Page 141 of Past the Broken Bridges

Her eyes have always been so…lively.

So hopeful.

“Your list,” I murmur, the pieces slowly coming together as the last few months resurface in my head. I never understood why there were so many items on it that any twenty-something could easily do, but I also never would have judged her.

Sawyer’s eyes close, her head seemingly too heavy to stay up as it settles into the pillow. “I spent so much time fighting to live that I only ever had the energy to exist. So I made a list and enrolled in college.”

There’s a lump in my chest that rises up into my throat and lodges there. “A bucket list,” I rasp.

Her eyes crack open. “Alivelist.”

My body feels weak as it leans against the door for support. All this time…

She watches me. My Birdie. The girl who used to look ready to fly anywhere if it meant having an adventure. Now I know why.

“All this time…” My words fade as I drag my fingers through my hair. All this time, she knew she was sick. All this time, Sawyer—mySawyer—was fighting a battle all by herself.

All by herself.

Fists tightening at my sides, I peel my eyes away from her. She lets me have my moment, lying in silence, nothing but hospital machines sounding around us.

Then I stand up, my spine straightening as I open the door and walk out of the room.

The nurse who left me only moments ago watches with wide eyes as I approach her desk with a whole new expression on my face. It’s probably a mixture of fury and determination. “I want to sign her out.”

Her eyebrows go up, but a small smile curls the corner of her lips. “We would need to see an ID to make sure you’re eighteen or older and to go over a few things with you about where you two will be staying, but—”

I toss my ID at her, my eyes going back toward the hallway with the door that I left ajar.

Nobody should be stuck here.

No matter how much they’re used to it.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” I murmur.

The nurse passes me my ID back and says, ever so quietly, “No, she doesn’t.” Her smile saddens, making me think she knows exactly how bad it is.

Cancer.

My stomach drops.

Sawyer’s words from the night of the accident haunt me.

It should have been me.

When I go back to her room, Sawyer is watching the door. I don’t ask her any of the things that I want to know. All I say is “You’re coming home with me.”

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

We stare at one another, our eyes never breaking even when the nurse comes in with discharge papers and care instructions.

The only time I look away is when a curtain separates us as Sawyer changes out of the gown and into a spare set of clothes Dixie dropped off.

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