N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(7)

“You go first, then you can help me back over?” she suggests.

I climb over the rail, ignoring the pain it brings because I’m still high on the pleasure and the promise of more of her lips on mine.

She stands and faces me, holding onto the wires. “I said ten. You only waited until nine,” she teases as she shuffles her feet on the ledge.

“You said you wouldn’t be ready by three, but ten was too damned long,” I reply. I’m watching her feet, and with each movement, I’m dying a thousand deaths.

She chuckles, and the sound shoots right through me. To my heart. My cock. Who is this girl?

I can’t wait to find out.

“Take my hand,” I command when she’s close enough to reach me.

She raises her arm, at the same time the clasp of her necklace breaks and catches on another wire a few inches below her feet. “My necklace!”

“Don’t worry about your necklace. I’ll get it for you after you’re on this side, just take my hand,” I stretch my arm until I’m sure it’s going to pop from the socket.

For a second, I think she’s going to put her hand in mine, but instead, she bends down to retrieve her necklace. It’s got a pendant hanging from it. A black bird with outstretched wings and red stones for eyes that shine under the full moon. “I need to get it. My mother gave it to me.”

I don’t even know her name, but in my frustration, I give her a nickname. “Poe, forget the necklace. Just take my fucking hand!”

“Poe.” She smiles brightly. “I like that.” She splays her fingers and bends her knees, stretching her arm out as far as it can go. “You know my mother used to say…” she trails off, distracted by her own thoughts and remembering for probably the thousandth time today that her mother is dead.

Everything slows down. Time. The air. The sound of cars passing. My own heartbeat.

Her foot slipping. Her arms flailing wildly in the air, trying to grab onto something, but there’s nothing, only the night air.

Her other foot lifting off the railing. The horror that spreads across her face when she realizes there’s no coming back from this.

“Nooooo!” I shout, but it’s too late.

She’s already falling.

There’s nothing I can do.

The faint sound of a splash below.

It’s done.

I don’t know how long I stand there, staring out at the darkness until I hear the commotion behind me.

I turn to find several parked cars with people standing outside of them looking horrified. “I saw her jump,” a lady says.

“The police and ambulance are on the way,” another voice.

“She didn’t jump. HE pushed her. I saw it!” A rougher voice shouts. A dozen accusing glares and pointed fingers shoot my way.

They think I fucking pushed her?

Blue and red flashing lights and sirens pierce through the mob’s cries.

A police officer jumps from his cruiser and heads straight for me. I’m trapped and injured.

From the side of my eye, I see the gleaming eyes of the bird pendant.

I climb back over to the other side of the railing and retrieve it, shoving it deep into my pocket. The officer blinds me with his flashlight from above. “Come on over here, son. You don’t want to do this.”

“You’re right. You’ve saved me. Well, done,” I say with an added golf clap. I climb back over the railing and am immediately thrown down onto the pavement and cuffed.

“Why are you arresting me?”

“The people say they saw you push her.”

“I didn’t fucking push her. She fell. Check the fucking cameras,” I say, looking up to the blinking red light above the bridge and hoping to fuck it caught what actually happened.

“We will. Until then, you’re coming with us,” he says.

I struggle from his grip as he pulls me upright and pushes me toward the car. “Why are you worried about me? You should be sending someone to search for her. See if she’s alive.”

Please be alive. Please be alive.

“I assure you that the Recovery Unit is already headed down there, kid.”

“Recovery? What the fuck is recovery?” I ask.

He shoves me inside the car and gets in, maneuvering through the parked cars before he answers. “This ain’t no search and rescue operation, boy. This is recovery. Dozen people each year jump from that bridge since the day construction was finished and even a few before. Wanna know how many regret that decision?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Don’t know. We can’t ask them.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview. “They’re all dead.”

“I didn’t push her,” I say over the pain of hope being crushed like a garbage compactor on my heart.

“Then, what did happen?”

As much as I told myself I wasn’t up there to kill myself, the truth I’ve been ignoring since I wandered onto the bridge hits me and hits me hard.

I was going to jump.

I look up at the bridge, now in the distance, a million miles away.

“She…she saved my life,” I say out loud.

“Then, make the best of it, kid,” the cop says. “After you get out of jail.”

Make the best of it.

I have a second chance, and she doesn’t. And it’s only because she’d awakened something inside of me that was either dead or lying dormant.