“Get on your bikes and leave.” Kyle’s voice trembles and so does his body. “That’s what’s going to happen. I’ll let her go then and then I’ll leave. I’m not the bad guy in this. I didn’t take or put up the picture of Violet. I’m not the one!”
“Promise you won’t hurt him,” I say.
Razor tilts his head to show he’s consumed with the thought of hurting Kyle, but he remains silent as Pigpen says, “Hurting you was never an option on the table. We don’t operate like that. Hurting kids isn’t how we work.”
“I’m not a kid!”
“A man wouldn’t be holding a girl on a bridge like he’s about to toss her over. I swear on my patch, killing you is not in the Terror’s plans.”
I blink as I hear the promise and Razor raises his head for me to not tip their hand. They don’t have plans to kill Kyle, but anything else, like maybe jail time, is up for negotiation.
“How can I believe you?”
“You can’t,” says Pigpen. “But I’m not seeing your other options.”
“I’m not bad,” Kyle whispers into my ear. “I’m sorry, Bre. I promise I’m not bad.”
The desperation in his voice, the way he’s hugging me instead of holding me, causes me to loosen my grip. For months, Kyle has been this shadow of a monster haunting my life and he’s been the epitome of evil, but listening to his brokenness—he doesn’t sound much different from Zac or Paul or Elsie. He doesn’t sound much different from a scared child.
The big, strong football player who everyone knows is frightened. Frightened enough to blackmail me, frightened enough to do something that causes him to feel guilty, frightened enough to take on the Terror, frightened enough to drag both of us onto a railway bridge.
“I’m scared,” I say to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“You and I, we’ve made bad choices. It doesn’t make us good, but I’m not sure it makes us bad.”
“What have you done?”
“I didn’t love my family enough to let them love me back.”
A disgusted sound slips from his lips and a new rush of fear overtakes me, but I press forward. “I hurt people. People that I said I loved. They hurt me, too, but I’m not sure I tried to give them another chance. It’s like tearing off my arm because I didn’t want to feel the pain of a paper cut on my finger.”
Kyle doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak, either, and a wave of dizziness disorients me when a strong gust sweeps over the bridge, causing us to ease a centimeter toward the edge.
“Easy now,” says Pigpen in a smooth tone.
“I said—” Kyle starts, but I shush him.
“Listen to me, not them. We’ve both made mistakes, and the point is, what makes us bad is when we don’t know when to stop. When we keep covering for the things we’ve done wrong and never stop. If you say you aren’t bad, then prove it. Walk us off this bridge, let me go home and I’ll tell my family that they’ve been wrong, but I’ve also been wrong.”
“But you don’t understand.” There’s a break in his voice. “What has happened...what you did...what I did...everything is ruined.”
If I lie, and he doesn’t believe me, he’s crazy enough to toss us both over. “You said you wanted me to write the papers because you need out of this town, and I never thought of it until now, but that must mean you feel like you’re dying here. Maybe this is our moment. Maybe everything is gone, but maybe this is what we both need. Maybe both of us need to stop playing the parts assigned to us by this awful town and find the courage to be somebody new. Somebody different.”
“The Terror are going to kill me. They think I put up the picture of Violet. Razor’s going to kill me for hurting you.”
“They won’t hurt you.”
“You don’t know—”
“Promise you won’t hurt him,” I call out. “Swear to me as Razor’s girl that you won’t hurt him.”
“Doesn’t work like that,” Pigpen says real slowly, and my blood pressure plummets. It’s a boys’ club. Violet had said that. A boys’ club that’s going to get me killed—
“On my life,” Razor calls out. “He’ll walk out of here.”
Pigpen assesses Razor with a half-sarcastic grin. “Now, that’s how we work. Razor calls this clean, so I’ll drive Kyle home to Mom and Dad myself.”
Kyle’s arms give, and when I inch to slip out of them, he grabs on to my wrist. My heart shoots to my throat, but then he slides his hand into mine. Nausea knots my stomach. I don’t want to hold his hand, but I do want off this bridge.
With every step, I’m terrified he’ll change his mind. We’re farther onto the bridge than I thought. Too far for my liking, but at least we’re walking on the tracks in the middle.
Pigpen’s telling everyone to fall back and Razor’s staring at me as if his gaze is what is protecting me. Kyle pauses and anticipation builds. Not the good kind like the morning of your birthday. The bad kind. The type that suggests that death is taking note of exactly how your last moments should be.
“Let’s go,” I encourage him.