I nodded, swallowing. The gym lights were so high up on the ceiling, but somehow they still felt hot and blinding, like I was on an operating table.
“So my question is this: why do we need this bridge? And I don’t just mean the obvious reason—that it would line the pockets of everyone up on that stage, with toll money and then later developments. Why do you want this bridge?”
All at once, my anxiety vanished.
Without knowing it, Marcie Luna had asked the best question I could have heard. Finally, things clicked into place again, and I felt in control.
“My mother was forty-six years old when she died,” I said. The crowd was listening finally, not booing or chattering or protesting. “She was forty-six. Healthy as a woman could be. The night before she passed, she had been playing Frisbee with me in our backyard, and she could outrun and out-throw me by a mile. The next day she was dead by the time the sun set.”
A hush had fallen over the entire gymnasium. A good few people here remembered my mother, and no matter how much they hated the bridge project, they were showing me respect in this moment.
“Barbara Bell died because as she was being rushed to the hospital—on one of the Kinley Island ferries that is still in use today—she lost blood flow to the brain. My mom waited twenty minutes for a ferry, rode for fifteen more on it, waited for transportation at the other end, then headed through Seattle to Woodlawn Hospital. She died during the last few minutes of the ride. If there had been a simple, four-lane bridge from the island into the city, she would have made it.”
Even from my place up on the stage, I could see that Marcie was crying. She’d been close with my mother, and I knew this still hurt her as much as it hurt me.
“Every night, Mom used to kiss me on the forehead and tell me that I would make a difference in the world one day,” I said. “I haven’t forgotten that. And while I know I can’t change the whole world, I can change one island. For the better. The bridge doesn’t just bring in business, residents, and activity to the island. It also opens Kinley up to some of the best resources in the country. They’re just a handful of miles away, but without a bridge, it’s never going to be close enough.”
I paused, pulling in a long breath. I could feel tears stinging at my eyes, but I willed them not to come on too strong. I still had a presentation to make. I had to honor my mother without losing it completely.
Another woman had made her way up to the microphone, alongside Marcie. Her face looked just as pained, and she was red in the face, straining to walk.
“Sharon Markson,” she said, nodding once. “I knew Barbara Bell, too, many years ago. I did not know you were her son, but I’m touched to hear your story.” She put her hand on her heart, catching her breath. “My grandfather also died young—of a stroke, right here on Kinley. I’ve got those same genes in me, and I worry about having a stroke myself.”
It felt like we were in a totally different gymnasium than the one we’d been in ten minutes ago. No one was shouting. No one was booing. Everyone was rapt watching Sharon speak.
“Now, I know Kinley doesn’t have adequate medical care. It’s something that’s needed to be taken care of for a long time. But why a bridge?” she said, saying the last three words forcefully. “Gavin Bell, and all of you up there with millions of dollars and government powers—tell us why. Why can’t y’all build a hospital here instead of a bridge? Why can’t we get better care and coverage right here on the island? If you’re so selfless—if you’re doing this for Barbara—why do there have to be plans for all this mess that we don’t want?”
I was stunned into silence. I swallowed, watching as people slowly erupted into applause.
“I think I know why,” Sharon said, speaking a little louder now, her face beet red. “It’s because you know you can line your pockets if you do it your way. It isn’t about us. It’s about greed. Plain and simple.”
The cheers were deafening again. People applauded, screaming with agreement.
Another man ran up to the microphone, first clapping for Sharon, and then seizing the mic for himself.
“Greed! That’s all this is! I’ve seen it this week! I’ve seen those Mercedes cars driving around the Wilsons’ house!” he shouted. He was clearly unhinged. “What have you been doing to the good people of Kinley? Are you paying people off, Mr. Bell? Can we trust our own, anymore? Can we trust the teachers at this school?”
My stomach was forming knots.
He’d mentioned Hunter’s house. Almost everyone in this room knew the Wilsons, and knew that Hunter lived in that house now. I was endangering him just because I’d stayed at his house.
The man was shouting almost incoherently, but the crowd had ignited again.
“Never Seattle!” he said.
And then the chant began. Never Seattle! Never Seattle! Never Seattle!
The voice of the people reverberated off of every lacquered surface in the room, echoing and intensifying in sound with each chant.
And then I saw the small situation that had begun at one corner of the gym. There was a crowd of people, and at the center of it was Hunter, shaking his head and holding up his hands. It looked like people were trying to convince him of something—and then they started pushing him up, forward, toward the microphone.
Hunter locked eyes with me as he was being guided to the mic, and even from my vantage point I could tell that it was bad.
He looked terrified, disappointed, and resigned all at once.
“Tell them,” the man next to him said. “Tell them what you told me, Hunter.”
Hunter looked like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards and never come out again. But he finally stepped up toward the microphone and a surge of adrenaline rolled through me again.
This was it.
This was where Hunter could really make a difference for us.
If he took a stand in support of the bridge project, it could sway many people in the room. Not right away—tonight, there was far too much agitation to begin with.
But if he supported me, it could plant the seed in people’s heads that maybe someday, they could trust me, too.
I watched, rapt, as Hunter approached.
“Hunter Wilson here,” he said softly. “Gavin is my best friend. He’s been my best friend for my whole life—I can’t imagine Kinley Island without also thinking of him. And Gavin is a good man. I want everyone in this room to know that.”
Some people cheered, others booed. My heart soared.
“But I want it to be on record, right here, right now,” he said, his voice wavering a little. I had never heard Hunter’s voice do that. He was really, truly nervous. “I want it to be known that I do not support this project. My personal relationship with Gavin does not change that. I want better resources for the island, too, but not if it means having a bridge. Gavin, we love you, but please. Please know that Kinley Island does not want this. To all the investors, to the county council, to the county and state departments of transportation: Kinley does not want a bridge.”
His eyes had been focused on the ground, not up toward me, as he spoke the last few words.
He couldn’t even bear to look at me.
As soon as he was done speaking, he took off toward the back of the room, disappearing into the lobby.
But it didn’t matter—the crowd had already started to go wild by the time Hunter spoke his final words, and it was more fanfare than there’d been all evening. The meeting was clearly over, now. People were rushing the gym floor, chanting all manner of anti-bridge and anti-Seattle phrases, hugging each other, screaming, holding up middle fingers at me. People began to rip up the fact sheets we had handed out at the beginning, tossing the remnant scraps of paper into the air.
I felt bile rising up inside me. I barely felt like I was present in my own body anymore, and the edges of my vision had started to blur a little as I stepped back from the mic. I was only dimly aware of Royce slapping me on the back, laughing.
“Well, that was fun, huh?�
� he said, but I couldn’t respond.
I was reeling.
I didn’t know whether I was so white-hot with rage that I wanted to punch someone, or whether I was about to burst into uncontrollable sobs.
I ignored Royce and I made my way down the few steps off of the stage, nearly tripping on the last one. I didn’t have any plan in mind except getting out.
I had to fucking get out.
Going away from the crowd felt better than going toward it, so I slipped behind the screen and headed toward the back doors of the room. It was mostly empty there, only a few people shaking their heads at me as I walked.
“Gavin,” I heard from behind me, but I didn’t stop. I pushed through a set of doors. It led me to the back parking lot, lit with the harsh, greenish glow of tall fluorescent lights.
“Gavin Bell, for the sake of your mother, stop,” I heard the same voice from behind me saying again. I stopped, not because someone had told me to, but because I was fairly sure I might be about to vomit. I leaned against a tall lamp post, bending over, not bothering to make eye contact with Marcie as she approached.
“Are you alright?” she said, coming up to my side and placing a hand gently at my back. “Just breathe, honey. Breathe. It was bad. But you’re going to get through this.”
I tried to listen. I tried to take a long breath in, but the moment I thought I’d done it, I heaved a sob that I couldn’t have controlled even if I’d tried.
They came in waves, slow but intense. It didn’t even feel like crying, really—it was like nothing I’d felt before. Violent, painful sobs, like my body was trying to escape itself.
Marcie stayed, just standing near me, rubbing my back as I lost it.
I had failed.
Truly failed. For the first time in my life.
An entire island of people hated me, and all I could think about was Hunter’s face as he’d told me he’d never support my biggest goal.
I might have stood bent over and wracked with sobs for ten minutes, or it might have been an hour.
I had no idea.
I wasn’t experiencing time like I usually did. I was in some hellish trance, like I’d just witnessed my life burning down in front of me. But at some point, the sobs just… stopped. Without warning.
I could breathe fairly normally again, though it hurt.
And Marcie was still standing next to me, looking at me with a sympathetic gaze as I straightened my spine.
“You really needed that,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah,” I managed to say, but my voice sounded weak and strangled.
“I know this might sound crazy right now, but I understand how you feel,” she said. “Your mom was an incredible woman, and you’re trying to fight for her. And… it’s harder than anything, having a best friend go against what you really believe in.”
I nodded again, feeling a lump in my throat as Hunter was mentioned.
“If you can believe it, a similar thing happened with me and your mom, back in the day,” Marcie said. Her eyes were tired but kind, and piercing blue. “We got in a fight. A massive, nasty one. We were drunk, of course, but it was something we’d fought about so many times before.”
I cleared my throat. “What was it?” I asked. I blinked up into the light.
She pulled an envelope from her purse and stuffed it into my pocket. “It’s written down for you there. Better off reading it when you get home, I’d say. But I’ll tell you this: don’t lose a friendship over this. Over any petty fight. I lost at least a year of time I could have spent with your mom while we were fighting in our twenties, and that’s a year that I can now never get back. I miss her.”
I shook my head slowly. “I miss her so damn much,” I said.
“Do you love him?” she asked, point blank.
“What?”
“You heard me. Do you love him?”
I tried not to start crying again. “I love him so much,” I said.
“Talk to your best friend,” Marcie said. “I know you don’t want to right now. I know it sounds like the worst thing in the world. But it’s worth it, Gavin. I promise you. You’ve got to try.”
I wiped my cheeks with the back of one hand, taking in a long, shaky breath. “I’ll try,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“Good,” she said. “Now, I’ve got to get home and feed my cats. They’re probably clawing at the curtains right now, if they haven’t started a fire in my house already. Are you going to be okay getting home?”
I nodded. “I’ll be okay. I need a little time to decompress. I’ll walk back.”
“You sure? I can give you a ride….”
I nodded. “I want to. Fresh air, y’know?”
“I get it,” she said, waving as she walked off toward the row of cars by the building.
I pushed back through the doors into the gym, slowly at first, making sure that no one was inside anymore. It was cathartic to see it empty in there—still plenty of torn up paper and a few stray plastic soda bottles sitting on some of the bleachers, but compared to earlier, it felt like a silent haven.
My shoes clicked as I walked across the floor back into the lobby. Vance and my team must have gathered up all the informational posters outside, because it was clean and empty in there.
I walked down the long hallway, taking my time as I meandered past the lockers. Thankfully, I was feeling nothing, anymore—I was numb, at least for the moment, and that was all I needed.
I knew there were awful feelings underneath. But for tonight, I just needed to stay afloat.
As I approached the doors that led out toward the west—toward my house—I saw that one of the classroom doors was open, with the lights on inside. I furrowed my brow, approaching the room. No teacher should have been here—it was certainly later than eight-thirty.
I turned to peek inside the room, first seeing a bunch of empty desks.
But then I looked to the front and saw someone sitting at the long desk.
It was like I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me.
Hunter was sitting there, head down in his hands, in silence. He looked up when he heard me enter, and looked just as shocked to see me.
“Hunt,” I said quietly, my voice still a little hoarse.
“You’re still here?” he asked.
I nodded. We lapsed into silence for a moment, neither of us sure what to say. I had about every emotion available to the human race boiling up inside me, fighting and clawing to make themselves known, but I was trying so hard to remain neutral.
But after a minute, I couldn’t hold back.
“Why did you do it, Hunter?” I whispered.
He just looked out one of the long windows, staring into the evening sky. “I had to.”
I swallowed. “You didn’t have to,” I said. “It could have—it could have been different.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Different how?” he asked.
“You could have stuck up for me,” I said. And even saying those words, allowing them out into the world, brought the lump right back into my throat. “Why didn’t you stick up for me?”
“Because I don’t believe in what you’re doing,” he said. “You know that. You’ve known that the whole time.”
I shook my head, staring up at the ceiling. I tried to remember what Marcie had told me. Friendship above everything else. But the emotions were pouring out of me like from a broken dam.
“Have you ever believed in the things I’ve done, Hunter?” I asked.
“Maybe I could have if you’d ever told me about them,” he said. “When you’re in Seattle, you basically ignore me. Is that what’s going to happen, after this bridge project is over? Is it just going to go back to how it was before?”
“Jesus—”
“I mean it,” he said. “I—I stand out there, in the hall, before the presentation, and I tell you I love you. And then you get up on that stage and happily inform us all how you’re going to change our island, in a way we don’t want it to be changed. So
when you tell me you love me, what does that even mean? Does it just mean you thought I was good at sucking cock? Does it just mean that I’d be a ‘golden ticket’ to getting people to support the bridge?”
His last sentence hit like acid to the face.
“Oh my God, Hunter,” I said, shaking my head. “You can’t begin to imagine how much I’ve missed you, every second that I’ve been away.”
“Save it.”
“It’s true,” I said. “I missed you every day. Every fucking day. It’s a two-way street, and you could have come to visit me, too, but you never did.”
“Why would you miss me?” he said. “I’m just a schoolteacher on an island you want to destroy.”
The tears were streaming down my face again now. Not the heaving from earlier, but a steady stream of real, unstoppable tears.
“Because I’ve loved you for my entire life,” I whispered. My voice shook as I spoke, but Hunter had stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and was making his way toward the door.
“You used me,” he said, his eyes showing no emotion. I’d never seen him like this—totally drained of the spark and mischief he always had. “You used me like you’re trying to use the island. For your own gain. And I can never support that.”
He left, and after hearing his footsteps echo down the hallway, I heard the doors opening and closing at the end.
13
Hunter
“Get in,” Caleb said, leaning against his car as it idled in the driveway.
“No,” I said, moving past him to get to the house. He stepped out, stopping me with a strong, outstretched arm.
“Get in the car, Hunter,” he said. He didn’t say it angrily, just matter-of-fact, like there simply wasn’t an option for me to not get in the car.
I turned my chin up, finally making eye contact with him.
“Your eyes are bloodshot,” he said. “And I don’t think it’s because you’ve suddenly started smoking a ton of weed.”
I sniffled. “Nope. Been crying my fucking eyes out for the entire drive home. Had to pull over twice because I couldn’t see the damn road, actually.”
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