“It’ll swing if I get up,” she points out, her voice as brittle as those ropes look.
“Only for a moment. If you’re crawling, I won’t be able to grab your hand as soon as I can reach, so you’ll have to crawl all the way.”
There’s another reason I want her to stand. If the ropes give in, she has a much higher chance of surviving the drop if she’s vertical.
Her assessing eyes search the space between us, calculating the distance, and then her trembling hand lets go of the rope before she reaches out as far as she can. I do the same, showing her the gap between the tips of our fingers is less than fifteen feet.
I think she knows that once she grabs my hand, she’ll be safe because the next thing I know, she looks me right in my eyes, a sense of determination peeking through the fear.
“I’ll... I’ll walk.” She swallows hard, flexes her fingers, and bracing for the worst, rises to her feet.
The bridge sways out to the side.
Addie’s whimpers almost fucking gut me. Hiding how scared I am, how much I want to have her safe in my armsright fucking nowmight be the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do.
“Okay, now what?” she wails, standing on wobbly legs, clutching the ropes either side. “What if I fall? What if it snaps?”
“You’re panicking again.”
And I’m panicking with her.
The ropes holding the bridge are old, frayed in places. Even if everyone around grabs hold, there’s no way we can keep the bridge together if the ropes give in.
Adjusting my stance, I get in position. It might look like I’m getting a better footing, but in reality, I’m bracing to jump.
“It won’t snap,” I say firmly.
“What if it does?!”
Then I’m going down with you.
“We’ll have a problem if you don’t stop acting out. Eyes on me andwalk.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I...” She swallows a gulp of air, taking the first step. “I’m walking.”
“It’s all about balance. Imagine you’re walking a tightrope with a book on your head.”
Her back straightens on cue. “I did that before. My etiquette tutor called it posture practice,” she says, distracting herself as she takes another step.
The distraction isn’t magic, unfortunately. With every small step and corresponding lurch of the bridge, Addie pales further, her whimpers growing in strength when, four steps in, she hits an insecure plank.
The cracking sound it makes as it starts to take her weight has my stomach flipping.
“Not that one,” I say, still managing to hold onto my commanding voice. “Take a wider step. You’re doing so good. Keep going.”
Every squeak of the ropes and groan of the planks accelerates my heartbeat. No one around speaks, as they watch Addie taking tentative steps toward me. She’s trembling like a scared rabbit but presses forward, one foot after another.
“Almost here.” I lean out as far as I can. “Grab me.”
As soon as she clasps my hand, I tug with all I’ve got. The force sends her straight into my arms and I spin her around, away from the edge. Relief rattles through us simultaneously, and Addie’s crying again.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, weaving my fingers into her hair. “You’re okay. Fuck, baby, you scared the hell out of me.” I curve her into my chest, tucking her head under my chin. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She nods, swallowing gulps of air. Fisting my t-shirt, she clings to me so hard I feel her galloping pulse as if it’s my own.
Maybe it is. My heart isn’t far off snapping my ribs.
It takes a minute before I tune into anything beyond Addie. More people arrived while I was focused solely on getting her across. Henry takes over, breaking my hold on his daughter and pulling her into his arms. I have half a mind to knock him the fuck out. I don’t want to let her go.
