Page 149 of Past the Broken Bridges

I shake my head, closing my eyes again.

Dad sighs, his hand stilling. “I know this might not mean much, but if it makes you feel any better, I like him.”

Him.Paxton. Banks. Whoever he is.

“He went behind my back.”

“He cares about you.” His voice is thick. “I don’t know any other reason he would have called me when he could have let things go and had time with you to himself. Kept your secret. Not a lot of people would sacrifice what he did, but he did it for you. That says something, kiddo.”

It’s better he pawned me off. We couldn’t stay in a fantasy world forever. What would happen when the lymph nodes became so swollen they collapsed a lung? Or made it impossible to eat? What would he do when I was in my apartment hunched over a toilet while he was supposed to be in class? I didn’t need a caregiver, nor did I want one. If I did, I would have stayed home.

I needed a friend. A companion. A distraction.

Somebody I could have feigned happiness with for a little while longer.

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

I’m certain there are no more tears left to cry because despite the prickle of emotion rising up my throat, my eyes don’t water. “If he cared, then where is he?”

He hasn’t come to my apartment.

Hasn’t dropped off any Pop-Tarts or coffee.

There have been no texts. No calls. Nothing.

You were my favorite memory.

Maybe that’s the only thing he will ever be.

“Tonight is the service,” he tells me quietly.

I crack an eye open. “How did you—”

“I went to the school. Don’t make that face, Sawyer.” My father gives methe lookthat has me swallowing my reply. “They needed to know what was happening. Your adviser told me where Dawson Gable’s service was in case you were able to attend.”

I can’t believe he would go to campus. I should have known he wasn’t just going to let me stay here. He’s too logical.

“Banks will be there,” he adds.

Finally, I meet his eyes.

“They were friends, right?” he asks, brows drawn up.“There’s no doubt that he’ll be there to say goodbye. I wish I was there for you when the accident happened, and I wish I was there when you were in the hospital, but I can be here for you through this.”

“Dad, I don’t know if—”

“Was Dawson your friend?”

He already knows that answer. “Yes.”

“You tried to save him,” he points out. “You cared enough to get into that truck to try to make sure he was safe. I’ll be honest with you, sweetie. I’m not a fan of his, and I hate speaking ill of the dead. He put you at risk, and I’ll never be okay with that. But it says a lot more about your character than it does his. I know you, Sawyer. You’ll regret not going. You’ll regret not being able to gain some closure from this.”

Closure.

Isn’t that what this whole journey has been about?

My bottom lip quivers. “I didn’t save him, Dad. I failed him. And I lied to a lot of people.”

He pulls me into him for a hug. “You did what you could. That’s what matters.”

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