Page 88 of Past the Broken Bridges

“Don’t worry about it. Just…” When his eyes study my face, they take their time looking at every single feature. My mouth. My nose. One eye, then the other. “I’ll bring dinner over later tonight. Okay?”

It’s Sunday, and I’m grateful he’s still willing to cook for me after what happened. “We’re still friends, right?”

The silence I’m greeted with makes me regret asking.

Then he says, “No.”

Heart tightening in my chest before dropping to my stomach, I whisper, “Oh.”

I guess that makes sense. We crossed a line that most friends wouldn’t if it was that simple between them.

Just as I’m about to make some sort of excuse, maybe apologize for asking him to do that, he says, “I’d say we’re a hell of a lot more now that I’ve been inside you, Sawyer.”

Sawyer.Hearing him say my name in such a low tone does something funny to my heart.

“Oh,” I repeat, this time a little quieter than before as I soak that in.

Banks’s eyes go down to my lips, staring for a moment before he sighs and gets out of bed. Collecting his shirt from the floor, he puts it on swiftly and then sits on the edge of the mattress as he slides his shoes on.

When he stands, he turns to me and lets his eyes wander down my body, which is still draped in the bedding.

His throat bobs before he forces himself to look away. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says, walking to the door.

I listen to him make his exit, only releasing my breath when I hear the front door close behind him.

Then I think about what just happened.

And I realize I’m screwed.

Because I don’t deserve Banks and he doesn’t deserve the inevitable goodbye that comes with having me in his life.

Hours later, after a day of keeping to myself and reliving the moments of this morning in bed, I realize I have a choice to make.

Banks isn’t the only one who has to figure things out, but when he knocks at dinnertime with an armful of ingredients, I don’t hesitate to let him in.

Maybe that’s fate’s way of deciding for me.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Banks

The first thing I’m greeted with when I open the door to my father’s house is the strong stench of expensive tobacco. I’ve spent weeks avoiding him at all costs, hoping by the time I showed up for dinner with him again that he’d have cooled off.

“Paxton,” he calls out when I close the door behind me.

I hesitate only a moment before walking into the living room to see him sitting in his favorite chair. The place looks clean—cleaner than normal. Minus the cigar smoke, there’s a hint of Febreze in the air. When I glance into the open kitchen, I notice the garbage is empty and there aren’t any plates or dirty dishes scattered on the countertops.

It’s…strange. “Hey, Dad.”

“It took it being spring break for you to come home,” he comments, face void of any emotion.

As far as I’m concerned, he should feel lucky. I know a lot of people who fled Louisiana altogether for vacation, but I stayed. “I’m here now,” I tell him, walking into thekitchen and pouring myself a glass of water from the tap. “Did Laramie share the good news?”

Dad lowers his cigar, tapping the end against his crystal ashtray. “I’m not going to apologize for prying about your education, considering I’m the reason you have one. So if you were expecting one, I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

That’s typical of him. “He approved my final design, so I can start working on the physical concept. Apparently, I have potential.”

Dad huffs, and I doubt it has anything to do with the abuse he’s putting his lungs through right now. “I could have told you that.”

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