just thought… Do we know each other?”

She steps closer, her lips pursed as she stares me down as if she’s unsure of her answer. “You don’t remember me?” she says finally.

I can’t tell if she’s messing with me, but there’s something damn familiar about her. “I…don’t know. Should I?”

I hear a vibrating sound she doesn’t seem to notice at first. Then she averts her eyes and backs away. “I’m sorry… I’ve got to go.”

She walks away, leaving me baffled and staring at her firm little backside, which clearly is not camouflaged by the teal green hospital pants I never realized were so sexy.

The door opens again, causing me to drag my eyes away from her ass. A stocky, elderly man makes his way out followed by Frank, who stands in the doorway. Colton jumps up and runs up to his dad. “Okay, Colton. Sissy’s asking for you.” He turns to usher Colton into the room, and I say, “Hey, what about me?”

“We're fine. It's just a hairline fracture. You can go.”

I let out a half laugh and follow him into the room. I don't give a shit if he thinks I don't trust him even though it’s partially true. But I'm not going home without seeing my Belly Bean. I gave her the nickname when she was born. Aunt Sheri sent me a bunch of pictures, and each one, she was wrapped in a pink or other light-colored blanket. It reminded me of those flavored jelly beans.

In the room, Belle is sitting up, wearing what looks like a black boot with straps.

“Hey, Belly Bean,” I say and then eye Frank, questioningly.

“It's a walking cast,” he says. “She has a hairline fracture that should heal quickly, but we'll need to carry her as much as possible until she gets used to walking on this thing.” In barely a whisper, he mouths, “Pain in the ass,” and shakes his head.

“Yay, you carry me.” Belle reaches her arms out to me. “Woggan! L-Logan,” she repeats, practicing the L sound she struggles with.

“We’re not leaving just yet, baby,” Frank says.

“Now I’m just like L-Logan.” She points and then taps her boot.

I start to laugh at that, but before I can even process the implication of dealing with this boot in our family, I do a double take at Belle’s hair. When I carried her to Frank's car and placed her in her car seat, her hair was a ratty mess that looked like a cow sucked on it. Now it's in this smooth braid thing that starts on one side of her head and curves around to the opposite side.

Belle points to her wrist and says, “I want Maui. She pulls at a colorful woven bracelet I haven't seen before.

“Maui?” I question, as I look at her and take her wrist in my hand.

“No! Maui,” she says insistently.

I look down and run my fingers across the bracelet. It’s pretty but there’s something soothing about it. I close my eyes and do it again. Maybe it’s some sort of healing thing. When Belle’s whining pulls my attention from the bracelet, I look at Frank, who is now on his phone. It looks like he’s texting.

“What is she talking about?” I ask him.

“I don't know,” he says without looking up.

Colton is hugging his dad’s leg as Frank texts like he's waiting at a bus stop or in line to buy coffee.

“Uncle Frank,” I say louder. “What's with the hair and the bracelet?”

He looks up like he's just finally heard what I said. “It was that nurse.”

“Nurse…Maui…I want Maui. She fixed my hair pretty.”

Frank slips his phone into his pocket. “She’s gone and we’re going home soon. I'll buy you some ice cream.”

That is Frank's answer to everything. Even after the damn funeral, he bought the kids ice cream.

Belle’s eyes water, and she leans forward, resting her palms on the boot. “My ouwi hurts and I need Maui.”

Something in her voice compels me to head for the door. I stop with my hand on the handle and look at Frank. “Why don't I just go get the nurse, and maybe she can figure out what Belle’s talking about.”

Frank begins to protest when I feel the door push against me and I step aside.

“Maui,” Belle squeals.

The nurse I talked to before strolls in right past me as if I don't exist.

“I came to say goodbye to my little belle of the ball.” She must be smiling because Belle is beaming as they look at each other.

The nurse stands with her hands on her hips, and I notice a tattoo of music notes on her right wrist. When I look up, I spot part of a tattoo right above her collar, disappearing down the back of her shirt. Between the hair, tattoos, and attitude, our nurse certainly doesn’t look the part.

I sidle up next to her, and she moves closer to the bed. I get the feeling she’s purposely ignoring Frank and me. If I wasn’t so mesmerized by her presence, I might be annoyed.

“I'm going to pull the car around,” Frank says. “I'll take Colt with me.” He grabs his hand and leads him to the door. I give them a quick nod before turning my attention back to the nurse, who is now retying the bracelet on Belle’s wrist.

“Now if this comes loose again,” she tells her, finally glancing at me, “I'm sure your daddy or Logan will tie it back on for you.”

Hearing my name catches me off guard, and I make a weird grunting noise. Now I know for sure I somehow know this woman.

“I have one more thing for you before you go,” she says and reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a sheet of colorful stickers and hands it to Belle, telling her to pick one while she talks to me for a moment.

We move aside toward the door, and I can't help but smile, wondering what this mysterious girl wants from me and how she knows me. I'm not typically overly confident when it comes to women, but something about the look she just gave me feels very familiar. She’s not exactly my type, but there is that pull of sexual tension. At least I think that’s what it is.

But to my surprise, she leans in and with an intense whisper says, “I think you're neglecting Belle, and I'm seriously considering calling in a report to CPS.”

My suave smile fades and my mouth falls open. My heart rocks inside my chest like she has a gun pointed to it. All I can manage to say is, “What the hell?” which probably doesn't help our case much.

She leans back, giving me some much-needed space. My mind spins as her words echo in my head. I glance from her to Belle and back to her again. Is this chick insane? She doesn’t know anything about us.

“Her hair was a knotted mess,” she continues with one hand on her hip. “Have you not heard of a brush? And not only that, she has a cold sore in her mouth, too many scrapes and bruises for a little girl her age, and when I asked if she’d had breakfast today, she said no.”

Holy shit! I can see how that looks bad to her. But neglect? I panic and consider running to get Uncle Frank, but he’d only make things worse.

As I internally struggle through the turmoil she’s just whipped up in my gut, she crosses her arms over her chest. Talk about brutal beauty. It’s like getting run over by a Porsche. I take a moment to regain my composure.

“Well, Logan?”

Watching her lips form my name, I draw in a sharp breath when recollection hits. “Wait a minute. I do know you. We went to high school together.”

Though her head shakes from side to side, and her lips pull into a thin seam, I can see the confirmation in her eyes. It’s clear to me those soft gray orbs have some stories to tell, and right now they’re telling me I probably wasn’t her favorite person.

“That’s right,” she says. “And it’s about the only reason I’m standing here right now instead of on the phone.”

Though she’s rattled my cage, I firm my stance. “We’re not neglecting her.” My tone is sharp, stern, but then I soften and lower my voice. “Frank might not be father of the year,” I say, knowing I’m being generous. “But he’s not abusing her, no one is. She’s a happy girl.”

“She might be happy, but she’s not being taken care of properly, I can tell that much. And that’s called neglect.”

“Please don’t do this...” Dammit.

“You don’t even remember my name, do you?”

“Sure I do. Your name is—”

“Her name is Maui,” Belle says, still looking at the stickers.

I crack a slim smile of relief. “Mollie,” I say and release a breath. It’s a good thing I’m well-versed at interpreting Belle, even if it took me longer this time.

A memory flashes through my mind. “Now I remember. You were my fake wife in that child development class senior year. Mollie…Fisher?”

She plays with a bracelet on her wrist similar to the one Belle is wearing, but it’s sandwiched between two metal ones. “Yeah I was, until your skanky little cheerleader girlfriend told me we needed to switch partners.”

I had no idea that happened. “I thought you switched because you thought I was a douche.”

Her brows tick up. “Yeah well…”

I reach out and touch the middle bracelet on her wrist. Like Belle’s, it’s colorful and looks like someone had woven it by hand. “Did you make this?” I say softly. “It’s pretty.”

She lowers her arm so I’m forced to take my hand away. “Listen, I take my job very seriously, and my number one concern is that little girl.”

“Good, so is mine.”

“Just because we knew each other doesn’t mean I won’t do the right thing. I know your family’s having a hard time, but that doesn’t mean she has to suffer.” Her wispy gray eyes, which are even more stunning now with the sunlight coming through the window highlighting them, no longer appear angry. They’re almost pleading with me, as if she wants me to convince her.

I put my hands in my pockets, bend my head down, and hook my gaze onto hers. “Mollie, I understand your position, and I think you’re an incredible woman for what you do as a nurse and for how much you care. But I swear to you, we all love Belle. This was just one of those stupid accidents that happen.” I sigh and shift from foot to foot. “We’re doing the best—” Her eyes narrow and I correct. “I know we can do better, and I promise you we will. I swear to you we all love her so much, and we will take better care of her.”

I watch her chest move up and down as I speak to her, and it looks as though she believes me. But I also want to make sure that she trusts me, so I pull out my phone, unlock the screen, and click on the contacts before handing it over to her. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you so you can text me or call me anytime.”

It feels like an eternity before she blinks and then reaches out for my phone. She keys in her number and hands it back. “I want to hear from you soon,” she tells me with a pointed tone.

“Thank you.” I grin, but she doesn’t return it, and I’m okay with that because relief fills me. “Frank’s probably out there with the car,” I say, almost like a question.

She turns from me and takes her attention over to Belle. “Did you pick a sticker?”

Belle nods and says, “Can I have that one?”

Mollie takes the sticker and presses it to the back of Belle’s hand, and she lets out a little giggle.

“What do you say, Belle?” I tell her.

“Thank you, Maui.”

“Try to say, Mol-lee,” I say.

“Mowl-ee.”

“Better,” Mollie says with what looks like a genuine smile. “And you’re welcome. Now let’s get you out of here in style. I’m going to go get a wheelchair for you.”

Mollie looks at me one last time as she walks to the door, and this swirl of emotions mixes in my gut. I have no time to analyze what they are; I only know none of them is animosity. “Thank you, Mollie…for everything.”

In the car, I send Mollie a quick text so she has my number. I don’t turn on music like I normally do. I roll down the window and let the fall wind clear my head. Clouds drift over the sun, and I zone out and think about what I need to do. It’s a quick conclusion. It’s what I have to do because I’m the only one I trust at this point. It’s not my place to tell Frank how to live his life, but if my father doesn’t get through to him, then I guess it’s up to me. I stare at the cars in front of me and try to think back to senior year of high school. That girl with the quiet confidence and the sweet smile I always wondered about but barely said two words to. It was so long ago, but now that I know it’s her, she doesn’t look all that different. She might have tattoos and black and purple hair, but that sweet girl is still in there.

My phone pings on the center console as I’m pulling up to the curb in front of our house. It’s a text from Mollie. Text me tomorrow.