Today, there’s something new—no, someone new. I spot him sitting on the bridge with his legs dangling over the side. Even I don’t usually step foot on the rotting old bridge, choosing instead to sit on the rocks overlooking the river. I doubt a car has passed over it in years. If it did, it would probably fall right through. More than once, I’ve wondered why they don’t just tear it down, but it’s probably cheaper to leave it here and use signs to warn drivers away from it.
Everything about him screams leave me alone, from the hunch of his shoulders to the way he stares down at the water like it offended him. Why would he be mad at the river? He’s wearing a dark T-shirt and knee-length shorts. He looks like he could have been working out or going for a run.
I should turn around and go another way. Maybe I should head back to the hotel. Lucy will get fidgety once she’s up, not to mention hungry. I shudder to think what Mom will do if she wakes her up, and I hate to think of her sitting there with her stomach growling while she waits for me to come back.
But I can’t tear my eyes away from his short, brown curls. His chiseled jaw. Skin so tan, it’s almost bronze, like somebody who spends a lot of time outside. His body tells me the same thing. His build is muscular, but not obnoxious. He must play sports. He can’t be much older than me, so I guess he goes to one of the schools around here. Coming from the other side of town, I wouldn’t know.
I don’t even know why I’m still standing here, holding this drink, staring at him. Something about him won’t let me go until I know more. The energy coming off him is so strong I can feel it from a distance.
I can either pretend not to notice him and keep walking, or I can see if he needs help. Something tells me if I don’t, I’ll always wonder what happened to the sad, angry boy on the bridge.
2
Why am I doing this? My feet are heavy as I continue toward the bridge. I don’t have a good feeling about this. That’s why I can’t let it go. I’m afraid he might hurt himself. It’s stupid, and I know it is. I’ve never met this person. I have no idea why he’s sitting there. But I feel it in my heart. Something bad might happen if I don’t at least try to talk to him.
So I try. “Hi.”
His head snaps around fast enough that I fall back half a step in surprise. I can’t get the image of a wounded animal out of my head. “What do you want?” His voice is deep, filled with anger. Maybe even disgust. Why I would disgust him, I don’t know. Maybe he’s mad at the world, and I just happen to be the only person around.
“Nothing. I came out here to sit and look at the water. I do that sometimes.”
“Did I fucking ask?”
“Actually, you kind of did. You asked what I want.”
He rolls his eyes with a sigh of disgust. “Go away. Sit someplace else. Just get out of here.”
I should. I know I should. He looks and sounds like he wants to rip my head off. Whatever he’s angry with or hurt by, he might decide to take it out on me. With a body like his, it wouldn’t be hard for him to overpower me if he wanted to.
But I don’t feel like he would. I don’t know why. Something in my gut, I guess. If they’re cornered, a wounded animal might strike, but it’s only because they’re in pain. What they need is help. I wonder what kind of help I could give him.
That’s what gets me moving closer to him. He stares out at the water, pretending to ignore me, but I’m not fooled. His jaw twitches, and it looks like he’s grinding his teeth. Maybe that’s a good thing. Instead of lashing out, he’s holding himself back.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Because you looked upset.”
“Did I ask you how I looked? Why are you still here?” he demands through gritted teeth. “I told you to fucking leave.”
“Yeah, I know, but I guess I don’t want to go yet.” I shift from one foot to the other. It’s difficult standing here when he obviously wants me gone. Standing up to that gross old guy at the café was one thing, but this is different.
I take my time sitting down, careful not to go over the edge. The creaking of the wooden walkway running alongside the roadway makes my blood run cold, but I don’t think it’s going to collapse with only two people sitting on it. “Here. You look thirsty.” I hold out my latte, condensation rolling down the sides of the cup. “Do you like oat milk?”