Game Changer (The Field Party)

The closer I got, the clearer the view, and I let out a sigh of relief as I recognized the black Chevy that belonged to Asa. My luck wasn’t completely bad. I’d have been relieved with any familiar local parked on the bridge. That it was Asa Griffith was a major bonus.

I scanned the bridge and saw no sign of him. Had his truck broken down? Was he even with his truck? When I reached the bridge, I went toward his driver’s-side door and glanced inside. He wasn’t in there, but his keys hung in the ignition. The engine was still idling. Where was he?

I opened my mouth to call out his name as I turned to look around the bridge… but my eyes found him and his name froze in my throat. The scene I was witnessing had to be a misunderstanding. I’d watched too many crime television shows, and my imagination immediately went to the worst. There was no way Asa Griffith was standing on the railing of Old Thompson Bridge about to jump to his death. Because a jump from this height into the shallow water below that ran over the rocky bottom was a death sentence. It wasn’t a thrill that anyone sought. No one jumped from this bridge. If you jumped, you’d die.

Afraid to startle him and cause him to slip and fall to his death, making me a murderer, I held my breath. I remained still and didn’t move. If he was thinking of jumping, I needed to stop him, but would my voice scare him? I wasn’t sure how to handle this. My heart was slamming against my chest. I wanted to run and grab him. I wasn’t sure I could run fast enough to save him or if saving him was possible. He would crush me if he fell backward, and that was if I could even reach him up there.

His head turned slowly in my direction. “I wasn’t expecting an audience,” he said simply.

If That Wasn’t Fucking Ironic CHAPTER 5

ASA

The darkness hid the distance and destination. Jumping would feel like jumping into darkness. I could pretend it was anything. It would all be over soon enough. Then nothing. The sweat on my palms and hammering of my heart, however, was proof my brain was smarter than that. It knew that under the cloak of the night there was a shallow rocky bottom. A painful end.

Was this all worth it? And could I do it while she watched? This was supposed to be my own personal horror. No one else needed to be involved. The pretty girl from the Quick Stop didn’t deserve to be a part of this nightmare. Even if the idea of not being alone in my last few moments was somewhat comforting. I wasn’t that selfish, though. With her watching me, I wouldn’t jump. She didn’t deserve that kind of scene to haunt her the rest of her life.

“You could fall.” Her voice was shaky and nervous. As if she thought speaking too loudly would send me to my death. She wasn’t moving closer to me, and the wide, terrified look in her eyes made me feel guilty for putting it there.

She had no idea the life I had left for me at home. There was a good chance my father would kill me if he woke up. I’d never stood up to him in that way, and going back to that house seemed impossible. My own mother wanted me to leave. She’d never spoken to me like that. I’d seen the fear in her eyes when she looked at me. I’d seen her terrified before, but she’d always been looking at my father, not at me. Where else should I be? This fucking bridge seemed like as good of a place as any until she’d shown up to watch me.

“That was the idea,” I admitted, and managed a smile.

She shivered then and wrapped her arms around her stomach as she stood there watching me. “Nothing is that bad,” she said with complete conviction. “My parents won’t let me leave. They keep me here in this town, in the store, controlling my life. It’s a jail sentence. I have no life, no friends, nothing. But even then… it’s not bad enough to… to… do that.” She said the last bit in a softer voice as her gaze shifted to the rail I was standing on.

“What’s your name?” I asked her, needing to know. I’d never asked before, but now I wanted to know who she was. What her name was. Why she was out here at night running like someone asking to be abducted.

“Ezmita,” she said, and the single word rolled off her tongue with a flourish. I liked that name. It wasn’t one I’d heard before. It fit her, the girl I also didn’t know. Had never said more to than “How much?” or “Can I have a cinnamon roll?”