Page 156 of Past the Broken Bridges

He grins, turning the flashlight off and tucking it into his front pocket. “Who do you think came to my apartment asking if I knew where you might go?”

I sit up straighter, looking toward the set of bushes hiding us. “Is he here?”

Paxton settles beside me, stretching his long legs out in front of him and holding out a silver-foiled wrapper for me to take. “Nah, he let us have a moment. I think he knows you need it now more than ever.”

I rest my chin back down on my knees, staring at the Pop-Tart. “Did he tell you?”

There’s a pause. “Yes.”

“I’m doing it for my brother.”

“I know, Birdie.”

“I don’t want to be selfish anymore.”

His throat bobs. “You never were.”

What a lie.

“Bentley hates me,” I tell him, nibbling my bottom lip and closing my eyes. “Going back is the only way.”

Paxton rubs my arm. “No, he doesn’t. He’s thirteen and upset. I can’t tell you how many times I told my family I hated them when I was his age.”

But the difference is, he had a reason to. “You didn’t mean it though? If I were you, I would have.”

He stares at our bridge quietly, thinking about his answer. Clicking his tongue, he shakes his head. “I heard once that life is too short to be at war with yourself. If I spent my whole life hating my family for the choices they made, wouldn’t I regret the decisions I was making for me?”

I consider it, realizing our mindsets aren’t that different after all. Neither one of us wants to waste our time existing with the cards we were dealt when we could reshuffle the deck.

“Paxton?”

His eyes flicker to me, sparking when he hears me speak that name. Long before he was Banks, the boy who shared my bed, he was Paxton, the boy who shared my fruit snacks.

My happy place.

I let out a tiny breath. “You were never just an item to cross off the list.”

He looks away, face overcome with emotion. I don’tthink I needed to tell him that, but I can tell he appreciated it anyway.

Eventually, in such a quiet voice, he says, “I always saw you as more than my neighbor, more than a friend.” He pauses, still not looking at me but at the wooden bridge. “Maybe in another life, we could have explored that.”

That crack in my heart deepens, making my chest threaten to cave in. “Yeah. Maybe.”

We sit in silence, his hand sliding toward mine until our pinkies wrap around one another. I don’t know how long we sit like that, but it doesn’t seem like long enough when I choose to break the silence.

“I’m grateful for you and what you’ve given me,” I tell him, squeezing his pinky. “I always will be. And I hope one day you can find the kind of friendship we had in somebody who can truly make you happy.”

His grip on my hand tightens until it’s almost painful, but I know that’s not his intent. Paxton Banks would never hurt me.

Not the way I’m hurting him.

His voice is raspy when he says, “I hope so too, Birdie. I hope so too.”

Chapter Forty

Sawyer

If there’s one thing I hate more than walking into a room late, it’s being stared at when people know your secret. There’s always pity in their eyes. Empty sympathy. They know, but they can’t relate. Most people are only sad because they feel like they should be. There’s nothing personal about the emotion they feel, no reason for them to lose sleep the way I know my family has. The way Paxton and Dixie have. They feel obligated to, like they’d be bad people if they didn’t act like they cared.

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