He says it all the time to me, so I don’t know why it makes me blush this time.
“They have two available units,” Warren says, sliding his phone toward Maggie. “One up, one down. The one downstairs is at the other end of the complex, but I think you should be downstairs.”
Maggie looks at his phone. “It says it isn’t available until the 3rd. I can call in the morning and reserve it, then just get a hotel for a few days between apartments.”
“That’s just a waste of money,” Bridgette says. “It’s only a few days. Just stay in my old bedroom. Or Brennan’s. They’re both empty.” She’s filing her nails again, but the words that just came out of her mouth are monumental. It’s the closest she could come to an apology without actually saying to Maggie, “I was rude. I’m sorry.”
Ridge looks at me and squeezes my hand under the table, then texts me.
Ridge: I’ll stay at your place while she’s at ours, if it’s okay.
I nod. I would probably have made him, even if he hadn’t suggested it.
I don’t even know that I could disagree with her staying there for a few days at this point because everything going on with the people at this table has long since passed the definition of normal. Warren once said to me, “Welcome to the weirdest place you’ll ever live.”
I get it now. I don’t even live with them anymore, but that apartment and the rotating door attached to it defy every boundary ever put into place.
Warren scoots his chair back and stands up, then claims the empty chair next to Bridgette. He reaches over and grabs her nail file, then tosses it into the living room. He pulls her chair closer to his and he kisses her.
And Bridgette actually lets him for a good five seconds. It’s both adorable and highly uncomfortable.
Maggie rolls her eyes and then pushes her folder in front of Ridge. “I’ve made a list of compromises. There are things I still want to do that I’m going to need you to be okay with. And in return, I promise I’m going to take better care of myself. But you can’t be bossy with me until you’ve given me a little time to adjust. I’m a hot mess, and it’s going to take some time to improve that part of my personality.”
Ridge looks over the list for a moment, but looks up at her and signs something I don’t recognize. Maggie nods. “Yes. I’m going bungee jumping and you can’t tell me no. We’re compromising.”
Ridge sighs and then pushes the list back in front of Maggie. “Fine. But you’re joining a support group.”
Maggie laughs, but Ridge doesn’t.
“That’s not a compromise,” Maggie says. “That’s torture.”
Ridge shrugs. “We’re compromising,” he says. “If you hate it, you can stop. But I think it’ll be good for you. I don’t think any of us truly knows what you’re going through, and I think it’ll be good for you to talk with people who do.”
Maggie groans and drops her head on the table, hitting it three times against the wood. She scoots back from her chair and looks at me. “You’re going with me,” she says, walking toward the kitchen.
“To your support group?” I ask, confused. I don’t know why I’m suddenly being tortured in this compromise.
“Nope,” Maggie says. “Not to support group. CF support groups are only online. You’re going bungee jumping with me.”
Bungee jumping. Hmm. My boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend wants me to jump off a bridge. Kind of ironic when you think about it. I look over at Ridge and grin. I’ve always wanted to bungee jump. He just shakes his head and smiles back at me, like he was just defeated.
“I’ve always wondered something,” Bridgette says, looking across the room at Maggie. Warren is in the living room retrieving Bridgette’s nail file. “Why don’t you just get a lung transplant? Won’t that cure the disease?”
I’ve wondered that, too, but haven’t brought it up to Ridge yet.
“It’s not that easy,” Warren says, handing Bridgette the nail file. “Cystic Fibrosis doesn’t just affect the lungs, so new lungs won’t cure someone of the disease completely.”
“Also, I’m not in that predicament yet,” Maggie says. “In order to get new lungs, you have to have a really grim prognosis, but without being too sick to receive a lung transplant. Luckily, I’m too healthy to be a candidate right now. It’s a tricky position to be in. New lungs would be nice, but I don’t really want to be in the position to be a candidate because it means my health would have to decline first. And a transplant could prolong someone’s life by a few years, but it could also cut it short. Way short. Not something I’m hoping for anytime soon, to be honest.”
“New advancements happen every day, though,” Warren adds. “Which is why we’re really only discussing the near future tonight, not a long-term plan. If we try to plan too far ahead, it might discourage other possibilities. Maggie doesn’t want to hinder our lives, and we don’t want to hinder hers, so right now, the best scenario is to just tackle things a few months at a time with the tools we have to tackle them.”
Ridge nods, but then responds to Warren. “Sometimes I feel like your brain is on a power reserve. It’s off most of the time, but the few times you do turn it on, it’s at high power.”
Warren smiles at him. “Why, thank you, Ridge.”
Maggie laughs. “I’m not sure that was a compliment, Warren.”
“Sure it was,” Warren says.
I think it was both an insult and a compliment, which makes me laugh.
We spend the next half hour eating the lasagna Maggie prepared and working out more compromises. Bridgette doesn’t say much, but she’s also not rude at all, which is a huge improvement from when we walked through the front door.
After we tell Maggie goodnight, Ridge grabs my hand and leads me to the back seat of the car. He forces Warren to drive home since he drove here, which is fine with me because I really want to share the back seat with Ridge on the ride home.
He reaches across the seat and slides his fingers through mine as we’re pulling out of Maggie’s driveway. He pulls out his phone and texts me one-handed.
Ridge: You’re like the Bridgette whisperer. I don’t know how you do it.
Sydney: She’s not that bad. I think she’s always so defensive because no one has ever really made any effort to break through that defensiveness.
Ridge: Exactly. It says something that you made the effort.
Sydney: So did Warren.
Ridge: Only because he wanted to sleep with her. I don’t think he ever expected to fall in love with her. That was a surprise to everyone. Especially him.
Sydney: You have unique friends. I like them.
Ridge: They’re your friends now, too.
He squeezes my hand after I read his text. Then he reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt, pulling me closer to him. Once I’m in the middle of the backseat, he refastens the middle seatbelt around me, pulling me against him. “Better,” he says, wrapping his arm around me.
His thumb is grazing my shoulder, but his hand eventually makes its way down, just far enough so that he can trace the faded letters he wrote over my heart. He presses his mouth against my ear. “Mine,” he says quietly.
I smile and place my hand over his heart. “Mine,” I whisper.
Ridge presses his mouth to mine, and I smile through the whole kiss. I can’t help it. When he pulls back, he leans against the door, pulling me even closer. I lift my legs onto the seat and curl them under me as I snuggle against him.
This feels right. Finally. It used to feel so wrong, but nothing about us feels wrong anymore. I owe a lot of that to Maggie’s willingness to forgive and move forward and even accept me into her life after everything that happened.
So much has changed in the past year. The day I turned twenty-two, I thought it was going to be the worst year of my life. But little did I know, a boy on a balcony with his guitar would change all of that.
Now I’m here in his arms, unable and unwilling to wipe the smile off my face because his heart is mine.
MINE.
It’s really hard to tell Warren everything he’s doing wrong when my hands are full with the mattress we’re carrying upstairs and his headphones on. I’d really hate to see him try to maneuver a boat or back up a trailer if he can’t even walk forward up the damn stairs while pushing a mattress.
“They have two available units,” Warren says, sliding his phone toward Maggie. “One up, one down. The one downstairs is at the other end of the complex, but I think you should be downstairs.”
Maggie looks at his phone. “It says it isn’t available until the 3rd. I can call in the morning and reserve it, then just get a hotel for a few days between apartments.”
“That’s just a waste of money,” Bridgette says. “It’s only a few days. Just stay in my old bedroom. Or Brennan’s. They’re both empty.” She’s filing her nails again, but the words that just came out of her mouth are monumental. It’s the closest she could come to an apology without actually saying to Maggie, “I was rude. I’m sorry.”
Ridge looks at me and squeezes my hand under the table, then texts me.
Ridge: I’ll stay at your place while she’s at ours, if it’s okay.
I nod. I would probably have made him, even if he hadn’t suggested it.
I don’t even know that I could disagree with her staying there for a few days at this point because everything going on with the people at this table has long since passed the definition of normal. Warren once said to me, “Welcome to the weirdest place you’ll ever live.”
I get it now. I don’t even live with them anymore, but that apartment and the rotating door attached to it defy every boundary ever put into place.
Warren scoots his chair back and stands up, then claims the empty chair next to Bridgette. He reaches over and grabs her nail file, then tosses it into the living room. He pulls her chair closer to his and he kisses her.
And Bridgette actually lets him for a good five seconds. It’s both adorable and highly uncomfortable.
Maggie rolls her eyes and then pushes her folder in front of Ridge. “I’ve made a list of compromises. There are things I still want to do that I’m going to need you to be okay with. And in return, I promise I’m going to take better care of myself. But you can’t be bossy with me until you’ve given me a little time to adjust. I’m a hot mess, and it’s going to take some time to improve that part of my personality.”
Ridge looks over the list for a moment, but looks up at her and signs something I don’t recognize. Maggie nods. “Yes. I’m going bungee jumping and you can’t tell me no. We’re compromising.”
Ridge sighs and then pushes the list back in front of Maggie. “Fine. But you’re joining a support group.”
Maggie laughs, but Ridge doesn’t.
“That’s not a compromise,” Maggie says. “That’s torture.”
Ridge shrugs. “We’re compromising,” he says. “If you hate it, you can stop. But I think it’ll be good for you. I don’t think any of us truly knows what you’re going through, and I think it’ll be good for you to talk with people who do.”
Maggie groans and drops her head on the table, hitting it three times against the wood. She scoots back from her chair and looks at me. “You’re going with me,” she says, walking toward the kitchen.
“To your support group?” I ask, confused. I don’t know why I’m suddenly being tortured in this compromise.
“Nope,” Maggie says. “Not to support group. CF support groups are only online. You’re going bungee jumping with me.”
Bungee jumping. Hmm. My boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend wants me to jump off a bridge. Kind of ironic when you think about it. I look over at Ridge and grin. I’ve always wanted to bungee jump. He just shakes his head and smiles back at me, like he was just defeated.
“I’ve always wondered something,” Bridgette says, looking across the room at Maggie. Warren is in the living room retrieving Bridgette’s nail file. “Why don’t you just get a lung transplant? Won’t that cure the disease?”
I’ve wondered that, too, but haven’t brought it up to Ridge yet.
“It’s not that easy,” Warren says, handing Bridgette the nail file. “Cystic Fibrosis doesn’t just affect the lungs, so new lungs won’t cure someone of the disease completely.”
“Also, I’m not in that predicament yet,” Maggie says. “In order to get new lungs, you have to have a really grim prognosis, but without being too sick to receive a lung transplant. Luckily, I’m too healthy to be a candidate right now. It’s a tricky position to be in. New lungs would be nice, but I don’t really want to be in the position to be a candidate because it means my health would have to decline first. And a transplant could prolong someone’s life by a few years, but it could also cut it short. Way short. Not something I’m hoping for anytime soon, to be honest.”
“New advancements happen every day, though,” Warren adds. “Which is why we’re really only discussing the near future tonight, not a long-term plan. If we try to plan too far ahead, it might discourage other possibilities. Maggie doesn’t want to hinder our lives, and we don’t want to hinder hers, so right now, the best scenario is to just tackle things a few months at a time with the tools we have to tackle them.”
Ridge nods, but then responds to Warren. “Sometimes I feel like your brain is on a power reserve. It’s off most of the time, but the few times you do turn it on, it’s at high power.”
Warren smiles at him. “Why, thank you, Ridge.”
Maggie laughs. “I’m not sure that was a compliment, Warren.”
“Sure it was,” Warren says.
I think it was both an insult and a compliment, which makes me laugh.
We spend the next half hour eating the lasagna Maggie prepared and working out more compromises. Bridgette doesn’t say much, but she’s also not rude at all, which is a huge improvement from when we walked through the front door.
After we tell Maggie goodnight, Ridge grabs my hand and leads me to the back seat of the car. He forces Warren to drive home since he drove here, which is fine with me because I really want to share the back seat with Ridge on the ride home.
He reaches across the seat and slides his fingers through mine as we’re pulling out of Maggie’s driveway. He pulls out his phone and texts me one-handed.
Ridge: You’re like the Bridgette whisperer. I don’t know how you do it.
Sydney: She’s not that bad. I think she’s always so defensive because no one has ever really made any effort to break through that defensiveness.
Ridge: Exactly. It says something that you made the effort.
Sydney: So did Warren.
Ridge: Only because he wanted to sleep with her. I don’t think he ever expected to fall in love with her. That was a surprise to everyone. Especially him.
Sydney: You have unique friends. I like them.
Ridge: They’re your friends now, too.
He squeezes my hand after I read his text. Then he reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt, pulling me closer to him. Once I’m in the middle of the backseat, he refastens the middle seatbelt around me, pulling me against him. “Better,” he says, wrapping his arm around me.
His thumb is grazing my shoulder, but his hand eventually makes its way down, just far enough so that he can trace the faded letters he wrote over my heart. He presses his mouth against my ear. “Mine,” he says quietly.
I smile and place my hand over his heart. “Mine,” I whisper.
Ridge presses his mouth to mine, and I smile through the whole kiss. I can’t help it. When he pulls back, he leans against the door, pulling me even closer. I lift my legs onto the seat and curl them under me as I snuggle against him.
This feels right. Finally. It used to feel so wrong, but nothing about us feels wrong anymore. I owe a lot of that to Maggie’s willingness to forgive and move forward and even accept me into her life after everything that happened.
So much has changed in the past year. The day I turned twenty-two, I thought it was going to be the worst year of my life. But little did I know, a boy on a balcony with his guitar would change all of that.
Now I’m here in his arms, unable and unwilling to wipe the smile off my face because his heart is mine.
MINE.
It’s really hard to tell Warren everything he’s doing wrong when my hands are full with the mattress we’re carrying upstairs and his headphones on. I’d really hate to see him try to maneuver a boat or back up a trailer if he can’t even walk forward up the damn stairs while pushing a mattress.
