“I’ve been thinking that I want to get out of here, start a new life someplace else, but I don’t mind this place, as long as you’re here.”
He brushes my hair from my eyes and rests his hand against my neck. I know that he can feel my heartbeat through my skin. “I like everywhere you are,” he says, and kisses my neck. I could sink into the grass with him and never come up for air.
He opens the passenger door of the truck and pulls a black backpack from the seat.
“Hold this,” he says. “But don’t open it.”
“Or what?” I get in, and he kisses me roughly. My heart leaps through my chest.
“Better not, Hawking.”
He starts the truck and takes us in the direction of the highway. It’s not long before we’re driving too fast on an empty two-lane road. Someone has wrung out the sun, and it drips pink into the mirrored river.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Little Talbot.”
Little Talbot Island is one of the small barrier islands not far from home. It’s wild, still—nothing but untouched beaches and salt marshes and dunes. I raise an eyebrow. “Scheming to get me all alone, mister?”
“Definitely. Just you and me and the stars and the ocean. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, actually. Since the first day of fourth grade.” He looks at me with a face that has broken wide open. Finally, I see all of him: his colors and shades, his pain and the way he loves me.
I don’t say anything back. Some words deserve to stand alone.
We drive the rest of the way in the kind of silence that feels like a warm bath. When we get to the park, Wil takes a back entrance. He’s sailing buddies with the guy who works the gate during the day, the guy who conveniently left the entrance unlocked tonight. Sand spins under the tires, and he maneuvers the truck onto the beach.
“Pass me that bag?” he asks.
I heave it in his direction.
“Okay. Now stay here until I tell you to come out.”
“Got it.” I slide back in the seat and close my eyes, listening to Wil’s sounds behind the truck: his bare feet against the wet sand and the way he clears his throat every few seconds because he’s nervous, which makes me nervous. Soon he opens my door, and extends a hand.
“Come on,” he says quietly, and leads me around the truck bed. He’s blanketed the sand with colorful quilts his mother made with his old Little League and sailing camp T-shirts. Around the perimeter of the quilts are glowing pillar candles, like the beach is on fire. We are the only ones here, and the only sounds are the lapping ocean and the pop of the candles.
“Wil.” I let his name rest on my tongue as we settle onto the blanket. I can’t pull away from us. Wil’s face is shadowed and blazing in the most beautiful way.
“I love you, Bridge,” he tells me. “I’ve loved you for a long time.”
“I’ve loved you forever.”
His fingers are trembling when he touches my collarbone. When he curls them around my tank top and pulls me into him. A breeze swoops down the beach, extinguishing some of the candles. But we are ignited by shared sunburns and workshop afternoons. Handstand contests and hours spent bouncing around in a truck bed. All these things make us who we are. The things I don’t know about him don’t define him. I was silly to think I had to know them all. I don’t need them to see the real Wil Hines. He is right here, in front of me. He slides over me, pressing me into the sand, anchoring me to this life, to us.
BRIDGE
Summer, Senior Year
THE next morning, I stand at the foot of the stairs in the filtered morning light. I blink furiously, just to be sure. But every time I open my eyes, Wil is there, lounging in the living room with Mom and Micah, an open box of bagels on the coffee table. He looks good, sprawled in the middle of my family portrait. I press my lips together. They are still swollen with him.
“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he says.
Micah makes a gagging sound.
“Hey!” I lock eyes with Wil. “How long have you been here?”
“This boy was sweet enough to show up at the door with bagels and coffee this morning.” Mom tightens the sash on her waffled robe. “Just a little celebration, since the two of you are out of school this week.”
Micah scowls. “I hate my life.”
I drop between Wil and Mom on the couch and give him a kiss on the cheek.
“That was really sweet.” I brush Wil’s hair away from his eyes.
“That was really sweet, Wil,” Micah says in a girly voice.
“Dude. Not cool,” Wil jokes, handing me a latté in a paper cup.
“You guys have big plans for today?” Mom asks. “Graduation rehearsal?”
“Not until tomorrow,” I tell her.
“Yeah, so . . . kind of a free day today,” Wil says, sliding a glance in my direction. His cell rings, and he checks the screen. “Sorry. It’s my mom.” He ducks outside.
“Sooo . . .” Mom leans back. “How was Little Talbot last night?”
“How did you know?”
“Wil told me. Unlike some people, he tells me things,” Mom chides me.
I ignore her tone and sip my coffee. “It’s really romantic out there.”
“Age-appropriately romantic, I hope.” She looks straight through me.
“Oh, age-appropriately, for sure.” I switch to a chug.
Wil pushes through the door, silent. He is blank-faced and gray.
“They got him.” His voice is thin, like water. “They got him.”
“Got who?”
“Honey? Wil?” Mom tenses.
“The guy who killed my dad. He broke into another place last night, and they got him.” His face twists, and he lets out a half sob.
“Oh my God.” I’m frozen. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream. I jump up and hug him hard. “Wil. Oh my God.”
“Yancey and Porter want to talk to Mom and me. At the station.” He blinks. “I have to go to the station.” His eyes are unfocused. He is too quiet for a moment like this.
“When?”
“Now. I don’t know. Now.” Finally, he finds my eyes. His are begging. Help.
“Give me the keys. I’m driving.” On the way out the door, I jam my feet into an old pair of Micah’s flip-flops.
Wil pitches the keys my way. I follow him outside, where he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and bends over.
“Wil? You okay? What’s—”
He dry heaves, then pukes in the grass. The air smells like rancid coffee.
“Fine,” he rasps, without looking at me. “I’m fine.”
I rest my hand on his back, rub it in slow circles. When I pull back, my palm is laced in his sweat. “Just take a few deep breaths, okay? It’s gonna be okay.” Already, the air is hot enough to split my skin. I steer him to his truck and help him into the passenger seat.
“I know. I know. I know.” He tilts his seat back and closes his eyes. His lips are moving, and suddenly, he punches the dashboard. I close his door gently and sprint around the truck to the driver’s side, my heart pounding. I roll down the windows, because this space can’t contain us.
“It’s the station on Seminole,” Wil instructs me. He turns away, toward the window.