“That he’s wealthy, widowed, and in need of a nanny,” I argue for what seems like the millionth time since I told my parents I took the job.
“This is a small town. People talk. There was speculation his wife did not die of natural causes. He was questioned. But wealthy men like him, they don’t think the law pertains to them.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“A member at church caught whispers that his nanny didn’t leave willingly either. Some say she’s missing. He's probably done something terrible to her. I refuse to let you work for him.”
Packing up my toiletries, I zip my suitcase and tug it off the bed, forcing my father to step back. “It’s not your decision.” I turn to face him. “I’m not a child anymore.”
“You’re acting like one. Making these rash decisions. What do you think this is doing to your poor mother—?”
“I don’t know, she would have to actually speak to me to know.” Pain stabs at my heart. I can’t remember the last time my mother looked at me without disgust. She allowed a petty rumor from her church group that her innocent daughter was sinning with an outsider taint her views of me. She never accepted Jax. She couldn’t get past the shame I brought to her circle. I didn’t make things easier after he died. But at that point, she had written me off. I was done trying to prove to my own mother I was still worthy of her love.
The doorbell rings.
“That’s my ride. I gotta go.”
My father trails behind me. “Good. I can meet the man unsuitable to house a child—”
“And as I’ve told you a million times, I haven’t been a child in years.”
“In the eyes of the Lord—”
I halt, spinning around. “Don’t you say it. Don’t label me as one of His children. He is nothing to me.”
“Bridget—”
“No! I’m sick and tired of you throwing his words at me. A God who preaches about salvation and peace. I don’t feel or see any of it. He’s supposed to save his children. Where was he when a man sideswiped the one person I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with? Where was he when Jax was taking his last breath? He doesn’t save. And you’re just a pawn preaching words that mean nothing.”
I know I went too far. The hurt that flashes across his face proves it. I shake my head. “I can’t keep doing this with you.”
“Then stop acting like a martyr. You say you’re not a child, then do the right thing. Tell this man you won’t take this job. Go to college. Find peace in your future instead of running from it.”
My breathing hitches, and I rub at the sharp pain in my chest. “That future doesn’t exist. You made sure of it.”
“Bridget, how many times do I have to tell you, the accident was not my—”
“It was your fault! He would have never been on the road that night if you hadn’t turned your back on us. We truly loved each other. What was so wrong with that? He wanted to give me a future. He wanted college for me. A great job. A beautiful house with children. He wanted to give all of that to me. But you—you refused us, just like you’re refusing this now.”
“You were too young. And he wasn’t in a place to provide—”
“He loved me! He would’ve done anything for me. We had a plan. You took that from me. Your selfish God took that away.”
I wipe at my angry tears. I’m done having the same argument. It will never bring him back. “I’m done fighting with you. You told me so long as I lived under your roof, I had to obey your rules. This is me choosing to make my own rules. Accept it or not, it doesn’t change my decision.” I give him my back and run down the remainder of the stairs.
“Bridget, stop. We’re not done—what is that boy doing here?” Chase’s face peers through the paneled glass.
Without answering, I whip open the door.
“Hi, sorry I’m kind of late. Traffic. Hey—shit, are you okay?”
“Yeah, we’ve got to go.” I want to push him out the door, but he steps forward, concern in his eyes.
“You’ve been crying?” He lifts his hand, using his thumb to wipe away the wetness on my cheek. “Angel—”
“It’s fine. Can we just go—?”
“Chase. My nephew’s friend. I didn’t realize you and my daughter were this acquainted.”
Chase looks over my shoulder at my father, the color draining from his face. “Oh, hello, Mr.—Pastor Matthews. Nice to see you again. Beautiful day. Sorry I was late getting your daughter. I wasn’t speeding, though. Super safe driver. Lovely home you have—geesh,” he grunts as I shove my palms into his chest and push him off my front step.