Page 144 of Past the Broken Bridges

Loneliness.

Because I’m selfish.

It should have been me.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Banks

There was so much I wanted to say to Sawyer when I walked into her hospital room, but all of those things—that I was glad she was okay, that we were going to get through this together despite her hesitations—went out the window the second I realized she was dealing with this alone.

But the difference is, shehaspeople.

Not everybody is that lucky.

I’ve been driving for hours when I decide to stop at the Botanic Gardens and walk around. It only seems fitting when it starts raining, drenching me as I walk the trails aimlessly. I guess I’d feel cheated if it were sunny because that’d hardly match my mood. Ever since the night of the accident, everything has been dark. Cold.

When my phone goes off in my pocket, I pull it out, having the pathetic reaction of thinking it could be Dawson since we haven’t spoken in days. Then it hits me all over again that it couldn’t be.

One of the last conversations Dawson and I had endedin a fight. Harsh words were said. Things I can’t take back. I hold on to a lot of regret because I can’t apologize or tell him I didn’t mean it.

Scrubbing at the dampness on my face that I’m not sure is rain or angry tears, I ignore the call and slide my cell back into my pocket to protect it from the rain.

Sawyer doesn’t want to live life with any regrets, but I don’t see how she wouldn’t have any. She’s close with her family, and her decision left them behind. Led her tome.

On my way back to the car, when my clothes are sopping wet and sticking to my skin, I stop by the little footbridge that a chipmunk scurries under for cover.

Then I think about the last item on Sawyer’s list.

Grabbing my keys, I get back into the car and stare at the bridge a little longer.

I didn’t get a chance to make things right with Dawson, so I’ll be damned if I mess up with Sawyer, even if she doesn’t feel the same way.

So I come up with a plan and then find the number her father gave me that day in the hallway.

“If anything ever comes up,” he tells me, slipping the paper with the phone number into my hand with a solid shake, “I trust that you’ll let me know.”

He could tell I cared.

I stare at the number.

And hit call.

* * *

I change into dry clothes before knocking on the door across the hall, not willing to push my boundaries and welcome myself in after my exit earlier.

When Sawyer opens it, I take my hands out of my pockets and say, “Go on a date with me.”

She blinks. “W-What?”

“Go on a date with me,” I repeat. In hindsight, I should have brought flowers or chocolates or pastries, but I wasn’t thinking about that. “I know you told me before that I was ruining everything for you, but I have somewhere I want to take you. Somewhere you’re going to want to see. So just one date. That’s all I ask of you. Give me today.”

She’s still wearing the same clothes that she was in when I left—the same ones that she wore yesterday. Fidgeting with the sweatshirt, she shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“We’ve been through hell, Birdie. I promise it’ll be worth it. I just need you to trust me. If this is the last thing you give me, then so be it.”

Her eyes are sad as they meet mine.

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