Page 121 of Past the Broken Bridges

Lucy pops her head out of the back, clearly eavesdropping on us. “I’ll cover. You two get out of here.”

Banks winks at me, grabbing ahold of my hand and walking us out of the store, but not before grabbing a Pop-Tart and passing me the silver-wrapped treat.

I can’t focus on that though.

All I can do is look at our conjoined hands.

It’s mundane.

Probably mindless for him.

But nobody has ever held my hand before.

A lump reappears in my throat, sticking to the back of it and making it hard to swallow.

In the sea of faces that we pass, nobody seems to pay us any attention. For all they know, we’re just another couple on campus. Nothing special or out of the ordinary.

And it’s…nice to blend in. For once.

Then I see Dawson, who’s walking from the west side of campus.

His eyes go from me to Banks and then down to where we’re joined.

He’s too far away to say anything to, and I can tell Banks doesn’t notice him at all as he guides us to the student parking lot.

I raise my free hand to wave.

Dawson doesn’t return it.

That’s when I realize he’s just another one of the victims I’ve hurt.

Let him go.

Let him go.

Let him go.

Banks was called selfish once, but the only person that truly describes is me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Banks

“Brake. Brake.Brake.” Banks slams his foot down on the imaginary pedal on the passenger side the same time I hit the actual one, gripping the handle above his window.

Stopping in the middle of the dead-end road, I white-knuckle the steering wheel and let out a shaky breath. We’re inches away from a ditch that drops deep enough that a tow would have probably been necessary if I went in.

“I’m horrible,” I state.

Banks takes a minute to collect himself before shaking his head. “No. You’re learning. There’s a difference.”

I bet he was way better at driving when he started. Putting the truck into park with a shaky hand, I lean back into the bench seat.

“I got my learner’s permit when I was sixteen,” I tell him, closing my eyes and willing my heart rate to calm down. What I don’t admit is that I technically failed the first exam because I panicked and started answering the questions randomly. I’ve always had test anxiety, but my brain was stillfuzzy from the chemo I’d been undergoing. Mom told me to wait to take it until I was done with my first round of treatment when I could process things easier, but I didn’t want to be behind my friends.

Ironic, considering I barely had any of those by the end of the year.

I blame the toxins for making me forget everything I studied in the manual before going in. Maybe the people behind the counter felt bad for the girl who looked as sick as she was because they simply went over the answers one by one and passed me when I should have never walked out of there with a permit.

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