The Boy on the Bridge

by Sam Mariano

  I’m distracted taking in the new space until I hear laughter. Not Hunter’s laugh, either… it’s a female.

  Oh no.

  I recognize that obnoxious giggle.

  I wish I hadn’t come now, but it’s too late to turn around. I understand why Hunter’s mom’s mood changed so abruptly. She knew I wouldn’t enjoy finding Valerie at Hunter’s house.

  At least she’s not here alone with him, I guess.

  I step forward slowly into a setting pulled straight from my nightmares.

  Half the football team and all the cheerleaders are gathered around the pool or splashing around inside it. They’re all talking and laughing. They haven’t noticed me yet.

  Valerie Johnson is in the pool with Hunter.

  Not just with Hunter, but all over him.

  She’s grinning as she jumps on his back, grabbing his sexy shoulders to keep from slipping off. My stomach twists at the sight of her body pressed against him, her boobs smashed against his muscular back, her legs wrapped around him underwater. She’s wearing a Barbie pink bikini made of very little fabric.

  My chest tightens. I wish I didn’t understand why, but I do.

  It’s jealousy. I can’t stand seeing her all over him. I hate how little fabric is keeping every inch of their bare bodies from touching.

  I want to rip Valerie Johnson out of the pool and punch her in the face.

  I wonder if I could flee without anyone noticing me. Sure, Hunter’s mom will know I was here, and yes, she’ll probably tell him after I’m gone, but this isn’t us in eighth grade anymore. Clearly, he’s not going to show up outside my bedroom window tonight, wanting to explain himself so my feelings aren’t hurt.

  I realize, as my chest continues to feel tight just breathing, I cannot face Hunter right now. It doesn’t matter which option would save face—I have to get out of here.

  I turn to head back the way I came. Before I get far, I hear Wally shout, “Hey, Maxwell!”

  I glance back, but I don’t slow down. Wally must have tipped him off that I’m here, because the second Hunter looks away from him, his gaze snaps in my direction.

  We lock eyes.

  He freezes, and my heart does, too. Especially because he immediately grabs Valerie’s legs, unlocks them from around his body, and dumps her in the pool. He doesn’t miss a beat as he turns and slices through water, making his way toward the ladder to climb out.

  “Wait,” he calls out.

  I know it’s for me, but I only speed up. It feels like this hallway is three times as long as it was when I wasn’t trying to escape him, but he’s dripping wet, so he probably won’t follow me into the house. I just have to get through the door…

  Before I can, Hunter’s wet hand locks around my bicep. “I said wait.”

  “I heard you,” I snap, trying to tug my arm free from his grasp. He doesn’t let go right away, but when I pull harder, he does.

  Since I didn’t make it through the door, I know I’ll have to face him. The surge of jealousy has thankfully subsided, but it might come back if I look at him again.

  I try to steel myself as I turn around, tip my chin up, and gaze up into those magnetic brown eyes of his.

  “You didn’t stop,” he points out.

  “Correct. I saw you were busy.”

  Dammit.

  Hunter’s lips curve up, his eyes sparkling with amusement at my snippy tone. There’s no reason to be snippy about him playing grab ass with Valerie Johnson in his pool unless I care.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say immediately. “I meant… you have all the worst people in the world at your house today, and I figured I would let you entertain them. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  Unconvinced, he nods his head. “Uh-huh.” Then he casually runs his fingers through his wet hair. Little droplets of water fall as he does.

  I don’t mean to check him out, but my eyes seem to have a mind of their own.

  I already knew he looked good shirtless these days after seeing his Instagram photos, but in person, with rivulets of water running down over his cut muscles… damn.

  I swallow, feeling my face warm. I can’t keep my bearings about me if I keep looking at his tanned, toned abdomen, so I redirect my gaze to something I know will annoy me—Valerie Johnson. Her gaze is glued to us as she climbs out of the pool.

  I’m a heterosexual girl and even I’m distracted by the jiggle of her wet boobs in that hot pink halter top, by the sun kissed, perfect appearance of her toned cheerleader’s body.

  She looks fantastic in that swimsuit, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s Satan.

  When we make eye contact, her eyes narrow and she glares daggers at me.

  I glare right back, but only for a moment.

  Hunter’s the one who deserves my glare.

  I don’t know why, but I can’t believe she’s at his house already.

  It’s not like I didn’t expect…

  Actually, I don’t know what I expected, but not for this to feel so much like a betrayal.

  Before I can stop myself, I find myself snapping at him again. “You know, the guys, they just ignored me while you were gone, and that wasn’t such a big deal. I was already used to being more or less a loner. But Valerie? She was mean to me. She spearheaded the mission to keep everyone thinking of me as the class slut—which, honestly, if I managed to be the class slut when none of the guys around here will even look at me, I think I deserve a pat on the back, because that’s pretty damn impressive.”

  His gaze locked on me with that unmatchable intensity he brings to the table a lot of the time, he asks calmly, “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Did you encourage her?”

  He shakes his head. “Not directly. Didn’t have to. She heard I fucked you—I knew that would make her jealous, and nothing brings out the mean in girls like jealousy.”

  The calculation in that statement bugs me, even while the way he openly admits it to me comforts me somehow. “You don’t even like her, Hunter.”

  His lips tug up only faintly, but this time the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. With a directness I find disconcerting, he says almost gently, “Neither do you.”

  I swallow past a lump of feelings lodged in my throat. I can’t tell what it is anymore. There are too many rushing me right now, so I’m not sure which one feels so constricting, but I have the strangest sense it’s fear.

  I don’t know why it’s fear. What do I have to be afraid of?

  I look past him at Valerie. She’s staying back, but still watching us closely.

  Finally, I look back up at Hunter. I don’t even know if this will mean anything to him, I damn sure don’t expect to say it, but the words fall out of my mouth, completely unstoppable. “Not her.”

  Hunter’s brows furrow in the briefest frown, then he clears it and straightens, still watching me.

  I feel naked standing here, saying this to him, but I have to. I don’t care if it makes me look stupid, I don’t care if he’d never look at me that way again and by saying this I’m all but admitting that I…

  But I have to stop him if I can. Something inside me won’t allow me not to try.

  Maybe Hunter can be mean and reckless, maybe he’s stubbornly holding onto some grudge he insists I need to pay for even though I never meant to hurt him in the first place. But, despite all that, I don’t believe he truly hates me.

  Maybe he wants to go to war with me, and he wants to win, but I don’t think he wants his victory to be the end of us.

  If he wants there to be even a sliver of a chance of anything more at the end of his hateful crusade, he can’t use Valerie Johnson as one of his weapons against me. The satisfaction she would get out of it… I can’t stomach it.

  In every war there are rules that must be abided by or else.

  He doesn’t know my rules. I have to tell him, if I intend to hold him accountable to them.

  I meet his gaze and keep m
y tone even. “You’re mad at me, I get it. But there’s a line, and she’s over it.”

  Hunter’s eyes narrow. “Interesting strategy, leading your opponent right to your weakest spot and telling him how to hurt you.”

  “It’s not a strategy. I’m not your opponent. You can strike at me all you want, Hunter, but I won’t fight back.” I pause, letting him absorb my words. “What you did to me sucked, but I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I’ve never hated you. If you want that to change… well, now you know how.”

  I don’t wait for him to answer, and this time when I turn to leave, he doesn’t stop me.

  I thought I’d feel better after talking to him, but I feel worse. More exposed. More scared. More vulnerable than I should make myself around someone who so casually refers to me as an opponent.

  I don’t know how rash he is now. I know how rash he was four years ago, how he made the decision on a dime to completely ruin my reputation in front of all the biggest jerks we went to school with.

  If he’s meaner now than he was then, he’s probably right—it was probably the wrong move to be honest with him. For all I know, the minute I’m gone he’ll haul Valerie Johnson up to his bedroom and screw her brains out just to hurt me.

  The lie I would forgive him for.

  That? No chance. Especially not now that I’ve warned him.

  He’s not mine to warn, though. I had hoped to leave his house today with a clearer picture of where he stood now that he’s back, but instead I’m leaving with even more uncertainty.

  I guess no matter what happens, at least I’ll always know I didn’t bite my tongue out of fear of looking stupid. I was brave and honest, even though I knew it was risky. I put myself out there and told him where my boundaries were so he’d know where not to step if he cares about me at all.

  I wish I had more confidence that he wouldn’t use my vulnerability against me, but I can’t control what he does, only what I do.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever have any kind of relationship with Hunter Maxwell again, but he meant so much to me back then…

  I had to give him a chance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Riley

  The aroma of freshly baked doughnuts wafts around me, bizarrely cut by the much less fragrant smell of strong cologne. The man standing in front of me in line put on way too much, and I find myself taking a step back just to get away from the stench.

  I grimace to myself, dropping my gaze from the counter at the doughnut shop and looking down at the employment application clutched in my hand. I loosen my grip so as not to wrinkle it, then I go over it one more time before I turn it in.

  My resume isn’t much, unfortunately. I’m still in school so I have limited availability, plus I have no real work experience to speak of. I’m on the school paper and I work as a volunteer four hours a week text counseling for a crisis hotline, but “I can calmly text people through emotional breakdowns” doesn’t seem to be the kind of work experience anyone in town is looking for.

  The doughnut shop has a ‘now hiring’ sign in the window, though, and I’m really hopeful. I’ve never made doughnuts in my life, but I am a fast learner. My mom and I are frequent customers of this particular doughnut establishment, too, so hopefully they’ll see a familiar face and decide to give me a shot.

  Once I get my first job, it shouldn’t be so hard to get them in the future—at least, I hope not. I really need to start putting away money for college in the fall.

  I was optimistic at the end of junior year. I thought with summer coming, surely I could find gainful employment.

  Wrong.

  Mr. Cologne steps up to the counter so I take a couple steps forward, pasting my friendliest customer service smile on my face.

  The bell over the door jingles, alerting everyone that someone else has stepped inside, but I don’t pay it any attention. I’m busy checking out the people behind the counter, trying to ascertain which one might be in charge of the hiring.

  A hand lands on my shoulder. I start, darting a look back to see who is touching me.

  Anderson.

  I’m not happy to see him. We are in town together today, but I specifically asked him to wait outside while I turned in my application.

  “What are you doing in here?” I ask, my practiced customer service smile waning.

  “You weren’t answering your texts.”

  “Of course I’m not answering my texts. I told you I was handing in an application.”

  He glances at the man in front of me. “And that means you can’t answer your phone?”

  “If the hiring manager is one of these people, do you really think she’ll be impressed and eager to hire a teenager who can’t even stay off her phone while she stands in line to turn in an employment application?”

  He frowns. “I don’t know. I guess not.”

  I feel my patience slipping as I glance anxiously behind the counter. The older blonde lady—probably the manager—is looking right at me.

  I smile, but even to me it feels forced and uncomfortable, so I drop it and look down.

  Dammit, Anderson completely threw me off.

  “I wanted a doughnut,” he says in defense of his presence.

  I tell myself I shouldn’t be mad at him, but I can’t ignore the stirrings of irritation. “And I wanted to avoid making a certain impression on a perspective employer, but here I stand, looking like some dumb girl who can’t even apply for a job without bringing her jock boyfriend with her.”

  Somehow unbothered by my bristly remark, Anderson says mildly, “Why do you always say it like that?”

  “What?”

  “You always say jock like it’s a four-letter word. Most girls like jocks, you know. Popularity at school, athletic bodies, lots of stamina…”

  I cannot believe he is trying to flirt with me right now. I want to smash a doughnut in his face. “Will you please wait outside? I’m nervous enough, and this is something I wanted to do alone. I’ll buy you a doughnut. What kind do you want?”

  It’s too late. Mr. Cologne gets his box of doughnuts and turns to leave, so it’s my turn to step forward.

  I quickly retrieve my best customer service smile and inject a little extra friendliness into my voice, but I’m still a touch self-conscious about accidentally bringing a boy with me. “Hi, um, is the hiring—” My voice inexplicably cuts out, so I clear my throat and start over. “Is the hiring manager available?”

  The tired-looking girl in front of me nods like she expected me to ask and takes a step back. “Mona.”

  The blonde lady I guessed was the manager walks over, but she’s paying more attention to Anderson than to me. “First home game tomorrow, huh?”

  With an easy smile, Anderson says, “Sure is. We’re ready.”

  “I hope so. All those hours Brian’s spent practicing, he better be ready.”

  “Brian? Oh, you’re Grady’s mom?”

  “Sure am,” she says, her lips tipping up just a bit. Finally, her gaze drifts to me, her expression pleasant. “This your girlfriend?”

  Well, this is an unexpected wrinkle. Anderson settles an arm around my shoulder, giving me an affectionate squeeze. “Sure is. She’s great. Smart, friendly—if I had a business, I’d definitely hire her.”

  With an indulgent smile, Mona reaches for my application. “I bet you would.”

  This is not the way I saw this going. I would have preferred not to get a job because I’m dating a football player, but I guess I can’t really afford to be picky. “I’m Riley.”

  Almost distractedly as she glances at my application, she says, “Nice to meet you, Riley. What kind of availability…?”

  She just sort of trailed off, so I wait a second to see if she finishes. I don’t want to interrupt, but she doesn’t, so I hesitantly begin to answer. “Other than when I’m in school, my availability is completely open. I do volunteer four hours a week, but it’s very flexible, I can squeeze that in around my work schedule. I’m on the school paper
, but that shouldn’t be an issue, either. And then I am in a school club, which I listed on there,” I say, indicating the application, “but we only meet once a month, the rest of the time we communicate via group message.”

  Frowning as she looks up from the application, she says, “Riley Bishop. I know that name.”

  Oh no.

  Jumping in to save the day unnecessarily, Anderson says, “Oh, we all go to school together. Maybe Brian has mentioned her in passing.”

  Don’t help.

  I bite back a grimace and try to morph it into an uneasy smile. “I come here all the time with my mom, maybe you recognize my last name from the credit card slips,” I say lightly.

  As she looks at me, I watch her gaze visibly cool. “No, that’s not it. I know who you are. My son has mentioned you. So have a lot of other people, actually.”

  That doesn’t appear to be a good thing, but I try not to jump to unpleasant conclusions. “Oh… really?”

  Her cool eyes turn even frostier as she gives me the fakest, most unkind smile I’ve ever seen. “Yes. If I recall correctly, weren’t you responsible for breaking up the marriage of your history teacher last year?”

  My heart slides into my stomach.

  Last year, one of my favorite teachers got caught in a compromising position by a student—he was hooking up with someone who was not his wife during his lunch break, and someone snapped a picture of them kissing in his car.

  The picture was terrible, you couldn’t remotely see who the girl was, all you could tell for certain was that she was a brunette. The problem is, the coat she was wearing looked a lot like mine.

  As soon as Valerie Johnson realized she could link me to it in even the flimsiest way possible, she started spreading the rumor that I was the one hooking up with Mr. Fitzpatrick.

  That one was a lot worse than the stories I heard of all my secret hook-ups with the guys in our grade. That rumor took on a life of its own. I started hearing tawdry stories about myself—I especially liked the one where I was hooking up with Mr. Fitzpatrick at his house when his wife came home, and he made me sneak out the bedroom window without even having time to put my shirt back on. Zachary Long who lives near Mr. Fitzpatrick confirmed it, telling everyone he saw me and he couldn’t believe I had such nice tits.