Something in my chest loosened at that. “I didn’t want to say no,” I admitted. “It felt important.”
He didn’t take my hand—not yet—but he stayed close, steady, like an anchor I could reach for whenever I needed.
Natalie smiled at us both. “You two know each other?”
“Yes,” Wyatt said smoothly, glancing at me. “Old friends.”
The word settled gently this time. Not as a boundary. As a truth with room to grow.
As we moved toward the bridge access, the height loomed—not threatening, exactly, but insistent. My palms dampened. My breath shortened.
Wyatt noticed instantly.
His hand brushed mine—not grabbing, just offering. I took it without thinking.
“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, low enough that no one else could hear.
“I want to,” I said. “I’m just scared.”
“I know,” he replied simply.
And somehow, that made it easier.
We reached the base of the walkway. The wind picked up slightly, carrying the sound of water and traffic and the steady heartbeat of the city.
Natalie turned to me. “Ready?”
I nodded, squaring my shoulders.
This city had already asked me to step forward once.
I could do it again.
The pedestrian walkway rose in a clean, graceful curve beside us, its cables fanning upward like something engineered to inspire awe instead of fear. I focused on the details close to me—the textured concrete under my shoes, the faint metallic hum in the railings, the rhythm of traffic nearby. If I didn’t look too far ahead, or too far down over the side, I could manage this.
Wyatt stayed close without crowding me. His hand never tightened around mine, never tugged. It was just there—warm, steady, optional. A presence, not a demand.
Beth and Natasha hovered a few steps back, chatting quietly with one of the aides, blissfully unaware of the internal calculus I was doing with every inhale.
Wyatt leaned slightly closer. “You want to tell me what your brain’s doing right now?” he asked softly.
I exhaled through my nose. “It’s trying to convince me that I’m standing on something unstable. Even though I know I’m not.”
“That checks out,” he said. “Your brain’s always been dramatic.”
I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself. “Says the man who jumped off a quarry cliff once because someone dared him.”
“Peer pressure is a powerful force,” he replied solemnly. “Trauma, however, is sneakier.”
The word didn’t sting when he said it. It just existed. Acknowledged.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he added. “Not to the mayor. Not to Charleston. Not to the internet.”
“I know,” I said. “I just don’t want fear to decide things for me.”
He studied me for a moment, eyes steady. “Then let’s let you decide. One step at a time.”
I nodded.
