—THIRTY-SEVEN—
I really fucking hate heights.
There’s no good reason for it. It’s not like my fear of the dark, where it was conditioned into me as a child due to traumatic circumstances. This is just some random, shitty phobia I decided I had while working a high rise job with co-workers a good five years back, before I broke off to do my own thing. I’d glanced down from the scaffolding and almost pissed myself.
So, when I was contracted for a roofing job last April, my knee-jerk reaction was to turn it down. Bree said she’d get me out of it if that’s what I really wanted, but shit, money was tight that year, and honestly, I kind of felt like a pussy… so, I took the job.
And then I fell off that goddamn roof.
It was a two-story drop that nearly killed me, and if it weren’t for a big ass sycamore tree that partially cushioned my fall on the way down, I likely would have died on impact.
Instead, I landed myself in the hospital with a broken fucking back and a grade three concussion.
At the time, death would have been a welcome alternative. When they were wheeling me through the hospital on that stretcher, and I finally came to… I was pissed.
Why couldn’t it just be over?
I craved peace, but all I got were six long, torturous months out of work, unbearable pain, and medical bills out the ass. A dark cloud of depression funneled through me, blackening my veins, poisoning my thoughts, and while I was stuck in my house, bedridden and crippled, all I wanted to do was die.
Work was my outlet. My saving grace. I needed to keep moving, remain in motion, stay busy—but that was stolen from me. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever heal properly and be able to work again, and the prospect was dauntingly terrifying.
On a particularly grim night over the summer, delirious on painkillers and feeling little hope for the future, I told Bree to just fucking kill me. Smother me with a pillow. Lace my Fruity Pebbles with rat poison or some shit. Didn’t matter. I just wanted out.
She lost her mind, of course, freaked the hell out and almost had me committed right then and there. From that point forward, my sister stopped by my house daily to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid, and as soon as I was up walking around again, regaining some semblance of my only marginally better life, she enrolled me in those dumb meetings.
That’s where I met her.
Melody.
My moon.
That’s when everything changed for me, and I guess I have that roof to thank.
But as I’m standing on this goddamn bridge with a complete stranger, staring over the edge into an endless black abyss, I can say for damn certain, I still really fucking hate heights.
“Just let me do this, man. Get the hell out of here.”
I’m not sure what kind of twisted shit the universe is up to, but out of all the motherfuckers in the world, I’m the one standing here, trying to talk this guy out of jumping fifty feet into the bay.
Me.
I’m literally enrolled in a suicide support group.
And I’m kind of pissed at myself for not paying more attention to Ms. Katherine’s pep talks.
“Go,” the man says as he hangs off the outer side of the guardrail, facing the water, limbs shaking, his sweat glinting off the line of street lamps. “Let me die.”
Shit.
When I saw this guy about ready to launch himself into Delavan Bay, I stopped without really thinking anything through. I didn’t have a plan—no earth-shattering advice or profound lectures. No magical words to knock some sense into him.
So, I’m basically just standing here, clueless and thoroughly unqualified, inching my way closer, while my brain short-circuits trying to figure out an angle.
Swallowing, I close my eyes and try to envision the meetings, hoping to pull some sort of grandiose wisdom from the bits and pieces I actually paid attention to.
Why did I take so many fucking naps?
Those jarring fluorescent lights burst to life overhead, and I picture myself rooted to that red plastic chair as idle chitchat swirls around me, but their words are muffled, faces blurred, because Melody’s hair is tied into a loose braid today, draped over her left shoulder. She’s fiddling with a little blue hair band secured to the end that matches the color of her sundress. And when she glances my way, her eyes shimmer with tiny cerulean flecks, sprinkled into those pools of bright green.
Damn it.
This isn’t the right angle.
The stranger heaves in a deep breath of courage, dragging me back to the bridge. His body dangles carelessly over the water, his fingers loosening on the rail. “I appreciate the effort, but I need to do this,” he says, chin to his chest.
Wait, no, shit.
Starting points!
“Hamsters,” I blurt. “Do you like hamsters?”
This captures his attention, and the man snaps his head towards me, a confused frown settling into place between sweat-laden brows. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I pace forward with slow, careful steps, my heartbeat doing the exact opposite. It’s jack-knifing inside my chest as adrenaline pumps through my veins. “Okay, maybe not hamsters. Something else.” Fucking hell, I’m terrible at this. “The smell of Grandma’s gumbo simmering on the stove during Easter brunch.”
He blinks.
“Flying your kite with Dad. Rainbow sherbet. The scent of wet grass after a summer thunderstorm.” I add as an afterthought, “We’ve had a lot of those this year. So great.”
“Are you on drugs?”
My feet carry me right to the edge of the rail, and I extend my arm like a tentative plea. “Starting points. You know, shit that makes you happy. Little things that don’t suck. Like… dancing in the lake.”
I’m close enough that I can make out the color of his eyes—dark, dark brown, matching his shoulder-length hair and goatee. The man glances at the water, then back to me. “Sure, yeah. I’ll go do that one right now.”
Shit… poor selection.
“Fuck, I don’t know. What do you like?”
Cars begin to park along the entry to the bridge, bystanders stepping from vehicles to gawk and wave their cell phones around. A curious audience trickles in, one by one, gathering a few yards away and causing my insides to spiral with nerves.
The man looks just as wrought with distress when he notices the crowd. His grip on the rail tightens, his body going rigid. When he turns back towards me, his umber eyes gleam with animosity. “Why couldn’t you leave me alone? I’d be dead by now,” he bites out through clenched teeth.
“But you’re not,” I note, sparing a glance down below and shuddering at the cavernous bay. “That’s good, right? If you wanted to be dead, you would be.”
“You’re distracting me. I can’t concentrate with you here, rambling about goddamn hamsters.”
Deciding I need a new approach, I coil my fingers around the guardrail and take an unsteady step up onto the elevated cement block. The railing is level with my stomach as I cling tight, careful not to bend over too far. “You know, you probably wouldn’t die from the fall,” I tell him.
Maybe I’m just trying to convince myself in case there’s another roof incident, but the math seems to check out. I’m no expert on diving off of bridges, but a fifty foot drop into deep, non-turbulent water sounds like it would fucking suck, while still being survivable.
The man beside me shivers from only a foot away, his Adam’s apple bobbing with conflict. “I can’t swim.”
Well, fuck.
My mind spins, trying to locate a plan C—except, I didn’t even have a decent plan A or B when I got myself into this mess. The only question that springs to my lips is, “What’s your name?”
There’s always a chance I can build a rapport with this guy, and maybe he’ll like me enough to stick around.
Then I recognize my faulty reasoning…
I’m really not all that likable.
A few beats of thickening silence lingers between us, the growing background noise muted by the intensity of this moment. The man finally licks his lips as his troubled eyes lift to me, and he replies in a ragged voice, “Milo.”
“Milo.” I repeat his name through a nod, hoping I look more confident than I feel right now. “Good name. I bet someone out there would really miss saying that name.”
Well, shit, that wasn’t awful. I mentally high-five myself.
Milo grumbles, his gaze dancing out across the murky waters. Streetlight and moonglow illuminate his haggard frame, chalky complexion, and the dark circles beneath his eyes that almost match the shade of his irises. In a swift breath, he confesses, “I killed someone.”
My insides pitch, and I freeze.
Awesome.
I’m trying to uplift a goddamn murderer.
“It wasn’t…” Milo’s head swings back and forth, his inner turmoil palpitating off of him in waves. He fists the rail with gritted teeth. “It wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t mean to.”
My throat closes up, lost for words, and I simply nod my head as I process his admission.
Milo continues, his legs quaking beneath him. “I thought I could live with it, but I can’t. I can’t do it anymore.”
I swallow. “What happened?”
“It was stupid. It was so… fuckin’ stupid.” His clammy palms squeeze the metal bar, while his chest puffs out with a tattered breath. “I lost my job last spring, and it was hell—I’ve got a kid, you know? So, my brother, he’s always getting himself into trouble, always coming up with these schemes. He said he’d help me get some cash, just a temporary thing, until I got back on my feet. I didn’t know he wanted to rob people.” Milo stops to regroup, closing his eyes tight. “But he convinced me it would be fine, easy, because he just has that way about him. Nothing is ever serious—it’s all fun and fuckin’ games.
“Until you ram your truck into some poor, innocent guy, and find out the next day that you killed him. I killed him.”
My eyebrows pinch together as I stare at Milo, an icy chill sweeping through me that even the hot August night can’t touch. Fuck.
Ominous water ripples below us, and I acknowledge the real gravity of this situation. Choices need to be made. Milo needs to decide if he’s going to hurl himself off this bridge, and I need to decide if I’m going to stop him.
This guy killed someone—accident or not, he killed a man as a consequence of doing bad, illegal shit. Maybe he deserves to meet a grisly end. Maybe the world would be a better place.
But… maybe that’s not the point.
Letting out a frazzled sigh, I tap my thumbs along the rail, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do with this knowledge, with this impasse.
What would Melody do?
Her porcelain face and emerald eyes seize me for a wistful moment—her goodness, her heart, her empathy. She sees life through a lens made of hope and decency. She smiles through adversity. She shines in the dark. She chooses compassion over… everything.
Melody talks people off of bridges.
I don’t give myself any time to think before hoisting one leg up over the banister, my grip on the bar white-knuckled. My whole body tremors with fear, and I refuse to look down at the bleak chasm below as gasps and flashing lights from the group of spectators assault me. Police sirens sound in the distance, adding to my harrowing anxiety.
“What the fuck, man? What are you doing?”
My opposite leg follows suit, and I’m clutching the guardrail for dear life, the heels of my boots teetering off the edge of the cement ledge.
Holy fucking shit.
“Well,” I mutter, my voice hitching. I’m facing the opposite direction, chin tucked to my chest as I try to collect my bearings. “You seem pretty upset over killing a guy, so I figured you wouldn’t want another death on your hands.”
I blow out a hard breath, finding the courage to glance up at Milo. His stunned expression stares back at me, slack-jawed and bewildered.
He gapes at me. “Are you insane?”
Am I?
I’m about to shrug my shoulders, but my balance staggers at the gesture, so I just force out a strained, “Maybe.”
Since I’m facing the roadway, my eyes travel over to the large crowd of rubberneckers, likely live Tweeting and making TikTok videos as we speak.
Police officers roll in, catching Milo’s attention, and he hollers over his shoulder, “Stay the fuck back, or I’ll jump!”
My insides churn with dread. “Please don’t do that,” I say in a low voice, finding the strength to pivot myself on the overhang until I’m facing the same direction as Milo, my torso dangling forward over the bay. “If you jump, then I’ll have to jump in after you.”
“Bullshit,” he spits back. “Just leave me the hell alone. Get out of here.”
“I can’t do that. I mean, I’m already in this.” I suck in a wavering breath. “And then, what if you survive, but I drown? You’ll have to live with the responsibility of taking two lives. That would really suck.”
“Dude, you’re stressing me out. Just go.”
“What do you love?”
Milo falters, sparing me the briefest look. His chin trembles, the fear evident despite his determination to drown himself. “My son,” he croaks out. “And my brother.”
“Aren’t they enough to live for?”
“My brother’s in jail. I was driving his truck when I hit that guy—someone got the plates, and Alfie was arrested. He refused to give me up, so now he’s rotting in a jail cell all alone, even though I’m the one who killed a person.”
I bite my lip with consideration. “You could always turn yourself in.”
“I’m too chickenshit. I’d rather just end it all.”
“What about your son?” I continue, keeping the conversation going.
Keeping him distracted.
“He loses either way, but this way is better.”
“How so?”
Milo lets out a growl of protest, shaking his head. “I see what you’re doing, trying to get me to talk—to think. I’ve already made up my mind, and you can’t change that.”
Braving a glance to the depths below, I sway as a swell of queasiness claims me. I push through the fear and pull my head up to watch the stars instead. “My dad died when I was just a little kid, and it really fucked up my whole life. He didn’t off himself like you, though, which I can only imagine will add an extra layer of trauma and heartbreak for your son.” Milo remains silent, bristling at my spiel. My fingers tense, curling stiffer around the clammy metal as I continue to spout off a bunch of random shit, hoping something manages to stick. “You know, I actually wanted to die not too long ago. I wasn’t actively suicidal, but I would’ve been really damn okay if I just stopped waking up in the morning. It’s a shitty, black hole type of feeling, and I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can say to help you see through to the other side.
“I could stand here all night giving you reasons and sob stories, glimpses of hope. But only you can decide that your life is worth living. Only you can see the other side.”
He’s quiet for a long time, maybe an entire minute, and we both keep our gazes fixed straight ahead, lost in the sea of stars. Milo cranes his neck my way, his eyes reflecting a new set of emotions, something I haven’t seen yet as I turn to face him.
There’s a crack in his conviction.
“What’s on the other side?” Milo asks in a low, weary tone, his voice hardly audible over the commotion behind us and the heavy draft that coasts through.
Melody steals my thoughts once again, her previous words to me lighting me up like a moonbeam. I reply with surety, “What you put there.”
A palpability hovers between us, a striking sense of clarity, and I think this is it, I finally got through to this guy, and I can crawl off this fucking bridge and go home to wallow in my own personal misery—but then I hear it.
Her voice.
It’s Melody.
“Parker!”
My body swivels along the ledge, turning to face her, to see her, to drink her in beneath the glimmering night sky. Our eyes lock from a few yards away, and she’s hysterical, trying to run to me, but she’s being held back by a beefy cop.
“Melody.”
Her name is only a whisper on my tongue, a tender breath, and I know she can’t hear me, but I say it anyway. It calms me.
I’m calm.
Milo follows my stare. “That your girl?”
“I really fucking hope so.”
“Hell, man, you—”
The moment he spins back to face me, everything goes to shit.
The air leaves my lungs when Milo slips, losing his footing. He scrambles to keep his grip on the rail as my one arm instinctively reaches out for him, but I miss, and he fumbles, and then he’s freefalling face-first into Delavan Bay as my heart sinks to the bottom of the water before he even hits the surface.
Motherfuck.
Everything happens in slow motion, or maybe it’s a split second, I’m not really fucking sure, but all I know is that I’m left with another choice.
Melody shrieks, clawing her way through the wall of cops, who let her go in order to race down the bridge towards the other side of the bank.
“No! Parker, don’t you dare!”
She’s running to me, sobbing and desperate, and all I want to do is climb back over the railing, scoop her into my arms, and kiss away her trails of tears.
But I don’t.
All I do is smile.
Then I let go of the guardrail and jump in after him, while Melody’s horrified cry follows me all the way down to the dark, icy water.
Redemption is a bitch.