Page 151 of Past the Broken Bridges

Finally okay.

Done fighting and finally at peace.

An hour in, Paxton turns to study the crowd, and I wonder who he’s looking for. His eyes find their way to me and then to my father, who tips his head in acknowledgment the way he does when he’s greeting other men.

It’s simple. Respectful.

My fatherdoeslike him.

If things were different, would my father choose him for me the way I would choose him in another lifetime?

The spell of thoughts is broken when Paxton shifts his focus to somebody else, sitting straighter in his seat. From here, the only way to describe his expression is shock.

Leaning forward subtly, I try finding who’s captured his attention. There are a few people lining the seats three rows ahead of me, but his eyes look like they’re locked on a tan brunette whom I’ve never seen before.

My father gently clears his throat at me.

Blushing, I sit back and turn my focus back to what the officiant says as he wraps up the service. Nobody shared their stories of Dawson the way I expected. Did somebody ask them not to in fear of what they’d say? I find it hard to believe that the people here weren’t touched by him at some point. He had his troubles, but he was kind. Funny. Charming, even.

When the night ends, my father waits by the car to give me space to talk to whom I need to. He nods in encouragement when I look to him, so I stand taller and remind myself that I’ve been through worse than a conversation.

Walking over to where Paxton is standing by the mysterious brunette, I can’t help but listen in while his back is to me.

“Desiree, don’t you think it’s a little pathetic to attend the funeral of somebody whom you treated like shit? This isn’t a church. I’d hardly consider it the place to confess your sins.”

“I apologized to himandto you for what I did,” she hisses, looking offended. “Just because things didn’t end well doesn’t mean I didn’t care. And you guys made up, even after you were a willing participant in us getting together. So why are you being an asshole to me?”

Paxton snorts. “If you cared, you wouldn’t have gone after both of us knowing we were friends.”

The girl, Desiree, sees me standing behind Paxton and turns red. She looks back to our mutual friend and says, “I came here for Dawson, not to prove anything to you. It’s nice to know you haven’t changed, Paxton.”

She called him Paxton. Not Banks.

A crack forms in my heart.

I thought his father was the only one who called him that—and me, a long, long time ago.

Paxton turns. “Sawyer.”

“Banks,” I say, unsure of what to call him. “I—” Wetting my lips, I look between him and Desiree. She watches me curiously before scoffing and leaving us alone, disappearing to God only knows where. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.”

I’m not sure I believe him.

He clearly sees that. His tone softens. “I mean it. Talking to her is the last thing I want to do tonight. Ever, if I’m being honest.”

I wet my lips. “Not me?”

His brows furrow. “You?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been giving youspace.”

Space. Is it really that simple? “What if I don’t want space?”

His eyes roam over my face before a frown settles onto his. “But what about what youneed?”

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