Page 116 of Past the Broken Bridges

“We fight sometimes,” I tell her, not meeting her eyes. I focus on some random object in the kitchen. “It’s worse when he drinks. He’s gotten…bad over the years. This is the worst it’s—” I cringe when I move, sucking in a deep breath at the pain coursing through me. “This is the worst it’s gotten.”

She watches me; I can tell by the burning sensation on the side of my face that doesn’t go away. It only grows. Becomes more intense as she soaks that in. Never naming. Never fully saying what’s between us.

Gently, so gently, her palm cups my jawline, her thumb stroking my bottom lip. “You got into an argument with your father on the phone once. About Dawson. He seemed…mad.”

All I can do is blink, hoping she doesn’t connect the dots. But my Birdie is too smart for her own good.

“You don’t talk about him. Ever.” There’s pain in her voice, asking the silent question that she can’t seem toverbalize. “You get a faraway look on your face whenever he’s brought up.”

I try to answer, to put into words anything that could justify what’s been done. But how can I? She’d never understand. I barely do.

The only thing I can think to say is “He’s sick.” Her crestfallen expression is hard to absorb, so I put my hand on top of the one she still has on my face. “I’ve been surrounded by sick people my whole life, always trying to help them. Cure them. Never able to make a difference no matter how hard I try. My father. Dawson…”

Sawyer’s eyes dim, her hand twitching underneath mine. Still, no words come.

“I’m the enabler. Letting them get away with whatever they want, and it destroys them. Destroys me. But with you, it’s different.You’redifferent. You’re the peace that I need. A semblance of normalcy I didn’t know I could have.”

Glassiness fills her blue eyes as she shudders out a sharp breath, like she’s struggling to breathe. I can imagine what I’m saying is a lot to process. I never want to burden her, or anybody, with the past I’ve endured.

I lean into her touch, my grip on her tightening to ground me. “I’ll forever be grateful for you, Sawyer.”

“Banks…” she whispers, voice broken.

“I know, Birdie,” I murmur, moving her hand to my mouth and pressing a kiss against the center of her palm.

“I need to tell you…” She shakes her head, lips parting but not saying another word. I wish I could read her mind, but I don’t think I need to.

All I can do is make a promise to the girl who I feel like I’ve known my whole life. I could ask her, try fitting the pieces together and see if they’re one of the same.

But I don’t want to.

Because I need this Sawyer more than the one I held onto in the past.

“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her. A single tear trails down her cheek, and I swipe it away with my thumb. “Don’t be sad for me. That’s the last thing I want.”

“Whatdoyou want then?” she finally asks, voice cracking from the emotion I put there.

Nobody has ever asked me that.

Neither of my parents.

Not Dawson.

What do you want?

I swallow, trying to push past the pain still thrumming through my body.

As much as I want to help my father, I know there’s nothing I can do for him.

I want to escape.

Him. This place.

I want to get my degree and find a job that can appreciate my designs the way my father never could.

Maybe I want what Sawyer wants.

I want tolive.

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