Chapter Twenty
JUSTIN
I glance at my phone as the Mustang traces the winding road south, toward Wilson Bridge.
Come back. Don’t be stupid.
Too late, Alyssa. Crossed that line a while ago.
It’s started to rain, and the windshield begins to fog up. The defroster tries to turn on, but the fan is sluggish and barely any air drips from the vents. I lean forward to wipe away a circle of condensation with my hand, improving the nighttime visibility about as much as swapping out a blindfold for sunglasses.
My phone buzzes again. Please? We need to talk.
I sigh, wringing my hands around the steering wheel. I can’t believe I just left her there. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time—noble, even—but now it feels like yet another bad decision shoveled onto the steaming dung heap that is my life.
On the off chance I haven’t already screwed things up between us permanently, I should probably go back. Eventually, if I keep pulling crap like this, she’s going to decide I’m not worth the effort, and I’ll have lost the one thing in my life that’s actually decent.
I should apologize. As much as my life sucks, I can’t even imagine how much worse it would be without her.
I fumble at my phone, figuring I’ll call and tell her I’m on my way back, but the liquor has made me clumsy, and I drop the phone into the floorboards. Awesome.
I look down and spot the phone by my foot, and think of a story I heard once about a guy who had something roll under his brake pedal, making it impossible for him to stop the car. It crashed, he died, and it was all very tragic.
No thanks.
I’m on Wilson Bridge now, crossing high over Stone River, the only car traveling in either direction. I make sure the headlights are lined up straight, then bend down to grope for the phone. It takes longer than I expect to find it, but finally, my fingers close around it, and I straighten.
There’s something in the road.
At first, I think it’s a deer, but then I realize it’s a person—standing right in the path of my car, washed white by my headlights.
I don’t even have time to wonder what sort of idiot goes walking in the rain, on a bridge, in dark clothing, at night, before I slam on my brakes, my heart leaping into my throat. The car skids, spinning like a coin, the wheels slipping over the rain-slicked pavement.
I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do. Blood pounds in my ears, my chest clenching like a fist.
What am I supposed to do? Turn into the skid?
I yank the wheel, but nothing happens. The car is out of control. I have no idea which way I’m pointing, what’s happening, until the car slams to a stop with a sound like a thunderclap.
My shoulder and head smash into the door.
Lights explode behind my eyelids as pain blossoms between my ears. I feel like I just got run through a blender.
But the car has stopped moving, and I’m alive.
Relief washes through me. For the first time since I hit the brakes, I venture a breath, taking inventory of my body. Nothing hurts when I breathe in, which is a good sign, I think. My head aches, and I probably have a concussion, but nothing feels broken. All my limbs are present and accounted for. I don’t even think I’m bleeding.
Slowly, my eyes adjust to the view through my windshield. I blink through a whiskey-fogged haze, my brain sloshing around in my head like half-melted ice. For a minute, I’m disoriented. It’s just . . . sky.
The car groans forward, pitching me over the steering wheel. Twinkling lights flicker below me, and for one wild second, I’m convinced the world has turned upside down, and I’m looking down on outer space. Then my brain reorients itself, and I realize it’s not the stars I’m seeing, but moonlight glistening off black, rippling water.
Suddenly, I know exactly where I am.
My car is hanging off the bridge, teetering over the river.
Oh God oh God oh God. I don’t know if I’m praying or cursing. Maybe both. My hands feel fused to the wheel.
I try to breathe, but my whole body is frozen. Do I open the door? Climb into the back seat? Stay still?
My phone buzzes—it somehow wound up on the dashboard, right in front of my face—and, ridiculously, I look at it.
Are you ok? I’m worried about you.
I laugh. Me too, I want to respond. I think I might be in shock.
Maybe it’s my laughter; maybe it’s gas shifting in the tank; maybe it’s the wind. I wish I knew what it was, but I never will.
The car dips lower, and suddenly it doesn’t matter if I stay still or move or scream or hold my breath.
I try to resist, but gravity grabs hold of me, pulling me forward as I feel the back wheels lift off the pavement. I brace my arms against the steering wheel, pressing my back against the seat, but it’s no use.
The car tips like a teapot, threatening to pour me out.
Then—
It falls.
In slow motion, then all at once.
The last thing I see is the reflection of my headlights in the water.
Chapter Twenty-One
ROSE
Rose kneaded her hands on the steering wheel as she drove home, her headlights the only illumination on the winding road leading to Wilson Bridge. She sighed, biting her lip. No matter how many logical arguments she ran through her head, the ache in her chest remained. She wondered if it would ever fully go away.
The road spilled out of the trees, giving way to the airy openness of the bridge. Tomorrow, she decided. After church, she’d find Noah and apologize for acting so weird tonight. She didn’t think she could explain to him what the problem really was—that would just make things worse—but it wouldn’t be lying to talk about how she was stressed out about the campaign and the pressure their family was under and how weird everything felt right now. Maybe then, they could—
There was a body in the road.
Not at the edges of her headlights, in the distance.
Right in front of her. Like it had appeared out of nowhere.
Rose slammed on her brakes, jerking the wheel to one side. The tires shrieked in protest, skidding across the pavement, and for a moment, she feared she’d lost control. A horrific image flashed through her mind of her car flying off the bridge, plummeting to the river below.
The front of her car bucked angrily as the tire hit the sidewalk, sending her lurching over the wheel as the car squealed to an abrupt stop.
She sat frozen, eyes squeezed shut, fingers clenched on the wheel. Breaths came rapidly, her heartbeat racing as she realized the car was no longer moving. She pried her eyes open to survey the damage, and realized that, miraculously, she hadn’t even hit anything, other than the sidewalk. The steel railing of the bridge sliced the beams of her headlights into glowing ribbons a few feet in front of her car.
Hands shaking, she shifted into reverse, the front tire slowly dropping back onto the road. Rose put the car in park and opened her door.
“Hello? Are you okay?” she called, her legs still feeling a little wobbly as she stepped into the road. Her headlights were pointed away, out over the water, but she could still make the person out in the hazy glow of the bridge lights. A boy, lying on his side, limbs askew, like a dropped doll. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached, forcing herself closer even as her feet itched to run away. She didn’t think she’d hit him, but she really wished he’d move so she could be sure. “Hey!”