This time, a grin curled the edges of my mouth. “Are you seriously hitting on me?”
“Does it help my case?” His eyes twinkled flirtatiously as he took another step in my direction. “If it gets you off that railing, I’ll charm the pants right off you.”
I laughed, the sound half-hysterical and foreign to my ears, and he chuckled along with me. It was a pleasant, husky laugh, though it sounded a little forced. Stress leaked through his artificial amusement.
“You’re rather confident.”
With a shrug, his fingers slid over my calf tentatively. “If you got it, flaunt it, right?”
“You’re kinda weird, you know that?” My eyes dropped to his hand on my leg as panic bubbled in my chest. His grip tightened, like he expected such a hold to save me if I decided to take the leap.
“Meh, life’s too short to be normal.” He licked his pink lips as he raised his free hand. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re here, but I promise life isn’t as bad as you think it is right now. There might be a lot of reasons for you to be here, but there’s so many more reasons to come down.”
I shook my head as another blast of wind hit my back, and Jethro whined deep in his throat as his hand latched onto my wrist.
“Just let me go. No one will miss me.”
“I will.” His thumb rubbed circles over the back of my wrist, and that little flutter of hope wriggled in my chest again. “I’ll miss you. I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what I could have done or said to make a difference. I’ll see your face every time I close my eyes. You’ll haunt me. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
Somehow, he’d made the situation about him, and it helped. I wanted to laugh. I really was losing my mind.
“Life’s hard.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed the burning in my throat as my eyes pricked with moisture.
“Yeah, it is. Life sucks most of the time, and it doesn’t get easier. But it’s worth it.” Jethro’s fingers trembled as he squeezed my wrist. “Please, Sam. Please, come down, and I’ll prove it.”
“Prove it?”
He nodded desperately, his eyes locked on mine. “Yes, I’ll prove that life is worth living. I’ll find you a reason not to jump.”
“You’re lying—”
“Give me twenty-four hours!” He massaged my calf through my jeans. “Twenty-four hours, and if I can’t convince you, then you can come back to this bridge and I won’t stop you.”
One day? It was a tall order. I was too tired for that. Twenty-four hours was a very long time.
“Six hours,” I countered, and a line puckered between his brows.
“Eighteen.”
Against all odds, another smirk worked its way across my face as we bartered for my life. “Ten hours.”
“Oh, come on, Sam, you’re killing me here.” He was close enough now to see the lightness of his full lashes as his breath puffed in front of his mouth in choppy clouds. “Fifteen.”
“Twelve.”
“Deal!” Carefully, he released my wrist and offered his hand. “You give me twelve hours, and I’ll find you a reason.”
“And if you don’t, you fuck off?” I cocked an eyebrow as I scrutinized his hand warily.
He nodded. “I swear on my grandma’s grave.”
Twelve hours wasn’t so bad, and it was so much harder to leap to my death with him watching me, looking up at me with those big, hazel eyes. This would haunt him for the rest of his life, and for some reason, that bothered me. I could pretend for twelve hours, and then, once he was sure I would live a long, happy life, I’d come back and finish what I started.
Yeah, I could do that.
“Okay,” I said as I gingerly slipped my hand into his nimbler, calloused one. “Deal.”
Chapter Two
Drop
The moment he grasped my hand in his, the wind blew angrily against me, as if it felt robbed of my death, and we both cried out as I lost my balance. For a brief moment, I teetered, faced with the empty chasm beneath me, but Jethro tugged on my hand. My equilibrium tipped the opposite direction, and I tumbled from the railing onto the walkway—or, more accurately, on top of Jethro himself.
His lean body cushioned my fall, and we both groaned as I squashed him between my solid weight and the pavement. Breathing hard, I raised my torso from his, palms scratching against concrete on either side of his head, and our eyes locked.
With his grip tight on my waist, I straddled one of his legs as we gazed at each other. Before I could utter a word, a strangled moan escaped his lips, and he hauled me down on top of him once more.
He wrapped his arms around my body and buried his face in my neck as a sob-like croak burst from his throat. Trembling, he clung to me, and somehow, I became the one comforting him. I allowed him to hold me as I remained propped above him on one elbow. My free hand pet his hair awkwardly, and the subtle scent of Mountain Fresh body wash drifted from the golden strands.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I patted his shoulder as I shifted above him, doing my best not to touch his thigh with my crotch. I’d never been in such an uncomfortable position with a guy before. “Jethro, you’re fine. Everything’s fine.”
“You almost jumped off a bridge! How is that fine?” He gasped into my neck, his breath moistening my skin, and I cringed.
“Well, I didn’t, so…” I drifted off as I curled one of his blond waves around my finger. His hair was surprisingly soft.
When his death grip loosened on my back, I lifted slightly only to freeze with our noses almost touching. Our breath met in cloudy puffs between our mouths, and I tasted menthol cigarettes.
“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s not healthy,” I mumbled as one of his hands slid down my side to my hip.
“Says the guy who wants to jump off a bridge,” he snipped, and I cracked a smile.
“Well, you have twelve hours to convince me not to. Tick, tock.”
One flaxen brow rose, unamused, but then he grinned slyly and winked. “Unless you’re wanting to spend your twelve hours like his,” he squeezed my hip suggestively, “I suggest we move to a less horizontal position.”
My cheeks warmed at the reminder of our placement, and I scrambled off him as I stammered apologies. He snickered, lifting to rest his arms on his now raised knees, and I sat back on my heels as debris cut into my jean-covered kneecaps.
We looked at each other for a never ending moment before he chuckled again, and the tension in the air broke. As the ease worked over us, we laughed. There was nothing humorous about the situation, but there was no stopping our guffaws. Jethro wiped at his eyes as my face flushed, and eventually, our chortles died off.
The atmosphere thickened, and my grin faded as I studied the railing where I’d moments before stood. Adrenaline raced through my veins, and my fingers shook with leftover hysteria. Survival instinct was a powerful thing, and my body spasmed with relief. I was alive.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jethro asked, his tone sober and sad. “You scared the shit out of me. When I saw you there…” He ran a hand through his hair and grumbled under his breath.
Glancing down in what I could only describe as shame, my eyes landed on his white socks, and I furrowed my brow. “Where are your shoes?”
He gestured flippantly behind him where his tennis shoes lay stranded on the road, forgotten.
“You took off your shoes?” I asked and he shrugged. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I was panicking, and it seemed like a good idea.” Burying his face in his hands, he panted for air. “They’re heavy.”
His meaning sunk in, and I gaped. “What? You thought you’d jump in after me? We’re, like, a zillion feet up. The second I hit the water, I’m dead.”
“I wasn’t thinking, okay?” he barked defensively as he rose clumsily to his feet. “All I saw was some psycho standing on the railing, and I-I just… I couldn’t just do nothing.”
Apparently, my apathetic confusion annoyed him, and he ground his teeth
as he grudgingly offered me a hand. “Now, get up and let’s go. We made a deal.”
“I’m pretty sure there are better ways for you to spend New Year’s Eve.”
Waving his hand in my face determinedly, he scowled. “We made a fucking deal. Now, come on!”
I grasped his hand and let him yank me to my feet. Given his slender stature, I was surprised he managed it. Not that I was Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I was stockier than him, more broad in the shoulders. Maybe his wiry muscles were hiding beneath his loose University of Maryland hoodie, hanging one size too big on his tall frame.
“You go to U of M?”
Nodding, he ensured I was steady on my feet before releasing my hand. “Not in Baltimore. I go to A. James Clark.” His face darkened as he ran a hand through his hair. “I went to A. James Clark. Anyway, my car’s over here.”
I followed him across the shockingly barren road, and he bent to retrieve his strewn shoes, slipping them on as he hopped in place. His loose jeans hung low on his hips, stained with grease and torn at the knees. His battered sneakers had seen better days.
Dark bags hung under his eyes as calloused hands fished in his pocket for his car keys. And his car, a rusty jalopy of a vehicle. He looked almost as beaten down as I felt on the inside, and I grimaced when he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket along with a lighter.
“Give me a second, yeah?” he asked without waiting for an answer, and I scuffed the toes of my new Nike’s against the road as he plopped onto the nose of his car.
He lit his cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke curling from the end in an enticing dance. Releasing the breath of smoke into the air, he gazed at the stars.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” I repeated my earlier sentiment, and Jethro chuckled at the sky.
“There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t do.” He offered me a white cancer stick. “You want one?”
I wasn’t a smoker, but this was my last night of being alive. Why not?
I situated myself beside him, and the rusted hood of his car warmed my ass through my pants. I leaned in as he lit the tip of my cigarette. The moment the smoke hit my lungs, I coughed, hacking into my palm, and Jethro snorted and hid his laughter in his biceps.
“You never smoked before?”
As I blinked away choked tears, I sucked in fresh air before answering. “The last time I smoked, it was a joint in those trees when I was seventeen.” I pointed to the forest off the side of the bridge, and he took another puff from his cigarette.
“I’m pretty sure everyone in Fayetteville County got high on those trails.”
I nodded in agreement as I brought the cigarette back to my mouth, inhaling slower this time. The menthol aftertaste wasn’t my cup of tea, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. We smoked together in silence as cars drove over the bridge, ignorant of us and the intensity of our meeting mere minutes before.
When Jethro’s cigarette was nothing but ash, he flicked the burning ember onto the road where it smoldered, then went out. Handing him the rest of mine, I released the last of the smoke from my lungs.
“You appreciate this more than I do.”
He finished mine off before tossing it into the street to join the first. “So, uh, where to?”
I slid off his car, batting flakes of faded maroon paint from my designer jeans. “This is your party, isn’t it? Where were you headed?”
“Home.” He fidgeted with his wavy hair before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Promised I’d stop by tonight. You know, to see the fam.”
“Fayetteville?” I shuffled closer as a car sped by, honking its horn at our location parked on the shoulder.
He shook his head. “Oak Hill.”
It made sense he was from one of the neighboring towns. I knew almost everyone from Fayetteville, but I didn’t recognize him. “Well, you can drop me off in Fayetteville on your way through, yeah?”
“We made a deal, Sam.” He grabbed my elbow, and I angled my chin to meet his gaze several inches higher. “I’m not dropping you anywhere. We still have,” he checked his watch, “Eleven hours and twenty-one minutes.”
Rolling my eyes, I shrugged off his grasp. “Okay, whatever, Superman.”
After ensuring there was no traffic, I rounded the nose of the car and folded myself into the passenger seat. The black and red fabric interior was faded and old, and it smelled like oil, Pine Fresh air freshener, and menthol cigarettes. It was a rather strange combination, and I fought the urge to sneeze.
Jethro joined me in the car, the door creaking as he slammed it shut, and I eyed the vehicle doubtfully. “Is this heap of junk gonna make it to Oak Hill?”
“Hey! Watch your mouth,” he growled, and I leaned into the door as his expression contorted in furious offense. “She ain’t no Maserati, but I rebuilt her engine myself. She’s more dependable than she looks. Fucking rich boys.”
He muttered the last part under his breath, but I caught it all the same. My brows rose, and he met my gaze, unrepentant, as his car snarled to life.
“Excuse me?”
His hazel eyes scanned my body, head to toe, and that flirty smile was back. “Just because I’m dressed like a grease monkey doesn’t mean I don’t know Calvin Klein when I see it.”
“I wasn’t judging you or your car.” I held my hands in surrender. “I was genuinely concerned.”
“Well, don’t be.”
He shifted the gear stick quickly and peeled onto the road. My heart leapt into my throat, and I hurriedly buckled my seatbelt. His eyes remained on the road, but his lips tipped in a grin.
For the first half of the trip, we drove in silence as the trees blurred past my window. True to his word, the car handled great, and I settled into the seat more comfortably as I searched the sky above.
What the fuck was I thinking? I should be floating down river by now, yet I was in some poor stranger’s car as we weaved down U.S. 19 at an alarming speed. I’d planned this night for a week, choosing New Year’s Eve specifically. I mean, what was more poetic than going out as the year died?
Still, if we stuck to our stupid twelve hour agreement, I’d still be sleeping with the fishes before sunrise. That had to count for something.
“So you’re from Fayetteville, I take it?” Jethro broke the silence as we neared my hometown.
“Born and raised. Go Pirates.” My monotone delivery sparked a chuckle, and I grinned as he laughed, slowing the car to cruise through downtown Fayetteville.
“I guess we would have been nemeses. Oak Hill Devils all the way!”
As we passed The Station, my stomach gurgled, and I smacked his shoulder and pointed. “I didn’t eat dinner. Let’s stop.”
“The Station? Nah, Heart of Gold is better or Tom’s.”
“I’m not eating my last meal in Oak Hill.”
He frowned but pulled into The Station’s parking lot anyway. “It’s not your last meal,” he reminded me.
“Sure, sure. Let’s go.”
After locking his beloved bucket of bolts, we trudged toward the diner, and the scent of greasy food and coffee teased my nose. I hadn’t been hungry earlier, but my appetite woke with a vengeance as we entered the small town eatery.
“Hey, Sammy,” Patricia, a lifelong friend of my mom, greeted as the door jingled overhead. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? How have you been, honey? Iris told me about Sophia. Tough break. She was such a nice girl.”
This was why I hated small towns. My business was automatically everyone’s business. She patted my shoulder, and I grimaced. “Yeah, well, shit happens. You open for a bit?”
“Of course, of course.” She ushered us to an empty booth in the semi-busy diner. “We’re closing early for the holiday, but we still have a few hours. What can I get started for you?”
I knew the menu by heart since The Station was one of the few decent eateries in town, and I ordered off the top of my head. “Double chili burger with fries and a strawberry shake.”
“And you, swe
etie?” She waited as Jethro fumbled with the menu.
He dropped it twice before giving up as his light cheeks pinked. “I’ll just have water and a side of onion rings.”
“Get him a cheeseburger,” I said before Patty could walk away, and I handed her two twenties. “And a strawberry shake.”
“No, it’s cool—”
“Thanks, Patty.”
“Sure thing, sugar.”
She pocketed the twenties and waltzed away, tucking a strand of graying brown hair behind her ear. Jethro glared at me as I re-pocketed my wallet, and his face reddened further until the color reached his ears.
“I don’t need your fucking charity, rich boy.”
“And I ain’t offering. You’re driving, so I can pay for dinner. It’s not like I need the money.”
We both crossed our arms over our chests simultaneously and eased back in our respective seats. I chuckled quietly at our combined sulk, but Jethro didn’t see the humor. He scowled deeply.
“I’m allergic to strawberries,” he griped, and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.
“Then I’ll drink yours. Jesus Christ!”
Of course, Patty arrived the moment I cursed, and I cowered away as she smacked me on the head with her notepad. “Don’t you go using the Lord’s name in vain in my establishment, Samuel Miguel Jones!”
“Sorry, Patty.” I flinched as she bopped me on the head again after delivering our shakes.
Jethro’s mood brightened at the abuse, and he pushed his shake across the table, sipping his ice water instead. “Miguel?”
“Mother’s side is from Honduras. I was named after my abuelo. He died when Mom was a baby.” I sipped at the strawberry shake, the sweetness melting on my tongue. “Why? Do I look too white for the name?”
“Oh my God, way to make my innocent question racist. I obviously noticed”—he gestured to my bronze complexion, so much darker than his pale skin—“but it’s not exactly acceptable to ask about people’s ethnicities in this day and age.”
The Night We Met Page 2
