Chapter 1
Bridgett
Toilet Paper and Beer
Sitting in my car outside a random gas station I pulled into to fill my tank, I stare at the message I just received on my phone and feel my throat tighten—not with sadness but frustration. Two months ago today, I moved out of the house my soon-to-be ex-husband Conner and I shared. And since then, he’s made it his mission to make my life hell.
Every day, it’s a text or a phone call asking me to come back to him. And when I refuse, he lashes out. Why he even wants me back is anyone’s guess. He doesn’t love me. I mean, how could he when he’s constantly sleeping with other women and has since we got married? Plus, he wants a child, and I absolutely do not.
Not with him.
I might have done some not-so-nice and really stupid things in the past, but I would never bring a helpless baby into an unstable environment. Which is the whole reason he told me he wanted a divorce to begin with. He found out that I was still taking my birth control after expressing his desire for us to have a baby. Like the decision was solely up to him.
I admit I had second thoughts the first couple of weeks after leaving him because I was really fricking scared, and my mom was adamant that I was doing the wrong thing. But now, I have zero regrets.
Actually, that’s a lie. I have a whole bunch of regrets, but none of them have anything to do with moving out of the house he and I shared or contacting a divorce attorney after he didn’t. Because he only used the topic of divorce as a way to try to manipulate me into giving him what he wanted.
With no choice but to text him back, I drag in a breath, then quickly type a reply, letting him know exactly what my lawyer told me just a few days ago. He cannot, in fact, take my car from me—regardless that it’s in his name—so long as I pay the lease payment every month and keep the insurance up to date. Which I have.
After I send the message, I place my cell in the cupholder, then reach over and dig my wallet out of my bag on the passenger seat. With my credit card in hand, I shove my door open and place one high-heeled shoe on the ground, then the other, before hefting my butt out of the seat. Shoving my Visa into the machine a second later, I wait for it to clear. As the tank fills, I carefully watch the dollar amount since I can’t put more than fifty dollars in if I plan on eating this week.
Over the last sixty days, I’ve learned a lot about not only who I am and who I want to be but also about money and the value of a dollar. Before I moved out of the house I shared with Conner, I never thought about how much gas was or food. Or that an afternoon at the spa costs what some people—me included now—make in a month working full time. I cringe even thinking about that.
If I had been smart, I could have been working while married instead of traveling, shopping, and pretending to be happy—when I was not—and saving every single dollar I made. Had I done that, I wouldn’t be in the situation I am now. I would’ve had a nest egg and would have been able to leave Conner without worry after the second time he cheated. The first time, I took him at his word that it was a mistake and would never happen again.
All that said, I now know I will never—not ever—be dependent on another man in my life.
When the pump hits forty-nine dollars, I grab the handle and squeeze the grip lightly until the amount lands right on the fifty-dollar mark. As I’m replacing the nozzle in its holder on the pump, someone shouting catches my attention. I turn in the direction of the building, feeling my stomach bottom out as two men run toward me, both dressed in dark clothing with masks covering their faces. As one lifts a gun in my direction, a balding older gentleman who must be the attendant on duty yells from inside the gas station that he’s calling the police.
“Where are your fucking keys?” the man closest to me barks while the one running with him opens the driver’s side door to my car and gets behind the wheel.
“Got the keys!” the guy inside shouts, and my Benz’s engine turns over while the man with the gun shoves me out of the way so he can open the passenger door, causing me to wobble on my heels. Then, in a blink, they speed off. I stare at the taillights of my car, sure that what just happened didn’t.
“Are you okay?” I slowly turn my head at the question and come face-to-face with the attendant. “Ma’am.” He grabs my arm, shaking me slightly. “Are you okay?”
“They stole my car,” I whisper as my throat tightens.
“The cops are on the way.” He looks around. “They emptied the register. I didn’t open the safe though, so they didn’t clean me out completely.”
I nod. I mean, that’s great, but they have my car, my purse, and my phone. And with that thought, I promptly burst into tears.
“It’s okay.” He pats my back awkwardly. “Come inside and wait for the police to get here.” He takes my arm and leads me into the gas station that I see also has rows of snacks and other things, motioning for me to sit on a stack of milk crates near the door. I suck in a breath, trying to talk myself into calming down because things could most definitely be worse. “Here.”
I lift my head as the attendant shoves a four-pack of toilet paper and a beer at me, leaving me no choice but to take both.
“Thank you.” I attempt to smile, and he jerks his chin up. Looking uncomfortable, he walks off, muttering something about emotional women. I set the beer on my lap and open the toilet paper, taking out one of the rolls and using a swatch to dry the tears that roll down my cheeks.
“The police are here.” The attendant stops near me as sirens rattle the glass, and red and blue lights bounce off the white walls and floor. I get off the crate and follow him outside, watching as a police cruiser parks near the entrance.
While the attendant walks around the hood of the car, I watch a familiar-looking man in uniform emerge from behind the wheel. My brother, Aiden, has been best friends with Noah since they were teenagers. The two of them played soccer and spent every minute together growing up. Even to this day, they’re like brothers.
Heck, Aiden is more Noah’s brother than he is mine.
My sibling only deals with me because he feels sorry for me. Well, that and because his girlfriend May is possibly the nicest human on the planet and has, for some reason, decided that she and I are friends. Even after I auctioned Aiden off at a gala we were at together—knowing she was there with him. But that’s a long story I’d rather not relive anytime soon.
And Noah…well, he and I never spoke until recently. Not that we actually talk now since I can’t seem to form many words when I’m in his presence.
“Babe.”
Noah’s deep voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I focus on him. How did he reach me so quickly?
I tip my head way back to meet his gaze since the top of my head barely reaches the middle of his chest, even in my heels. Given the current circumstances, my first thought should not be how attractive I find him, but it is.
He’s not classically handsome, not in the slightest. He doesn’t have a thick head of hair but is bald instead—by choice, is my guess. His jaw is a little too hard, the beard covering it making it look even more so, and his eyes are far too knowing. Then, there’s his size. He’s at least three times bigger than most men, not just in height but also in width, and he looks like he could pick someone up and break them in half with ease.