Page 85 of Past the Broken Bridges

A soft knock on the door has me sitting up in bed. Banks pokes his head in, stepping inside once he sees me awake. “I was hoping you’d still be sleeping, but I heard you talking.”

He pushes his glasses up and leans his shoulder against the doorjamb. At some point after he was done talking to Dawson, he must have changed and came to check on me while Dixie was still here because he’s in sweatpants that hug his lean legs and a T-shirt that showcases his broad shoulders instead of his usual jeans-and-flannel combo that hides his body.

When I realize I’m staring, I force my eyes away. “I was talking to my brother.” A pause. “Did you put me in bed?”

“You didn’t look comfortable on the couch,” he explains, pushing off the wall before walking in. He tips his chin toward my bed. “Do you mind?”

I shake my head, pulling my knees up to my chest and hugging them. Banks sits down on the edge of the mattress, making sure he gives me space.

“I hope you don’t mind that I came in,” he says. “Dixie was leaving since you fell asleep, and I figured I’d hang out to make sure you were okay.”

“It’s fine. Did you talk to Dawson?” I ask.

Banks leans his elbows on his knees, rolling his neck. “Tried to. He wasn’t very receptive. I let him take Dixie home because he seemed okay enough and I think she wanted to talk to him.”

Nibbling my lip, I make a mental note to check on her in the morning since we didn’t talk much when I invited her in. She said she needed to use the bathroom before she went back to the dorms, and by the time she came out, I’d already fallen asleep on the couch from the fatigue that took over from the day. I appreciated her help today, even though I can sense things are still a little tense between us.

“That backpack had something bad in it, didn’t it?” I guess. My memories were a little fuzzy after waking up in Banks’s lap. One second I was fine, and the next, everythingaround me was spinning. My ears were ringing, my body overheating as I reached out to Dixie and started going down.

Not one of my finer moments.

I remember the tension on the ride back though. You could have cut it with a knife. Dixie tried to relieve it with friendly conversation, but it didn’t seem to last long.

“Yes,” he admits, scratching the column of his neck. “And if it really was stolen, then Dawson is in some serious shit.”

That doesn’t sound good at all. “Should we do something?”

“I’ve tried helping him. He doesn’t want it.”

We’re quiet for a tense second or two. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “For earlier.”

His brows pinch. “You don’t have to apologize. Or be embarrassed, for that matter. A lot of people are afraid of hospitals.”

My lips part to respond, but I find myself stopping. It’s kind of funny because I should be terrified of them. But oddly enough, so many good memories happened in them. The nurses in the oncology unit do everything in their power to make patients comfortable. On my seventeenth birthday, they threw me a little party. On my eighteenth, they collected money to give me as a present because I talked about getting my license and buying my own car, which inevitably never happened. I was in remission on my nineteenth birthday. Out of remission by my twentieth. And during the battle, I built a lot of beautiful friendships and lost some of those same friends to ugly, ugly illness.

“It’s not like that,” I say quietly, squeezing my arms around my bent knees. The motion hurts my biceps, whichache from a soreness that I know won’t be going away anytime soon. “There are a lot of things to be afraid of in life. Hospitals are full of the type of people who help take away that fear.”

I can feel Banks’s eyes on me, but I won’t meet them. “You said you’ve been around a lot of sick people. Is there someone in your family who was ill?”

Tell him,my conscience pushes.

Do it.

The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but I find myself swallowing them. Despite the pain, I squeeze my arms tighter around myself. It grounds me. Reminds me how far I’ve come despite the odds.

“I know a few people who have struggled with a lot in their lives, and their strength is admirable to me.” Wetting my dry lips, I finally meet his eyes. “I really hope Dawson gets better. Life is too short to be battling with yourself when you should be living.”

Banks doesn’t call me out for switching the conversation back to his friend. “Well said, Birdie.”

Flattening out my legs, I readjust the blanket on my lap and glance at the time again. “It’s late. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I feel bad that you stuck around this long.”

He shakes his head, his hand going to my shin and squeezing it once. “I didn’t mind. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I stare at his hand, watching his thumb lazily rub the inside of my calf. Does he know he’s doing that? “You…” I pause, biting the inside of my cheek. “You can stay if you want. Like you said, the couch isn’t very comfortable, but…”

His brows rise. “Are you asking me to spend the night?”

Is he really going to make me say it? “Only if you want. There’s plenty of room in the bed.” To prove my point, I scooch over and pat the empty spot next to me.

---