Page 33 of Past the Broken Bridges

I take the moment of silence to look around her place. It’s almost as bare as mine, but there are a lot more decorations littering the living room. Colorful pillows on the couch. A throw blanket that looks handmade. Pictures of a golden retriever on the wall that must be the one she talks about a lot.

“You’re supposed to be in class,” she points out, breaking me from my nosiness.

I shrug, taking note of the take-out containers piled in the kitchen garbage. “You weren’t there. Wanted to make sure you weren’t dead. I hear that’s what friendly neighbors do.”

Her laugh is featherlight, perking my ears up. It almost makes me smile. Almost. “Touché,” she muses. “I wasn’t avoiding you. Just slowly bleeding out. No big deal.”

The attempt at humor doesn’t sit well with me, even though it’s something I’d usually appreciate. “You’ll be fine. People get nosebleeds all the time. Let me look.”

She cringes but pulls the tissue back. It looks like the bleeding has stopped, so I give her the warm cloth to wipe off the stained blood on her skin.

“Did I get it?” she asks, wiggling her nose.

I take the cloth from her and gently wipe at the one spot that she missed. Her lips are pressed together and her cheekspinken, and I don’t know if that’s because of me or because she isn’t feeling well.

Clearing my throat, I set the cloth down. “Got it,” I murmur.

We stare at one another before her eyes dip down to the blood-stained items. She gets up, swaying slightly on her feet. I grab her arm until she stabilizes herself, the pink in her cheeks darkening as she pulls her arm back. “I’m fine. I got up too quickly.”

I stand, watching as she throws out the dirty tissues and tosses the bloody washcloth into one of the back rooms.

When she comes out, she crosses her arms across her chest. She’s wearing the same baggy college sweatshirt as the first time I saw her, but instead of the shorts that showcased her nice legs, she’s in matching college sweatpants that do little for her body.

It’s probably better that way.

Dibs,I remind myself, thinking of Dawson.

The last thing I need is a repeat of Desiree.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I grab the silver-wrapped snack from my back pocket that I almost forgot about. “Got you this.” I don’t make eye contact as I pass her the Pop-Tart. Chocolate fudge. “Probably broke it when I sat down, but it should taste the same.”

She slowly takes the gift like I pass her a check for a million dollars, her mouth curving upward as she stares at the treat. “You didn’t have to make up an excuse to see me, you know.”

“I didn’t,” I lie. I totally did.

Why else would I justify buying frosting-covered cardboard? Lucy giggled the whole time she cashed me out at the store, only laughing harder when I told her to shut up.

“Does this mean we’re friends?” she asks, not calling me out on the way my eyes lazily drag down the front of her.

“Do you want to be?”

She licks her lips, the tip of her tongue darting out the side for a moment in contemplation. “I don’t see why not. Not many people are willing to clean up a random person’s bloody nose. Or buy them snacks.”

My eyes go to the part of her in question to make sure it hasn’t started bleeding again. “You going to be good?”

She nods, waving the food I gave her. “Now that I have this, I’ve never been better.”

We’re silent again.

Sawyer moves her weight from one foot to the other. “So…?”

Huffing out a laugh, I stand from the coffee table and walk toward the door. “Yes, Birdie. We’re friends.”

My eyes catch a piece of paper taped to the refrigerator as I walk past it, but I don’t see what the handwriting says before Sawyer moves in front of it.

“Thank you for the Pop-Tart,” she tells me with a soft smile. “Friend.”

Her blue eyes glimmer with playfulness, making me grin in amusement. “Anytime,pal.”

---