Page 115 of Past the Broken Bridges

Dixie swallows. “I think…” Her eyes go to Sawyer before she backs toward the door, unable to glance in my direction. “I’ll let you two talk. I hope you feel better.”

I’m about to tell her she can stay when she makes a swift escape.

Sawyer appears in front of me, the cloth wrapped around the ice pack that she carefully presses against my face. “What happened to you?”

This isn’t why I came here, so I take the ice pack and lower it. “I came to apologize for ghosting you, not to make you take care of me.”

She crosses her legs under her. “I should have known something was up, but I never thought…” Her tongue slowly drags across her bottom lip as she studies me, sadness masking her face. “Did Dawson do this?”

Dawson?We may have gotten into it that one time, but it’s the first time we ever fought. I don’t anticipate him doing it again. “No. He’s avoiding me right now.

“Dixie said you helped her when he ended things. Thank you for being a friend to her when I wasn’t.”

“I barely did anything.”

She shrugs. “It meant something to her.”

I know what a handful Dawson can be, and Dixie seems sweet. Maybe too sweet to be the person my friend needs right now, as much as I wish she could be. But nobody should have that much responsibility on their shoulders.

I’d know.

Sawyer nervously takes my hand, tracing along one of my fingers. “If it wasn’t Dawson, then who?”

She won’t let this go. If I were in her shoes, I’d probably be the same way. Hell, when I first saw her with a bloody nose, I was ready to go after the person responsible without knowing her well at all.

But the truth is too damning.

She must know I’m trying to find an out when her fingers squeeze mine, pulling my attention to her wide blue eyes. “Please?”

That fucking word…

Nostrils flaring, I look down at our hands. Her touch is so light I almost don’t feel it at all despite the warmth thatsoaks into my skin. It’s calming, making me forget about the pain plaguing my body. Momentarily.

“Some things are too heavy to burden people with, Birdie. Because once you know…” I let my voice fade, shifting and sending pain shooting through my sides until it’s hard sucking in the oxygen my lungs desperately need.

“You can’t unknow,” she finishes, as if she understands all too well. Her touch on me lightens, but I keep ahold of her, afraid that she’ll let go. I need her to keep me grounded right now, not to pull away.

Her eyes go to our hands before they close.

“It was an accident,” I tell her, hoping it’s enough to placate her curiosity.

“What kind of accident leads tothis?”

My free hand clenches tightly against my side where she can’t see it. I’m careful when I lean back until I’m flush against the cushions. Blowing out a breath, I refrain from making a face. She’s already worried. If she knew what happened…how bad it really is…

All I can manage to say is “He didn’t mean it. Life happens sometimes.”

Even with my eyes closed, I can feel her watching me intently. “Who? If it’s not Dawson, then who could be responsible for this?”

“Let it go, Birdie. Please.”

Her throat bobs as she studies me, her fingers reaching up to touch where my lip was split months ago. Her fingertip stills there, causing a shiver to creep up my spine. Then it moves to the eye that was discolored from my best friend and is now colored again from somebody different. Swollen. Red. Sore.

When she lets go, it’s to tug the collar of her shirt downto reveal the scar under her collarbone that I asked about before. “The skeletons I have in my closet have to do with this. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t anything I could control. But that doesn’t mean I deserved it. I’ve held onto the burden of this for a long time, Banks. That weighs on a person. Drowns them. I’m here because I’m tired of swimming. I’m tired of fighting for life. I simply want toliveit.”

I stare at the bump silently, taken aback that she would share that with me. She’s been close-lipped about a lot in her life. Some questions go unanswered, avoided, and evaded like a politician. Trained. Like she’s used to doing it.

We’re alike in that way—always pushing people from the truth when they get too close to it. Scared of what they’ll do when they find out.

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