Page 154 of The Wrong Heart

I don’t give myself any time to think before hoisting one leg up over the banister, my grip on the bar white-knuckled. My whole body tremors with fear, and I refuse to look down at the bleak chasm below as gasps and flashing lights from the group of spectators assault me. Police sirens sound in the distance, adding to my harrowing anxiety.

“What the fuck, man? What are you doing?”

My opposite leg follows suit, and I’m clutching the guardrail for dear life, the heels of my boots teetering off the edge of the cement ledge.

Holy fucking shit.

“Well,” I mutter, my voice hitching. I’m facing the opposite direction, chin tucked to my chest as I try to collect my bearings. “You seem pretty upset over killing a guy, so I figured you wouldn’t want another death on your hands.”

I blow out a hard breath, finding the courage to glance up at Milo. His stunned expression stares back at me, slack-jawed and bewildered.

He gapes at me. “Are you insane?”

Am I?

I’m about to shrug my shoulders, but my balance staggers at the gesture, so I just force out a strained, “Maybe.”

Since I’m facing the roadway, my eyes travel over to the large crowd of rubberneckers, likely live Tweeting and making TikTok videos as we speak.

Police officers roll in, catching Milo’s attention, and he hollers over his shoulder, “Stay the fuck back, or I’ll jump!”

My insides churn with dread. “Please don’t do that,” I say in a low voice, finding the strength to pivot myself on the overhang until I’m facing the same direction as Milo, my torso dangling forward over the bay. “If you jump, then I’ll have to jump in after you.”

“Bullshit,” he spits back. “Just leave me the hell alone. Get out of here.”

“I can’t do that. I mean, I’m already in this.” I suck in a wavering breath. “And then, what if you survive, but I drown? You’ll have to live with the responsibility of takingtwolives. That would really suck.”

“Dude, you’re stressing me out. Just go.”

“What do you love?”

Milo falters, sparing me the briefest look. His chin trembles, the fear evident despite his determination to drown himself. “My son,” he croaks out. “And my brother.”

“Aren’t they enough to live for?”

“My brother’s in jail. I was drivinghistruck when I hit that guy—someone got the plates, and Alfie was arrested. He refused to give me up, so now he’s rotting in a jail cell all alone, even thoughI’mthe one who killed a person.”

I bite my lip with consideration. “You could always turn yourself in.”

“I’m too chickenshit. I’d rather just end it all.”

“What about your son?” I continue, keeping the conversation going.

Keeping him distracted.

“He loses either way, but this way is better.”

“How so?”

Milo lets out a growl of protest, shaking his head. “I see what you’re doing, trying to get me to talk—tothink. I’ve already made up my mind, and you can’t change that.”

Braving a glance to the depths below, I sway as a swell of queasiness claims me. I push through the fear and pull my head up to watch the stars instead. “My dad died when I was just a little kid, and it really fucked up my whole life. He didn’t off himself like you, though, which I can only imagine will add an extra layer of trauma and heartbreak for your son.” Milo remains silent, bristling at my spiel. My fingers tense, curling stiffer around the clammy metal as I continue to spout off a bunch of random shit, hoping something manages to stick. “You know, I actually wanted to die not too long ago. I wasn’t actively suicidal, but I would’ve been really damn okay if I just stopped waking up in the morning. It’s a shitty, black hole type of feeling, and I’m not sure there’s anythinganyonecan say to help you see through to the other side.

“I could stand here all night giving you reasons and sob stories, glimpses of hope. But only you can decide that your life is worth living. Only you can see the other side.”

He’s quiet for a long time, maybe an entire minute, and we both keep our gazes fixed straight ahead, lost in the sea of stars. Milo cranes his neck my way, his eyes reflecting a new set of emotions, something I haven’t seen yet as I turn to face him.

There’s a crack in his conviction.

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