Chapter 7

      That night Bridget found herself every bit as exhausted as the day before but far less at peace. Her mind refused to let her get the rest her body needed.

      Rude, arrogant . . .

      Wesley didn’t even know her, not really. How dare he decide he didn’t want to be her friend, or assume she wanted to be his?

      Jerk.

      As she tossed and turned in bed, his once-enticing features recast themselves in her mind. His pretty sky-blue eyes now appeared sickly, empty. His strong legs were no replacement for a kind personality—definitely not a trade worth making. His smirk now seemed cruel, as if he considered himself above her.

      Although she finally managed a few hours of unbroken sleep, thoughts of Wesley continued to haunt her almost immediately upon waking. And during the day, she glanced over her shoulder constantly during her work shift, terrified he might appear.

      Wesley obviously hadn’t spared the most fleeting of thoughts for Bridget, so why couldn’t she get him out of her brain?

      Who cared what he thought?

      Okay, she did.

      But why?

      * * *

      Once Bridget returned home, her three dogs arranged themselves by the door and stared longingly at the leashes that hung nearby.

      “Sorry, boys. Not today,” she said, shaking her head.

      But they refused to lose hope, especially when Teddy heard Wesley and his dogs pass through the courtyard a short while later.

      “No, not today!” she shouted, immediately hating herself for losing her temper. Hadn’t she chosen this new home because of its dog friendliness?

      Friendly dogs. Terrible people.

      Well, at least the one person she’d met had turned out pretty awful.

      Then again, why should she let Wesley dictate what she could or couldn’t do? She’d never been a shrinking violet, and she refused to turn into one now.

      “Okay, Teddy. It’s your turn today,” she told the ecstatic Pomeranian as she laced up her running shoes. “Let’s go.”

      Wesley was nowhere to be seen, but just to be sure, Bridget took a new route around the neighborhood.

      Today’s internal chant was I on-ly need me. Each syllable landed with one of her own footfalls. Wesley had inadvertently shown her a new hobby she had already begun to love, and now, well, she didn’t need him for anything else.

      I only need me.

      She’d once needed her mom but couldn’t rely on her now that she was gone. Her dad had become little more than a walking ghost, and her friends all had losses of their own to contend with.

      That left Bridget alone.

      And that was fine.

      It had to be.

      Despite her best attempts, everything she’d been running from caught up with her and weighed heavily on her already tired body and heart.

      “I on-ly need me,” she puffed aloud, her voice cracking on that last word. Why couldn’t that be true? She so needed it to be true.

      Realizing she hadn’t made it very far at all, she turned around and retraced her steps. By some ill stroke of luck, Wesley stood in the courtyard performing his stretches when she returned. Bridget tried to run past him, lest he see her patchy face and red-rimmed eyes.

      But then something stopped her and made her turn back around.

      He already stood gaping at her; he’d watched her run past without a word. But she still had plenty of words to say to him.

      “What you did really sucked,” she told him in hardly more than a whisper, feeling more defeated than angry right about then.

      “I know,” he said with a frown. Finally, an emotion, but it came too late to satisfy her.

      “You don’t know me at all. I happen to be an excellent friend, but if you prefer to play the tortured hero or whatever it is you’re doing, that’s fine by me, too. I’m new to running and I need a partner. We don’t have to like each other. We don’t even have to talk. Just please . . .”

      She let her words fall away when Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a deep breath—not out of anger, but perhaps sadness. She hated that she needed him, but his presence gave her something to focus on. Today she’d been eaten alive by her own mind mosquitos.

      “It’s not about you.” Wesley raised his eyes to meet hers. They glowed with that same aqua color she’d seen the night before. “It’s about me. And even though that’s the oldest line in the book, it’s true in this case. You don’t want a friend like me.”

      That last statement caught her off guard. What was he hiding?

      Actually, it didn’t matter. Whatever his secrets, they didn’t impact his ability to run alongside her, to help quiet her brain for a little less than an hour each night. After all, she had secret hurts, too—and she definitely did not intend to share them with Wesley.

      “Fine. I won’t ask you any questions. I won’t ask you anything. Only please can we just keep running together?” she continued, almost begging now. “I need this.”

      “I know what you mean,” he said, finally chancing a smile. That small gesture transformed his entire face. The angles became gentler, more like art than weaponry. She’d never met anyone who looked as he did—or acted like him, either. What made him different? And why couldn’t she turn away?

      Wesley had been rude, condescending, aloof from the start, yet something about his cold presence soothed her overworked brain, her broken heart.

      “I’ve never had a running partner before. Well, except for these two guys right here.” He placed a hand on each dog’s head, and they looked to their human friend with lolling tongues and loving eyes.

      “If they’re both boys, then why did you name them after a Disney princess and a hair accessory?” Even though Bridget had just promised not to ask any questions, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking the thought the moment it crossed her mind.

      “What?” he asked with a snort. “You can’t honestly think that.”

      She picked up her Pomeranian and clutched the little dog to her chest. “He’s Teddy, because he looks like a teddy bear. Cuddles like one, too. Now how did your two get their names?”

      He studied her for a few seconds as if waiting for Bridget to retract her question. When it became clear that she would not, he licked his lips and looked at the black and white dog to his right. “Beau’s a rescue, and he came with his name. Short for Beauregard.”

      “And Snow?” she prompted, nodding her head toward the dog at the left. “He’s obviously named for Snow White.”

      “I’ve had him from puppyhood. It’s part of a . . .” Wesley winced and looked away. “Never mind, that doesn’t matter.”

      Bridget watched as he began to disappear behind his icy shield. Not again.

      “And you named him after your favorite Disney princess?” she joked, hoping it would be enough to bring him back into the sun.

      Wesley let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Jon Snow, actually. He’s my lovable little dire wolf.”

      She petted each dog, then held up Teddy so Wesley could officially say hello. “Now that we’ve all been properly introduced, can we do this? Can we keep