Chapter 23
Sadie
When I tiptoe out of my bedroom and into the darkness of the living room, a single light is on in the kitchen, and James’s dad is standing with his hands on the countertop, staring down at the marble.
His mom told me that James and his dad had gone for a drink and was very apologetic to me when she got back from the restaurant.
She kept saying she thought we were together and that James was not being straight with them about what had happened with Jane.
Then she filled me in on Kevin turning up and how awkward the whole thing was. It sounded insane.
“Is everything okay?”
James’s dad’s head snaps up. “I hope I didn’t wake you, Sadie.”
“No, I was just reading.” I glance at the couch and then down the hallway toward the bathroom. “Where’s James?”
“He was a bit upset after the conversation at dinner tonight. We went out for a drink, but …” He hesitates. “He had a whiskey then decided to go for a walk.”
Something tickles along the back of my neck. “Did he say where he was going?”
His dad shakes his head.
“Was he all right?”
“Not sure. He just said he’d wasted the last twelve years of his life and walked out.”
Oh, shiiitttt.
“I need to take myself off to bed,” his dad says. “I had a few whiskies after he left.” He raises a hand and weaves into Des’s bedroom.
Fuck. I examine the frayed cuff of my cardigan as he disappears, the piece of paper from James’s book fluttering through my head as if it were yesterday.
If your son tells you he’s going for a walk, you think he’s going for a walk, don’t you?
I stand in the darkness and stare at the lights of the apartment across the way, eyes tracking up story after story.
Where would he go? I pull my phone out of my pocket.
I’ve still got his location sharing on from when he got drunk.
I click over to Google Maps, and there he is: a small circle on … the Brooklyn Bridge?
He’s on the bridge?
I trot back into my bedroom, yank on my jeans and a top, grab my keys, and in minutes I’m out on the street, heart thumping.
The girl’s code makes the boy sprout wings as he jumps.
Calm down. The Brooklyn Bridge is not an easy place to jump from.
The pedestrian path runs down the middle and the cars go underneath.
I jog down Water Street and then up by the side of the bridge, negotiating the dark steps before I hit the walkway.
Once I’m there, I start trotting again. The steel struts are all lit up like an amusement ride, shadows falling across my path as the traffic thunders past below, even at one in the morning. The city that never sleeps.
How long has he been out here? His dad said he had a few more whiskies after James left …
that could have been ages. I watch the dot on the map: It’s not moving, and I frown.
He could have dumped his phone before he jumped.
Christ, I’ve read too many plot twists in books.
I don’t need my overactive imagination right now.
My hands are shaking as I draw ever closer.
Several figures pass by heading in the other direction, but my gaze is fixed as far ahead as I can see.
My heart nearly explodes when I spot a long, lanky figure, head down, leaning against the metal railing.
“James!” I call out, and the head lifts. The relief that swamps my body is like stepping into an ice bath. He straightens as I reach him, face breaking into his cute, lopsided grin. Thank Christ.
“Sadie!”
I lean over my knees, panting for a second.
“Are you okay?” he adds.
I hold up a hand, palm toward him. “I’m fine,” I gasp.
He bends his head down to peer at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know. I thought I’d take a run in the warm evening air,” I say, deadpan, as I lift my head and glance around. “Really surprised to find you here, actually. What are you up to?”
He grins at me. “Contemplating life,” he says. “The museum of a beautiful life, Sadie.” He sweeps out a hand. “Right here.”
“Have you been smoking something?”
“If I’d thought of that, it would have been preferable to listening to the traffic.”
He sounds remarkably normal. Cheerful, even. Thank God.
“What are you doing here?” he says.
“Looking for you.”
“I gathered that.” He frowns. “So I guess I should have asked: Why are you here? And how did you find me?”
I turn my phone and show him the little picture of him with the word “James” beside it on Google Maps.
“Ah, I set it up the day I got drunk in the bar, didn’t I?”
I nod. “I was worried.”
“Worried? About me?” He laughs. “What for?”
I shrug, and he examines me for a beat that turns into at least a minute of contemplation. “Is it because of what I told you at the bike ride about jumping off a building?” He chuckles. “And here I am worrying about you.”
He’s been worried about me?
“Partly.”
He frowns even more now. But he’s too smart not to put it all together.
He slaps his hand on his forehead. “Des. He worked it out, didn’t he?
” He groans. “He figured out what I was doing on that roof. He asked you to move in with me to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?
I thought he was very insistent that you come and live with me. ”
“It wasn’t exactly like that. I did need somewhere to live.
He told me you were having a rough time and that he wanted someone to make sure you were okay, but he didn’t explain why.
I don’t think he worked it out until later.
” I glance up into his steely blue eyes and grimace.
“I realized when I found your suicide list.”
“My suicide list?” He frowns again. “What list?”
“It was tucked into that Arthur C. Clarke book, 2001. It slipped out when I went to retrieve it from your bedroom.”
He sucks in his cheeks, then peers off over the East River and shakes his head.
“I made a list? I just …” Then his eyes narrow and he laughs.
“Oh, God, I do remember making that! One night, months ago. It had some crazy-ass things on it, I think. Christ. You must think I’m a lunatic.
You’re never going to think I’m …” He trails off.
His eyes swing back to my face. Think he’s what? “Shit. You were really worried, weren’t you?” He grimaces. “I’m so sorry, Sadie.”
Now it’s my turn to stare out over the water, still breathing a little hard from all the jogging.
He taps my arm, and when I look at him again, he’s smiling down at me, his eyes gentle behind his glasses.
“Come here,” he says, long arms reaching out and pulling me forward into his wide chest. Oh, Jesus.
My nose is pressed into the top two buttons of his shirt, the smell of woodsy aftershave and the fabric softener that sits in the closet at home drifting up. The worn plaid tickles my nostrils.
“I’m sorry. You really don’t have to worry about me,” he mumbles, resting his chin on my head. “I’m not going to kill myself.”
I turn my head to the side, so my face isn’t so squashed. The steady thump-thump of his heart fills my ear through the layer of clothing. He’s warm, crazy warm—a living, breathing thing. My throat tightens unbearably.
I tip my head back. “Wouldn’t someone who was going to kill themselves also say that?”
He steps back, laughing, and runs his hands up his face. The loss of his solid weight is like a physical ache. He shakes his head as his lips twist. “Such a funny girl,” he says. “I don’t feel like that about what happened anymore. That meal tonight was so much bullshit. Jane’s a lunatic.”
Relief bursts through me. “Your mom said a few things when she got home.”
“What did she say?”
“That Jane brought Kevin along and that she couldn’t believe how she talked to you, what she said about you.”
He laughs again. “That’s about the size of it.
While Jane was talking about her plans with Kevin this evening, I realized I just didn’t care.
I don’t know when I stopped feeling bad, but somehow …
” He trails off again, and I shiver as he turns and leans on the steel railing, staring out across the river and the lights of the office buildings, all lit up like gigantic Christmas trees.
I lean next to him as he tells me everything they said, and Jane’s insistence that they were just friends.
My mouth drops open, eyes riveted on his face.
He’s been looking out over the water as he talks, but now he twists toward me and smiles at my expression. “Incredible, huh?”
“I came to find you because the last thing you said to your dad was that you’d wasted the last twelve years of your life, and I got worried that …”
He squeezes my arm. “I’m okay, Sadie. Honestly. Jane absolutely is not worth that. Things are so much better now: Des’s apartment, you, Mr. Karen.”
Me?
“I can understand why you feel like you’ve thrown away all that time,” I mumble.
“Yes, and that’s on her. I wanted to rant and rave at my dad in the bar, but I knew, if I started, I’d go on for hours. I couldn’t do that to him, so I went for a walk. I feel like such a fool. She pulled the wool over my eyes, and everyone else’s.”
“Christ. Some women are crazy, especially with men. I’ve never understood it. I remember a lot of them in high school,” I say.
He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. Then he turns his head, and his glasses bump my face as he kisses my temple.
“You’re amazing, Sadie. Thank you for coming out here, for caring enough to chase after me.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I tracked you down.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve never been so pleased to see someone running toward me.”
His teeth worry his lower lip for a second. “Can I ask you something? Is this why you’ve been hanging out with me? All this time, you’ve felt obliged to do what Des asked?”
He tips his head down to look at me, and his face is right there, lips inches from mine. I can see where he shaved this morning. If I stretched up a little, I could put my mouth on his.
“Not at all.” I hesitate. What can I say here that won’t be awfully revealing? “I like you, James.”
His eyes roam all over my face, tracking across my no doubt rosy cheeks to my lips. “I like you too, Sadie,” he whispers.
I’ve got so used to standing close to him now—comparing books, cooking, chatting about software—that I can even meet his eyes, and they’re soft behind his glasses, warm and kind, all fully focused on me, like I’m someone important, like he’s asking me a vital question.
Then he tips his head down and brushes his mouth over mine.