Page 50 of Past the Broken Bridges

But the longer I stay in my head, the more I want to go through with it. Casual. Easy. College is full of guys who are more than willing to be both, and my lips still tingle from the boy who I want nothing more than to be the one to help me.

I don’t tell her about that. “Oh, you know. Random stuff. Dixie and I are going to a few basketball games, and she wants me to go to some jazz museum with her.”

It’s not my scene, but it’s only fair that I do things she likes since I’m dragging her out with me.

“You at a basketball game?” The humor in her tone makes me smile. “I think I want a picture of that. Since when are my children into sports?”

“Isn’t college about trying new things?”

“It is, you’re right. Just remember,” she says, using her mom voice. “Be easy on yourself. I’m not only talking about at the party, but in general. I know how much you love being out, but you need to listen to your body.”

It’s like she knows I’m not at my best today. She used to call it momstincts—mom instincts.

You’ll understand when you become one,she’d tell me, brushing hair out of my face.

But we both knew that was merely optimism talking, not logic.

Lips twitching, I nod as if she can see me. “I know.”

I never told her about the nosebleed, or she would have freaked out. Like, “bought a plane ticket and shown up at my apartment” freaked out. I also haven’t told her that Iwake up more times than not coughing up a lung. There’s a laundry list of things I’ve kept to myself and written off. I’m not going to do that to her.

I can make a million reasons why I keep getting nosebleeds and a million and one more excuses about everything else. It’s all the same.

Some people would call it denial.

I call it blissful ignorance.

“I mean it, Sawyer.”

Oh, God. I can hear the tone of her voice. “I know, Mom. I’ve been careful.”

“And you’ll let me know if you’re not?”

Swallowing, guilt seeps into my conscience. “I will,” I say, cringing at the lie that tastes bitter in my mouth.

After we say goodbye, I stare at the black screen before tucking my phone back into my pocket.

“Sounds like a serious conversation,” a familiar voice says.

My head bolts up, eyes locking on Banks. We haven’t seen each other since I kissed him yesterday, and I figured he was avoiding me again. Not the best reaction, but that was the risk I took by doing it.

Surprise has me straightening. “What are you doing here?”

Banks doesn’t look any different than he does when I see him on campus. Faded jeans that seem a little stained. A black sweatshirt. Dirty work boots. His brown hair is tousled, like he’s run his hand through it a few times. “My father lives nearby.”

“The professor?” I recall.

He nods, sticking his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “What about you?” It’s a casual question. Noawkwardness from what transpired between us. His eyes go to the store. “Getting a book?”

“I got a little turned around,” I admit. “I wasn’t planning on stopping here, but…”

He looks around and then checks his watch. It looks expensive. Old. Sentimental, maybe? My father loves watches and has the kind of collection that most men would be jealous of.

“Is there somewhere you’re trying to get?” Banks asks.

Not wanting to explain the sentimentality of my bridge out of embarrassment, I shake my head. “I’m just looking around. Being a tourist for a day. I thought about doing a hike or something.”

I’ve been out once before trying and failing to find my happy place. Banks saw me in my outfit and assumed I was going for a run, and I didn’t correct him then, either. I was too invested in how his eyes had gone down the length of me in heated appraisal until my toes had curled in my shoes.

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