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A child.
For a moment, I’d thought I might need to get up off the couch so that Simon could lie down. “No, no. I remember. I guess I passed out?”
“You did. And you scared the life out of me.”
I reached up and touched Simon’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just tell me you’re okay. How do you feel? Physically, I mean.” He picked up my wrist and began to take my heart rate. Still not satisfied, he felt my forehead for a fever, lifted my eyelids to get a better look at my eyes, and then began randomly patting me all over.”
“What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you’re okay.”
“Did I fall?”
“Not really. You were sitting up, and I caught you in my arms and laid you down on the couch.”
“So, what are you looking for?”
Simon stopped patting my legs and looked up at me. He seemed to realize for the first time that he was acting a little crazy. He shook his head. “I have no fucking idea.”
Even feeling like the world as I knew it had just crumbled before my eyes, this man could make me smile. “I’m fine. You know I have a tendency to pass out.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I promise.” Although I was dizzy still, I sat up to reassure the concerned doctor. I also needed to know more information. “Tell me everything, Simon. I want to know every word that she said—anything you can remember.”“Oh my, God!” Bridget bolted upright from the bed. It was after two in the morning, and we’d just settled in after talking for hours. I’d told her everything I knew. It was terrible to put her through that pain. There’d been a lot of pacing and yelling, but she hadn’t passed out again on me. I thought she was finally starting to fall asleep.
I sat up. “What? What’s the matter?”
“A blowjob. She was giving him a fucking blowjob!” Since I’d shared what the attorney had told me the hospital’s review panel had discovered—before we had any idea the receiver of said blowjob was Ben—I hadn’t bothered to reiterate that part of the story tonight. I was hoping she wouldn’t remember.
“I’m sorry. I was hoping you’d forget that.”
“My husband died over a blowjob. Maybe if he was paying attention to the road, my son would still have a father.”
I didn’t know what to say or how to make her feel better. She had bounced back and forth between angry and upset all night. “Come here.” I coaxed her back down to bed and rubbed her shoulders, attempting to soothe her. She was quiet for a few minutes, and I thought perhaps she was drifting off.
“Simon?” Her voice was a whisper.
“Yes, luv?”
“Was I not enough?”
I stared up at the ceiling and cursed that bastard. If you weren’t fucking dead already… Ben and I were going to have a long goddamn talk soon, but right at the moment, Bridget was more important. She needed my reassurance. I gently turned her so she was lying on her back.
“You’re not enough, Bridget. Enough is the minimum amount that it takes to satisfy something. That doesn’t even begin to describe what you are—you’re everything. You’re not the fucking minimum—you’re the maximum. What he did is not your fault. Cheating isn’t about the person who was cheated on. It’s about the cheater—his own insecurities. Think about it. Did you ever cheat on a test in school? Everyone has. Why? Because you were afraid you would fail the test—afraid you weren’t smart enough or hadn’t worked hard enough to earn a good grade. This is about him—not about you.” I hesitated before continuing, but thought she needed to hear it. “I know you loved him, and he’s Brendan’s father, but he didn’t deserve you. People don’t deserve to have things they don’t respect. He didn’t fucking deserve you, Bridget.”
Tears streamed down her face. “How can you sound so sure?”
“Because I am, luv. I’ve been insecure about having a relationship my whole life—meeting you changed that. You’ve made me better, more secure than ever, not the opposite. Love makes you stronger, not weaker.”The next morning, Bridget slept late. I made some calls and had just finished cooking bacon and eggs when she walked into the kitchen. Her face was puffy from a night of crying, but she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Usually women became less pretty to me as I got to know them. What attracted me to them initially on the outside, dulled when I got to know the person inside. With Bridget it was just the opposite.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Coffee.”
I smiled. “Coming right up. Sit. You didn’t eat anything last night. You’re going to have some of my eggs even if I have to feed you myself.”
Bridget sat at the kitchen table, and I fixed her coffee before plating more food than she could possibly eat and joining her with my own heaping dish.
