Page 84 of When The Rain Falls

Good.

When he catches up to me, we walk side by side onto the bridge. I peek over the railing and marvel at the terrifying drop to the water below.

This bridge, as I learned from Jack, is an iconic Tacoma landmark. A suspension bridge that rises hundreds of feet above a narrow channel of the Puget Sound. It consists of tall, green and grey columns that soar high into the air.

When we reach the middle of the bridge, the wind picks up. It sends my hair blowing in every direction as thick locks come loose from my ponytail. I glance around at the horizon, checking our surroundings. I stop and turn off my headlamp. Finn follows suit, the puzzled expression on his face lit only by overhead bridge lights. As Finn’s heavy breathing regulates, I can make out the faint sound of sea lions barking below us. I shiver against the chill in the air.

“Now what?” Finn’s voice is barely noticeable above the roar of the wind. My eyes are already starting to adjust and I can see that he’s propped his hands on his hips. The gesture always accentuates the broadness of his frame.

“Now we wait,” I tell him.

“Aimee, wait for what?” Frustration oozes into his tone. When I dragged him outside at 6:00 in the morning, I deliberately chose not to tell him our destination. I figured the less he knew, the better.

I cross my arms at him and slump into one hip. “You’re a troll, aren’t you supposed to have a thing for bridges?”

Finn blows air out his nose. “Fucking comedian. Aimee, if you brought me out here at 6:00 in the morning just to tell me I’m a troll, I swear to?—"

My laugh interrupts his sentence. I absentmindedly prop my hand on his shoulder as I double over. But when his muscles ripple and tense beneath me, I pull back quickly. I squeeze my thighs together and tell my heart to stop racing for a man who can’t be mine.

“You’ll see,” I assure him. “Just a couple more minutes.”

Finn looks anything but assured. "In a couple more minutes you’re going to freeze," he mutters, pointing to my body. And he’s right. It is cold here, standing high above the water in the middle of a bridge. I rub my arms to ward off the goosebumps.

“Your lips are already starting to turn blue,” Finn scolds.

Maybe you should kiss them, you idiot.

No, Aimee! Bad girl.

“Aimee, let’s go back.” There’s concern in his voice now. This isn’t working. I’m supposed to betorturinghim and he’s being all protective over my wellbeing. What a jerk.

"It’s fine. I'll just do jumping jacks.” I begin to bounce in place. Folding my shivering arms up to my chest. It helps. A little.

"Stop it. Jesus,” Finn mutters. He reaches an arm out and pulls me towards him. “You're making me nervous jumping close to the edge.” My arms tremble slightly under his firm grip. My sweat dampens my sports bra, turning frigid against my skin. My teeth begin to chatter so I clamp my mouth tight to stop it.

“Come on,” he sighs. He opens his arms wide. “I can keep you warm.” My eyes dart to his face and I give him a suspicious look. Finn sags his shoulders in exasperation.

“My muscles may be worth shit for running. But they’re good for this,” he says. When I don’t move, he lets out a sigh. “Aimee, it’s for survival.”

“Right. Sure.Survival.” My eyes practically roll around my head.

“Fine,” he says flatly. I swear to God he’s flexing his biceps on purpose to lure me into his body. “Just freeze.”

I hesitate for a moment. I rub my arms. My shoulders hike up to my head to protect my neck from the chill. Then, tentatively, I walk into his wall of muscle.

We can totally be friends.

But when Finn’s arm wraps around me, and my face plants against his warm, strong chest, and his hand settles at the small of my back, and he rests his chin gently on the top of my head, I’m second guessing everything. He doesn’t hold me like he’s keeping me warm. He holds me like he’s keeping me. Period. And I don’t know how he does it. Making me believe that he wants me when she still has his heart.

This is fucking torture.

“Have you heard of Galloping Gertie?” he asks into my hair. The words rumble and vibrate in his chest.

I shake my head. Because if I try to talk, I’m afraid what might come out. My brain is swirling with so many thoughts that I don’t know which ones might turn into words if I open my mouth. Thoughts like,why did you do this to me?andwhy do I still want you? andfuck me, please?

“That’s the nickname for this bridge,” he explains. “The original version of it, anyway. It was built in the 1940s or something like that. After a couple months of heavy winds, it failed and collapsed right into the water.”

I don’t really know why he’s telling me all this. But I like the sound of his voice. I like when he talks passionately about something. Even if that something is just baseball or this bridge. Hell, I’d enjoy listening to him read the Wikipedia page for grasshoppers.

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