The Boy on the Bridge

by Sam Mariano

  “This is a hot plate with ridges,” Ray disagrees before giving her a little peck on the mouth. “We need to get a real grill, we can put it out back.”

  “Oh, do we?” Her eyebrows rise and she teases, “Is this your house now?”

  Ray cocks his eyebrows right back, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I like to think of it as ours. You got a problem with that?”

  Snaking an arm around his neck, she pulls herself close and murmurs, “What if I do?”

  He dips his face closer to hers and they start to kiss again, but this time it’s not a peck.

  I roll my eyes good-naturedly and turn away, letting them behave like randy teenagers while I collect the utensils we’ll need to eat dinner.

  A couple minutes later, Mom wanders over with a wistful sigh while Ray takes the steaks off our inferior countertop grill. Mom has that dreamy look on her face. I’ve grown accustomed to seeing it when Ray’s around.

  She settles her arm around my shoulder and gives me a sideways hug. “Hey, kiddo. How was your day?”

  “Good,” I say, not offering anything more.

  I expect her to be sharp like she always is, to notice I’m not on a date with Anderson like I was supposed to be and demand details.

  She doesn’t, though. I think she is so distracted by Ray, she actually doesn’t realize I’m not supposed to be here.

  Furthering my hypothesis, she glances over at Ray just in time to see him look back at her. She blushes like a schoolgirl and her gaze darts to me, a helpless grin on her face. “God, he makes it so hard to be broken up with him.”

  I try to suppress a smile. “I’m no expert, but I think maybe that means you’re not supposed to be broken up with him.”

  “I like him so much,” she whispers, as if he doesn’t already know.

  “Even more evidence.”

  Sighing, she leans her head against mine. “He’s just the best.”

  I’ve never seen my mom this way—ever—so I know it must be a little outside her comfort zone to feel the way she does about Ray. I like it, though. I like seeing her happy, and I really like Ray. Not just because he makes Mom happy, but the relationship we’re starting to build, too. The way he seems to fit in and naturally complement our existing family dynamic… well, that’s not something I’ve ever had, either.

  A dad isn’t something I’ve ever had.

  If Mom would just get out of her own way, maybe we could be one of those annoyingly happy little nuclear families. I think it’d be kinda great.

  My mom is more stubborn than I am, though, so I know she needs to get there on her own. Rather than continuing to argue that she’s being crazy fighting her feelings for this super great guy who is clearly serious about her, I merely drape my arm around her shoulder and give her a little hug back. “He is.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Riley

  The one place in this school that I do like is the library. For me, it feels a bit like a sanctuary. As soon as I pass through the doorway into this haven of books and solitude, a little wave of relief rolls over me.

  During my free period I like to slip in here and sit alone at one of the round tables in the back. It’s quiet and free of distractions. None of the jocks ever come in here unless they’re forced to, so it’s the perfect place to work.

  I have textbooks and pages of notes spread out all across the surface, taking up practically all of it. There are two empty tables beside me, so I don’t feel bad about hogging this one. If anyone else needs a place to study, they can take one of those.

  At least, that’s the logical thing I’m pretty sure any non-sociopath would do when they see a person busy working and two completely empty tables, but my peripherals register a flash of red T-shirt and dark wash jeans and then someone drops their books onto the small area of table beside me that I don’t have covered up.

  Are you kidding me?

  Shoving down a flash of irritation, I start gathering my things to make space for the intruder. I stop when I glance up—to shoot him a dirty look, whoever he is—and my heart stalls.

  Hunter.

  He flashes me a smile as he drops into the empty chair beside me. “What’s up, bookworm?”

  My heart does a somersault, but I try not to let it show on my face.

  This is the first time we’ve spoken since I showed up at his house the other day, and I’m not sure where he stands. His tone seems friendly enough, so maybe he comes in peace.

  Since it’s him, I stop cleaning up and begin to straighten my papers back out across the table. I’m sure he’s not here to study.

  I want to ask him why he is here, but my brain can’t seem to formulate words. I don’t know if it’s because I was in the zone making notes and then he just showed up and interrupted, or if it’s the strangeness of seeing him here in a space I consider mine.

  I guess the library isn’t truly mine, but I’ve never been in here with anyone before—this is something I do alone.

  It’s something I could definitely see doing with him, though. The old Hunter, anyway. I could envision him coming to the library with me while I study, goofing off and thoroughly distracting me—rendering the whole study period useless, but I’d enjoy it so much, I wouldn’t be able to be mad about it.

  When the new Hunter cocks an eyebrow expectantly, I realize I have to speak.

  “Getting a head start on my homework,” I murmur, keeping my voice low since we are in the library. “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping an eye on you,” he states casually as he folds his hands behind his head and leans back—rather theatrically, if I do say so myself.

  “Really? You’re not even going to pretend you’re doing anything else?”

  Unapologetic, he shrugs. “Lying to you was never my thing, Catnip. I’m surprised you expect me to. Is that something your ex-boyfriend did a lot of?”

  I frown. “Ex-boyfriend?”

  “Kyle. Or… Evan. Peter?” He frowns, cocking his head and glancing up in thought, then says, “Christopher. It was Christopher.”

  My eyes narrow on his face. I suppose he could be playing into the rumors Valerie has kept alive about me, implying I’ve been with so many guys, he can’t keep them all straight. It doesn’t seem like something he’d do, though.

  “If you’re messing with me, I don’t understand the joke.”

  “I’m not, honestly. Why can’t I think of that fucker’s name? Must not be very memorable. Bushy eyebrows. Boring face. He’s like a faithful pooch that woke up one day as a real boy. He’s on the team. Milner! Something Milner.”

  My jaw inches open in surprise and a horrible surge of amusement swells up inside me. “Wow. You’re not even close.”

  He waves it off, then leans forward on his elbows and leans over to take a peek at my notes. “Eh, whatever. His name doesn’t matter. What are you working on?”

  “His name is Anderson,” I tell him, ignoring his question. “And he is not my ex-boyfriend, he’s my current boyfriend.”

  He levels me a look of shock that I think he’s faking, but I can’t be totally sure. “He’s still your boyfriend?”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  Hunter shrugs. “I don’t know, another guy sent his girl flowers—doesn’t seem like he’d be thrilled.”

  I shake my head, focusing my attention on my notes and trying to hold onto some remnant of concentration.

  “Or did you not tell him?” Hunter asks when I don’t offer an explanation.

  I don’t like his tone, so I keep my retort succinct. “He knows I got flowers from someone.”

  “But you haven’t told him who.” It’s a statement, not a question, but he pauses as if he expects an answer. Then, in a tone tinged with too much pleasure, he says, “Interesting.”

  “It’s not interesting,” I disagree. “Maybe I’m just not a fan of conflict and it didn’t matter, so I don’t see the point.”

  “Maybe. Of course, since he knows you got flowers from someone who isn’t
him, he’s bound to be pretty curious about it. That means it is important—at least to him—which also means it’s more important to you not to tell him than to alleviate his concerns that some other guy might be trying to win over his girlfriend. I’d guess that might also lead to a fight, some distance—definite damage to the relationship. And you’re willing to take on all of that just so you don’t have to tell the guy I sent you flowers. Either you care so little about him, or…”

  I am so annoyed by his dissection of my behavior, I shoot him a mild glare. “Or?”

  He smiles, his brown eyes glinting wickedly. “Or you care so much about me. You still have a little crush, Riley? A little lingering interest? I bet he’d like that even less than the flowers.”

  Even though I don’t want him to think I’m agreeing with his assessment, I can’t help tossing back an overly cavalier, “If I didn’t tell him about the flowers, what makes you think I’d tell him that?”

  Hunter nods like that’s what he expected to hear. “So he’s insignificant. That’s what I figured, but it’s good to have confirmation.”

  We’re getting a little too mean, so I decide I should knock it off and defend the guy a little. Anderson did annoy me yesterday, but he hasn’t done anything to deserve that.

  “He isn’t insignificant. Anderson is a perfectly nice guy. I wasn’t agreeing with any of the nonsense you just spewed—”

  “That wasn’t nonsense,” he interrupts.

  “—I was only humoring you.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He leans forward on the table top and his gaze meets mine. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

  That’s potentially dangerous. “About what?”

  “Your rules of engagement,” he says.

  I break his gaze, shifting mine to my notebook. “I think my terms were fair,” I say, testing the waters.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “A little one-sided, though, don’t you think?”

  “Not really. I made one person off-limits to you. There’s a whole school of other fish in the sea, Hunter; I just can’t stand that one.”

  “Maybe that’s the one I wanted,” he suggests.

  “Well, if that’s the case, I think you’re gross, so please feel free to disregard my request and go for it. I hope you and your vicious trophy wife will be very happy together.”

  His stupidly perfect lips curve up. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I really do.”

  Apparently finding this thread of our conversation insignificant, he says, “Anyway, it’s a moot point as long as you’re willing to play ball. I’m more than willing to agree to your terms as long as you agree to mine, but if you get to make territorial demands of me, I think it’s only fair I issue a directive of my own.”

  My hackles rise at his terminology. I’m so used to being a free agent, the idea of following anyone’s directives rankles, but I suppose it’s only fair if I lay down the law, he gets a shot, too. “I’m listening.”

  “Dump the dead weight.”

  I can only stare at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Milner. He’s gotta go.”

  “But… he’s my boyfriend.”

  “Not anymore,” Hunter says.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like seeing you with him,” he states, like that’s a normal thing to say.

  I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t do much more than sputter. “I… I’m confused.” I try not to sound hopeful, but I’m not sure I’m entirely successful. “Are you asking me out?”

  He smiles unkindly, as if he finds the idea amusing. “No. I’m telling you to make yourself single—and stay that way.”

  My hopefulness dissipates pretty quickly, his words igniting a hot spark of irritation. “Why?”

  “Because those were my orders and I expect them to be followed. Your purse-holder seems to have missed the memo. A little odd because everyone else got it just fine, but… hey, maybe he can’t read.”

  I’m getting a little annoyed about his continued putdowns to Anderson, but I can’t focus on that because I’m too distracted by the words he isn’t directly saying.

  “So… let me just make sure I have this right. You don’t want to date me, but you don’t want anyone else to, either?”

  Hunter smiles. “See, this is why it’s more fun to fuck with smart girls. They catch on right away.”

  “And that doesn’t seem…” I trail off, playing at trying to find the right words. “I don’t know, deeply and profoundly unfair?”

  Hunter eases forward on the table, his amusement fading as he looks me in the eye. “It’s not about playing fair, Bishop. I came back for revenge—I told you I would. I didn’t come back to make your life better. Now, this is already a deviation from my original intentions. You took me off guard when you crashed my party, I’ll admit that. You made yourself vulnerable when I told you four years ago that the next time I saw you, I’d slice you open. It was a brave, crazy fucking thing to do, and I respect that.”

  A chill crawls down my spine. I straighten, putting a few more inches of distance between us, but I don’t break his gaze.

  “So, this is me taking mercy on you, Riley. This is me compromising. If you take me up on it, I’ll be a little nicer to you while I’m taking my revenge, but if you don’t… well, at least I can sleep easier knowing I gave you a fighting chance.”

  I swallow down a lump in my throat, aware of heat creeping up my neck and coloring my cheeks. It’s not embarrassment. Oh no. It’s anger. White-hot anger.

  For years I’ve been missing Hunter. He has visited my daydreams—and my actual dreams—on more than a few occasions. To be perfectly honest, I would’ve thought my knees would buckle right under me if he came back, grudge forgotten, and expressed any kind of romantic interest in me.

  But that’s not what this is.

  My knees show no signs of weakening, and I’m infuriated by these demands he’s making. They’re not like the “demands” I made of him. I didn’t want him with Valerie because it’s a bridge too far for me—that wasn’t even what I went to his house to tell him, it was something that clawed its way out of me even in the least justifiable circumstances. My words were more likely to be met with cruel disregard than any form of compliance, but even knowing that, I couldn’t hold them in. Those words came from a vulnerable place deep inside me. They didn’t come from a place of wanting to control him—they were borne of an insuppressible need to warn him not to do something I could never get past.

  What he’s saying… it’s not coming from the same place.

  I search his face for any indication of deeper feeling beneath the surface of his ugly words, but his eyes are clear, his expression calm, controlled. Stoic. He isn’t giving anything away.

  This isn’t like the times I get a version of him that his friends don’t get. I thought maybe it was when he sat down and started a back and forth with me. He coaxed me into lowering my defenses by acting like we were friends again, tempted me in further by suggesting he’d play ball if I did, but looking into his eyes now… I don’t see even a hint of warmth.

  A chill passes over me in its absence, a little pang of longing pinching me.

  I want Hunter back—the one I knew in middle school.

  He’s back, but he’s not the same.

  Unbidden, the note he sent along with the necklace surfaces in my mind. I recall the tone of ownership that pissed me off when I thought it was from Anderson.

  I don’t know if I would’ve felt the same way if I had known that day it was from Hunter, but right now…

  Right now I’m thinking maybe I wasn’t entirely off the mark when I considered that some asshole jock might not have meant the ownership in a romantic capacity—I just didn’t know which asshole jock I was dealing with.

  Now I do.

  “You’ve changed,” I tell him, keeping my tone even.

  Unperturbed, he says, “No, I haven’t. You just never saw this side of me before.”
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  I guess he’s probably right. Enough people told me Hunter was a bully that I probably should’ve believed it, but I fell into a trap I thought I was too smart for.

  I didn’t believe them because I cared about him. I let my emotional investment in him blind me to the truth.

  That’s not a mistake I’ll make twice.

  “I won’t hurt him to satisfy your sick need for revenge,” I tell him simply, reopening my notebook so he knows I’m finished entertaining his bullshit.

  “Sure you will,” he says, his tone so certain, my whole body stiffens. “How you hurt him? That’s the only part that’s up to you. Cutting him loose now is the merciful option. If you don’t… Mark my words, Riley. I will drag him through Hell.”

  His words give me pause. I think of lunch, Hunter sending Wally over to retrieve Anderson, then not even letting him sit at their table. It was a small thing, but it was only a sample. A warning shot to let me know if he wants to push Anderson around, he can without even lifting a finger.

  I recall Hunter’s mom telling me how he bullied his former best friend so badly, the kid switched schools. What if he does that to Anderson? He could. I’ve seen the social power Hunter and Valerie have, how they can exile people over nothing, and the whole school will turn a blind eye to how horrible they’re being and go right along with it.

  School has been shitty for me ever since Hunter left, and I don’t even care much about all of this. Being banished to social Siberia didn’t hurt me the way it might somebody else.

  Somebody like Anderson. He’s an affable, sociable guy. He’s accustomed to having friends, and I’m not sure how he would respond to being shunned, let alone outright bullied.

  Would he be able to cope with it as well as Sara and I have?

  Irritation etched across my features, I look over at him. “Your grudge is against me, Hunter. I’m the one who told your secret. I’m the one who got you shipped out of the country. Anderson hasn’t done a damn thing to you. Why would you do this to him?”

  “He’s in my way,” he says simply.

  I search his hard-eyed countenance for some flicker of the wounded, lovable boy I knew in middle school, but I don’t find him. The Hunter looking back at me is immovable and unforgiving, completely unapologetic as he holds my gaze.