Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Something tells me if things got hot and heavy with Bridger and myself, they’d be different. But also, if things fell a part, I’m not sure my soul would recover.
“Stay there. I’m going to open the door and escort you inside,” Bridger states after throwing the truck in park.
“We’re really going to have to talk,” I grumble, but he’s already out of the truck. I blow out an exasperated breath when he opens my door and guides me the entire way down, even when I have to turn around to get my purse and the file Slade handed me.
“After we see Travis and get things handled, we’ll talk,” he replies.
“Finally.” He shuts and locks the door behind us, then we make our way inside.
I stop in my tracks when Travis appears in my view. He’s standing with his feet spread a part, his arms crossed over his chest. I’ve never felt this intimidated by him before.
“Something tells me this is more than what it seems,” I say under my breath.
“Hey, Kellie, Bridger. Follow me on back to my office.” He turns on his heel before I can manage to get a word out.
“Freaking alpha men. I swear none of them ask. They simply state,” I say under my breath.
“I heard that. I promise we’ll get this straightened out, but before we walk in there, know this: I’m trying to protect you.” He takes my hand in his, squeezing it firmly as my stomach sinks down to my feet. I begrudgingly let him lead me down the hall to Travis’s office.
It takes us less than a minute. Travis is already seated behind his desk when he nods his head for us to sit down.
“Slade asked me to bring you this.” I hand him the folder before I smooth my skirt down to take a seat. Bridger is already sitting down beside me, his hand out and open, waiting for my hand. I place mine in his for the third time today, finding a sense of peace while doing so.
“Kellie, I’m ninety-nine percent sure you know why you’re here today, but I’ll tell you anyway. Bridger ran a background check on you when you accepted employment at Nighthawk, like all businesses do. Theirs are bit more thorough, so they know the logistics of what went down in Arkansas. They also knew something would happen this week. Bridger brought it to Slade and Drake’s attention, and they filled out the paperwork for a restraining order. You know as well as I do that it’s a simple piece of paper, but I need you to sign it. It’s a precaution, and something tells me your man here will take good care of you.” Travis holds a pen out for me. I untangle my hand from Bridger’s. It’s trembling the entire time. I knew they would find out. Hell, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m glad they know the documented version. Anytime I think back on what happened, my emotions overwhelm me in a double-time pattern.
I look at Bridger. His small smile and nod of his head give me the courage to sign the paper.
“You’re right, Travis. If Liam decides to cut and run, this may not hold him back, but at least everything is in place. This is also another sign that I need to get myself into not only the gun range but some self-defense classes.” I sign with the flourish of my signature, wanting to get this out of the way. I may seem calm and collected right now, but I know myself. I’m going to lose it, and I don’t mean in the angry way. No, I mean in the ugly-cry, snot-coming-out-of-my-nose, chest-flushed-in-a-deep-red-tone way. It will not be pretty.
“You okay?” Bridger asks, rubbing the nape of my neck where my hair has moved over to one side while I sign the paperwork.
I shake my head no, but the papers are signed, and I can hold it in a few more minutes. I’ve done this so many times, surely, I can do it for a few more minutes.
“Thanks, Travis,” Bridger says to him. He’s crouching over me now.
“Anytime. I’ll see you guys later.” Travis stands up and leaves us in his office as if he knows I need a moment to collect myself.
“Oh my God, Bridger, what am I going to do? How could he get out this early? You know as well as I do that anything less than a year is a joke, and three months of probation with anger management classes? That’s a crock of shit.” My words are coming out garbled, and tears are staining my cheeks.
“Fuck,” Bridger grumbles before he pulls me up in his arms, lifting me as if I’m a child. My legs wrap around his firm waist. One hand is under my ass, the other is in my hair as he holds me to the crook of his neck, and I hold on as I let it all out. Every emotion I have is coming out: anger, sadness, fear, and did I mention anger? Bridger holds me the entire time, even while he walks us to the truck. He never sets me down, not even when he opens the driver door, moves the seat back, and slides inside.