Reborn From The Lake: My Stoic Savior

Before Bridget could open her mouth to call out to him, the screen door behind her banged open.

Corda stepped onto the porch, holding a plate of sliced bread. Her eyes instantly locked onto the tall figure on the road.

She shoved the plate onto a small table and yelled, "Mr. Potts!" She practically ran down the wooden steps.

Drake froze in his tracks. He slowly turned around. He pasted on a polite, tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of someone trained in high-society manners but currently miserable.

Corda reached him and grabbed his forearm. She shook it vigorously, her voice loud with gratitude, thanking him again for pulling her baby out of the water.

Drake subtly flexed his arm, smoothly pulling it out of her grip. His voice was flat and devoid of emotion. He said it was nothing, just instinct, and she didn't need to thank him.

He took a half-step backward, physically angling his body to escape down the road.

But Corda was relentless. She stepped into his path. She aggressively insisted that he come inside and eat dinner with them as a proper thank you.

Drake's brow furrowed. He glanced over Corda's shoulder, looking at Bridget on the porch, desperately searching for an excuse to leave.

Bridget leaned against the wooden post. She didn't help him. She held his gaze, a faint, amused smirk playing on her lips. She looked at him like a cat watching a mouse in a trap.

The blatant, unapologetic stare made Drake's stomach tighten with irritation. He misread her confidence as the same obsessive, clingy behavior that drove her into the lake in the first place.

Realizing Corda wasn't going to take no for an answer without causing a scene, Drake clenched his jaw. He gave a stiff, defeated nod.

Corda beamed. She ushered him up the steps. Bridget turned sideways to let him pass. As he brushed by her, the crisp, expensive scent of cedarwood soap hit her senses.

They moved into the cramped dining room. A pot of cheap beef stew and hard crusty bread sat on the table.

Drake was forced into the chair directly across from Bridget. His broad shoulders made the tiny room feel suffocatingly small.

Corda piled his bowl high with meat. Then, she made an excuse about needing a different serving spoon and practically ran into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

From the kitchen, the loud slam of a metal pot hitting the stove echoed. Brenda, the sister-in-law, was intentionally making noise, muttering curses about feeding outsiders.

Drake's eyes flicked toward the kitchen door. He instantly read the toxic financial tension in the house.

Bridget picked up her spoon. She decided to poke the bear. She used a smooth, adult tone, asking him if he was enjoying his community service at the camp.

Drake didn't look up from his bowl. He cut a piece of bread with aggressive force. He gave a single, dismissive grunt. "Fine."

Bridget raised an eyebrow. She wasn't offended. She found his icy walls incredibly interesting.

She rested her chin in her hand. She openly studied the sharp lines of his face and the long, elegant fingers gripping the cheap silverware.

Drake felt her eyes burning into him. He dropped his knife with a clatter. He looked up, his eyes blazing with cold warning. He told her to stop looking at him and to drop whatever delusions she was building in her head.

Bridget blinked, surprised by the venom. She realized he still thought she was a pathetic, love-crazed teenager.

She opened her mouth to put him in his place.

Suddenly, a violent chill ripped through her bones.

The smirk vanished from Bridget's face. She grabbed the edge of the wooden table. Her knuckles turned bone-white.

The freezing temperature of the lake water, combined with the massive adrenaline crash from fighting Julieta and Kurtis, finally caught up with her damaged body.

Drake watched her face drain of all color. He scowled, thinking she was faking an illness to get his attention. His eyes filled with disgust.

Bridget's vision violently tilted. The room spun. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn't faking, but her vocal cords paralyzed.

A massive wave of darkness swallowed her brain. Her grip on the table failed. She pitched forward, falling face-first toward the hard wood.

In the split second before she lost consciousness, she saw the disgust on Drake's face shatter into pure panic. Drake's reflexes were inhumanly fast. He kicked his chair back violently, his large frame vaulting around the corner of the cramped table in a blur. Just a fraction of a second before her forehead could smash into the hard wood, his strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her safely into his solid chest.