Chapter Fifty-Seven

So be it.

Bridger whipped through three of the five stages of grief he’d learned about in Psych 101, and was now firmly mired in the fourth.

Anger.

But this was no damn stage. He’d be angry for the rest of his life. He didn’t need any know-it-all psychologist telling him he’d eventually accept reality. He knew he wouldn’t. Not. Ever.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted most—to get Mary Alice back, or to strangle her for her reluctance to give their relationship a real chance. Either way, for his own peace of mind he had to gain some distance and put himself back on an even keel.

Standing under a storm cloud with a deadly glower carved into his face, he watched her dress, then stomped out of the garage after her. He did a spinning double-take when he spied Sam Grayson hustling some curvy brunette at the buffet table, but figured the feeb must have gotten Mary Alice to let him tag along to the party when Bridge hadn’t shown up yet.

Good. That got him off the hook so he could collect his gear from her place and head back to his own apartment for a well-deserved week’s worth of sleep. Jason Deane had been assigned to take over for Bridge for a few days while he recuperated from his three-day Bienvenido adventure. He planned to make that a permanent switch.

Ignoring Sam Grayson’s surprised look, he strode out Watson’s door and into the night.

Screw it all.