Page 102 of Past the Broken Bridges

The microwave beeps, but we both ignore it. I step beside her. “It is. The waterfall is man-made—purely for decoration. A lot of local teenagers go there to take pictures on prom night because of the aesthetic.”

Something shadows her face, her shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s beautiful,” she tells me, turning with only a sad smile in my direction as she redirects her attention to the food.

“I can take you there,” I offer. “If you’d like.”

She passes me a plate and a fork, her lips wavering at the corners. “I’ve never been, so that’d be nice.”

“About what your mom said—”

Before I can ask the question taunting me, my phone goes off for the millionth time. When I woke up from my short-lived nap, Dawson had called a total of eight times and left me ten different texts, which I ignored. Then Dad called me to let me know Dawson had shown up at the house.

He wasn’t happy.

Sighing when I see my father’s name, I decide to answer, knowing that ignoring him again won’t lead anywhere good. “Is he still there?” I ask in greeting.

“I asked you to come here and get him three and a half hours ago,” my father informs me.

Technically, he asked my voicemail. “I wasn’t feeling well, Dad. I told him earlier that he had to figure his shit out. I never told him to go there and bother you.”

“You owe me a hundred dollars to pay me back for the money I gave him,” he tells me.

I shift away from Sawyer’s curious gaze, lowering my voice. “You gave him money?”

The nerve of this motherfuc—“What was I supposed to do? My son was being selfish, so I had to step in like I always do.”

A cool laugh bubbles past my lips. “Like you always do?” I repeat in dry amusement. “That’s classic. Who was the one cleaning upyourmesses growing up after Mom left? Whomade sure you were okay whenever you’d have one of your stints?”

His voice lowers. “Paxton—”

“You can call me selfish all you want,” I cut him off, walking to the other side of the room and pacing in front of the television. “But maybe look at yourself in the mirror and figure out where I got it from. They say kids’ first role models are their parents. Guess that’s unfortunate for me.”

I hang up before he can start in on me like I can sense he’s about to. Turning my phone off, I throw it onto the couch with more force than necessary. It bounces off and lands on the floor, the crack in the screen protector visible from here.

Raking my hands through my hair, I give my back to the girl standing silently in my kitchen.

After a few minutes, I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Banks?” she whispers.

Taking a deep breath, I turn around.

She’s staring up at me. “I’m sorry.”

It isn’t her who should be saying those words to me. “He thinks I’m selfish.” An angry laugh escapes me as I look down at her. “He thinksI’mselfish.”

“You’re not,” she reassures, eyes sympathetic.

I grind my teeth. “Everybody else gets to do whatever they want without thinking of how it impacts the people around them,” I say, jaw ticking at everything I’ve endured trying to be a good friend—the better person.

Dawson. Dad. How many times do I have to put other people before myself? Consider their feelings when they can’t even consider mine?

I’m fuckingdone.

Sawyer steps forward, a frown curling her mouth. “Banks—”

I close the little distance between us, grab ahold of her face, and say, “It’s my turn to be selfish for once.”

The kiss is startling. Demanding. Angry. Wanting. A list of things that Sawyer’s surprised gasp only feeds as I taste her.

At first, she’s frozen, but it doesn’t take her long to melt into me. I tease her tongue and nip her bottom lip, drawing out a noise from her that hardens me as I roll my hips involuntarily forward to press against her.

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