Page 100 of Past the Broken Bridges

I blink slowly, repeating those words in my head to make sure I heard him right.

“Unbelievable,” I mumble under my breath.

“Banks, I—”

“Don’t.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the loose bills I stuffed in there after stopping at the café earlier. I don’t even know how much money I throw at him, but I toss it all in his direction and watch it flutter to the ground. “You’re not the only one who has problems, Dawson. But by all means, keep acting like you are. Hopefully you put that money to good use instead of giving it to Marco or his cronies.”

Something black tucked into the elastic of his pants catches my eye when his shirt rises up as he tries catching the floating bills. I reach for it, but Dawson is quick to pull his shirt down and cover it.

“Is that afucking gun?” I hiss, stepping toward him and looking around us. “Where the hell did you get that?”

He tugs at his shirt again, scanning the area nervously. “I needed it.”

What twenty-one-year-old needs a gun? “I cannot believe you right now. Do you see yourself? You’re a goddamn mess, Dawson. I don’t know who you are anymore, but it sure as shit isn’t my friend. If you’ve gotten yourself in so deep you need a—” I can’t let myself say it again, so I dip my gaze down briefly. “Then you need help. Real help. This is the last time I’m offering. Come with me and I’ll drop you off somewhere. But this isn’t healthy.”

His hand goes to where the deadly accessory is tucked away, not saying a word.

No explanation.

No admission.

“It’s for protection” is all he gives me.

Protection.

There are other options.

People to talk to.

The goddamn cops, for one.

Maybe that’s the moment I realize he’s too far gone for help. So I throw my hands up. “I don’t want any part of this. None.”

I hear him call out after me, but I don’t stop until I’m unlocking my truck and climbing in.

Once the door is shut behind me, I slam my hands against the steering wheel in frustration, the anger boiling over. “Fuck,” I yell, hitting the top again.

People pass by, some clearly disturbed by my outburst, some completely ignoring me. I’d normally be embarrassed, but I’m too emotionally drained to care about what a lunatic I must look like.

Leaning back in my seat, I peel off my glasses and pinchthe bridge of my nose. A tension headache is forming in my temples, which means I can forget about doing any more homework.

Maybe a forced break is what I need.

So I make my way back to my apartment in silence, gripping the wheel with one hand and holding my forehead with the other.

As soon as I get upstairs and pull my keys out to unlock my door, the one across the hall opens.

All I say is “Not now, Sawyer.”

She pauses, and from the corner of my eye, I see her frown. It only makes me feel a little bad when I hear her quiet “Okay.”

Pausing halfway through my door, I sigh. “I have a headache and need to lie down. I’ll talk to you later.”

I don’t wait for her to reply before shutting the door behind me. I only catch a flash of her confused expression before hearing the door click closed.

My phone goes off.

Dawson.

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