Page 83 of Past the Broken Bridges

“Dixie, go find the EMTs—”

“No,” Sawyer cuts me off, forcing herself to sit up. She holds her head, her body swaying slightly until she steadies herself. “No, I’m fine. I just got a little hot. That’s all.”

“You should get checked out. There are medics right over there. They won’t make you go to the hospital unless they think it’s serious.”

If it’s possible, she gets paler. “No hospitals. I don’t need anybody to look at me. Please?” Her eyes fill with panic, making me wonder what she’s so afraid of. “I need water. That’s all.”

Dixie is quick on her feet. “I’ll go get you some.”

When it’s just us, I brush fallen hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. “You scared the hell out of me, Birdie.”

She looks down. “I’m sorry. I…”

I frown when her words trail off. “What?”

Silently, she shakes her head.

Dixie approaches, holding out a bottle of water to me with a nervous expression. “Er, Banks?”

I uncap the bottle and give it to the girl still leaning on my lap, unfazed by the people walking by and staring. “What?”

Her voice is so quiet, I almost don’t hear her say, “I found Dawson.”

It takes a couple of seconds for that to sink in before my eyes dart over to her right, where my dumbass friend is standing with blood on his face and a swollen eye. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got mugged. Someone stole my bag.”

Since his eyes won’t meet mine, I don’t buy it for a second. “Mugged, huh?” I gesture toward one of the officersstanding by the blockade gate. “You should report it then. I’m sure they’ll want to know what was in it.”

I see his throat bob. “Banks…”

“Don’t.” I stop him, holding my hand up. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”

We fall into tense silence.

It’s Sawyer who says, “I think it’s time to go.”

I nod, helping her up and not caring when Dawson watches me hold onto her hand. “I think you’re right.”

Dixie sticks by Dawson, whose attention is on Sawyer, not me.

“Unless you’re going to wait for themuggerto come back, I suggest you come too,” I tell Dawson.

Dawson swallows, finally looking at me. “I fucked up.”

My nostrils flare. “I know.”

Putting my arm around Sawyer, I guide us to where we parked.

It’s a silent ride back.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sawyer

I wake up in a ball of sweat, groaning in confusion as I sit up on my elbows and let my eyes adjust to the pitch-dark room. Everything hurts—from the tightness in my neck down to the pinpricks of pain settled into my feet. Wiggling my toes, I rub the side of my neck and feel the inflammation nestled just below my jaw.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and swallow past the emotion trying to rise from my chest. On nights like this, when sleep evades me and I don’t feel well, I miss home. I miss my mother and my brother and my dad. I miss being around people who understand the reason I am the way I am.

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