It wasn’t thought-out.
It was bone-deep certainty.
He carried me away from the railing, his steps steady and deliberate, his body creating a cocoon that blocked out sky and water and height and memory. I felt the vibration of his voice against my cheek as he kept talking.
“Stay with me, Soph. You’re doing good. Your body’s just catching up. Let it.”
My hands loosened slightly, fingers still clutching fabric but no longer clawing. The sharpest edge of panic dulled, replaced by shaky exhaustion that made my limbs feel heavy and boneless.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, softer this time.
“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb through my hair.
When he finally set me down—far from the bridge, my feet on solid ground—I sagged into him instead of standing on my own. He let me. No rush. No demand that I pull myself together.
Beth and Natasha hovered nearby now, faces pale, eyes wide with concern, but they didn’t crowd. Natalie had followed, too. She stood back with the media coordinator, already waving people away, decisive and protective.
Wyatt crouched slightly in front of me, keeping his hands on my arms so I didn’t feel unmoored. “You with me?”
I nodded weakly. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he said. “We’re done for today.”
And just like that—without debate, without negotiation—he made it true.
The interview could wait.
The bridge could wait.
The city could wait.
The only thing that mattered was that I was safe.
And for the first time since Jonesy—since the day fear rewired my body in ways I’d never fully understood—I let someone carry me out of it.
Literally.
16
WYATT
The aftermath of the bridge settled like dust after an explosion—heavy, visible, impossible to ignore.
Sophie stood there trying to put on a brave face, but I could see straight through it. The exhaustion carved into the lines around her eyes. The tremor in her hands she thought she was hiding by clasping them together. The way her shoulders curved inward like she was trying to make herself smaller, less visible, less of a problem for everyone around her.
The mayor—Natalie—was kind about it. Understanding in a way that felt genuine, not political.
"We can always do the interview later," she said gently, her voice carrying the kind of authority that didn't need volume. "Or not at all. Whatever you need, Sophie."
Sophie nodded, her voice small and tight. "Thank you. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Natalie replied firmly, her hand briefly touching Sophie's arm in solidarity. "You have nothing to apologize for."
Beth and Natasha hovered nearby, concern written all over their faces—Beth's mouth pressed into a thin line, Natasha'seyes sharp with worry that came from real affection. But neither of them asked why. Why Sophie had panicked. Why heights triggered something so visceral she couldn't breathe, couldn't stand, couldn't exist in that space without breaking apart.
And for some reason, that pissed me off.
They were her friends. Good friends, from what I could tell. They should know. They should understand what she was carrying, what she'd been through, why a bridge could undo her so completely.
