Page 155 of Past the Broken Bridges

“Bent—”

“I hate you,” he hisses before hanging up.

I stare at my phone, fully awake now. If I call him back and try to talk to him, will he answer? I doubt it. I know Bentley. He holds on to grudges.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I trudge over to the door and wake up my father, who’s been sleeping on the couch since getting here. “You can’t uproot Bentley’s life.”

If he’s surprised by the statement, he doesn’t act it. He sits up, wincing as he massages his neck and rolls his shoulders. “Sawyer, your mother and I think it’s what’s best.”

I cross my arms. “For whom? He’s mad at me because you guys are taking away the only stability he’s ever had. I don’t want to be responsible for that. I’ve already caused enough damage to the family for one lifetime.”

His eyes widen. “Sawyer, how could you say that? Nothing you’ve done is your fault.”

I may not have asked for cancer, but I made plenty of decisions since stopping treatment. “If you take him out of New York, he may never forgive me. I promised him I wouldn’t do that to him.”

Dad swipes a palm down the front of his face and sighs. “Can we talk about this in the morning? I think this conversation needs coffee, and I can tell you’re upset.”

“Bentley is more upset,” I argue.

He watches me for a moment, lips pressing together in contemplation before he eventually nods. “No matter what choice we make, somebody is going to be upset. But your mother and I aren’t comfortable leaving you here alone given the circumstances.”

It’s always about you.

Selfish.

Whom are you trying to fool?

I hate you.

Closing my eyes, I squeeze my fists together where they’re tucked under my arms. “Give me a month. I’ll be finished with the semester, and then I’ll go back to New York. Just don’t…” I take a deep breath. “Don’t make Bentley leave. That’s the only home he’s ever known.”

In that moment, I realize what Paxton must have been thinking when he chose to call my father.

Life is all about sacrifices for the people you care about. The people you love.

“Sawyer,” Dad says softly.

“I’m going to bed.”

I close the door behind me, curl into the blankets, and think about how to make the most of my time left.

But when sleep evades me and I find myself too pent-up to relax, I creep out of my bedroom, past my sleeping father, and out the front door.

* * *

It smells exactly how I remember it did, the blooming flowers tickling my nose as I settle against the remaining trunk of the oak. I can tell how much effort it took for Paxton, or whomever, to maintain this little slice of heaven.

Using my foot to nudge the one of the bridge’s wooden posts, I frown as it teeters out of place. Despite Paxton’s work, I doubt it’ll last much longer without some major TLC. And who has the money for that? I guess it’s good that I won’t be around long enough to see it completely destroyed.

I hear footsteps near me. I scooch closer to the stump, hugging my legs into my body and hoping what little remains of the darkness from sunrise can shield me from whoever is coming.

I see a flashlight enter the little alcove before a body does, and past the bright glare, I see Paxton. Relief eases my tense muscles as he walks over. “Thought you might be here.”

“How did you know I left?” I ask, relaxing into the stump. “My dad didn’t even wake up when I snuck out.”

My neighbor chuckles. “Are you sure?” he remarks with a secretive smile.

“Why?”

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