This time, I don’t think it’s my emotional hang-ups immediately sending me to that conclusion. I feel too cold despite the warmth inside the house, ice slithering up my spine until I shiver. There’s no simple reason I can think of for him asking me to meet him at the bridge, not after what happened there between us. Not knowing what that place is to me, how many of my ghosts roam that river.
Then there’s that last word that turns something inside me upside down.
Please.
Jackson doesn’t beg, not like this. When we’re in bed, sure, but that’s entirely different. He asks, he nudges, he jokes, he fights. But he never pleads.
I read the text two more times before glancing at the time. 10:15 is a little over an hour away.
There’s no way I can sit still for an hour, so I rise off the stool and put the leftovers in the fridge. I clean the kitchen just to keep myself from pacing. I wipe down the counters twice. Wash each dish twice. All the while, my heart rate refuses to slow.
Five minutes before ten, I grab my coat and my key, locking the house behind me.
No matter what I fear I might find, if he wants me there, if heneedsme there, I’m not going to hesitate.
Not now.
Not ever.
The night’s cold, the air sharp with fresh snow, my breath turning white beneath the glow of the streetlamps. I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, start the engine, and grip the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles ache.
Whatever this is, whatever is drawing him to that place again, he’s not facing it alone.
Not while I’m still breathing.
The tires crunch over the frozen driveway as I pull out into the dark. The icy road stretches before me, and I press harder on the gas as my pulse echoes one frantic truth over and over.
Jackson needs me.
Whatever’s waiting at that bridge, we’re facing it together.
I told myself I wasstaying home from school because of the weather, which was partly true. I woke up this morning curled up in bed beneath the blankets, warm and toasty while staring out at the frost covered landscape outside the window. I didn’t want to get up and brave the cold.
It didn’t have anything to do with Isaac. I’m still nervous to face him after what happened yesterday, but I miss him so fucking much already.
No, the bigger truth is that I realized I’d more than likely have to see Professor Grant if I went to campus.
And I don’t think I’m ready for that.
So I went back to sleep.
The next time I wake up, it’s already late in the afternoon. The first thing I do is check my phone, frowning down at the screen when there’s not a text from Isaac, just the last one he sent last night.
Isaac:Thank you for letting me know and for being safe. Good night, sweetheart.
He sent it while I was taking my hour-long shower, so I didn’t respond when I got out, not wanting to risk waking him if he was already asleep. I should probably text him now, but now I feel bad for making him wait all day. He’ll be home from work in an hour or two, so I decide to just wait and meet him at his house.
I promised him I wasn’t going to disappear. I meant it.
By early evening, the sky outside is already dimming to dusk, frost still glittering over everything. I’ve been working up the nerve it’s going to take to finally face Isaac. To be honest with him about everything because I also meant it when I said I didn’t want to keep secrets. I have to tell him what happened and what I realized—that Professor Grant was the one behind those emails. That he’s possibly been circling the both of us like a vulture for months.
A little after five, I pull my coat on over my hoodie and grab my keys.
Before I can walk out the door, my phone goes off with a notification.
I pull it out of my pocket, already grinning, expecting it to be a text from Isaac.
It’s not.
