Kyle attempts to shake off my hold, and when I won’t let go, he shoves me. I stumble and the words rip so loudly from my throat that it scratches the vocal cords. “He’s going to jump. He’s going to jump or stay on the track! I can’t let him!”
Another whistle and it’s so loud that the hair on my arms rises. He’s going to die, and if we don’t run, we’re both going to die. “Don’t do this! Please don’t do this!”
The entire bridge shakes and Kyle quakes as he studies the churning water. “Tell my mom I loved her. Just tell her that I loved her.”
“Move, move, move!” Pounding of footsteps and an arm around my waist. “Let’s move!”
Tears flood my eyes, but the roaring of an engine causes my feet to scramble, me to move in the same direction as I’m being dragged. Pulling me forward, running with me, it’s blond hair, a black cut.
The green of the trees blur as we race for our lives, as we race to beat a train.
My lungs hurt, my legs burn, I trip in the rush forward and the strong arm lifts me and then we’re rolling. The scent of fall grass, then the air’s knocked out of me as we land and we continue to roll. Dirt and rocks embed into my skin.
I reach out, clawing into the ground. We finally skid to a halt and there’s only the deafening grumble of the train flying past. I whip my head to confirm Razor’s safe and then I scurry back, my arms and legs colliding against each other. It’s blond hair and blue eyes, but that’s not Razor.
“Where’s Razor?” I shout, but the train drowns me out. Pigpen’s on his feet and a wave of nausea crashes into me. Dizzy with dread, I yell Razor’s name, but there’s no reply.
Lots of black cuts. Lots of men wide-eyed and scanning the area. I’m frantic, desperate for a sign of him, desperate to see everything at once.
“Where is he?” Pigpen demands, and my mind rejects someone’s answer of “He went over. He was dragging that kid and it was close. He shoved the kid and they both went over.”
There’s a pain in my heart. So massive, so intense that I bend over. “Razor!”
My shout is swallowed by steel grinding against steel and the rhythmic clank, yet I try again. “Thomas!”
I can’t lose him. I can’t. The last car passes, the rumbling fades and a crow caws in the distance. I’m stumbling through the field, next to the track, and the men march toward the ravine.
“Thomas, answer me!”
“I told you, it’s Razor, but I like that name off your lips, too.”
My heart pulses hard as I drop to the ground and peer over the edge. A few feet down, sitting on a rock ledge, Razor raises his beautiful face in my direction. Dirt stains his cheek and there’s a rip in his jeans with a small amount of blood, but he’s alive. The mix between a sob and a laugh escapes from my mouth. “So I can call you Thomas now?”
“Considering the past few minutes, you can call me anything as long as I can hug you again.”
“Deal.” Movement near Razor and it’s an odd sensation of relief when I spot Kyle propping his back against the rock wall.
Razor catches my eyes and rocks his head for me to stay silent. “Get us help.”
Razor saved Kyle’s life—from suicide, from a train. “He’s over here! Razor’s over here!”
“Why’d you do it?” I overhear Kyle ask. “Why’d you save me?”
“Because somebody loves you,” Razor answers, and my heart twists for all of us—me, him and Kyle. “Because somebody out there fucking loves you and doesn’t deserve the type of hurt you jumping would have caused. Killing yourself doesn’t solve your problems. It just hands them to somebody else.”
“Razor—” Kyle starts.
“Shut up,” Razor cuts him off. “Just shut the fuck up.”
Pigpen rushes to my side. “Is he okay?”
Oddly enough? “Yes. In fact, he’s amazing.”
RAZOR
ELI’S EDGY AND that causes my skin to crawl along my muscles. We’re in Louisville and in Riot territory. It’s not the first time he’s been here since the Riot tried to hollow out his chest with a few bullets, but it’s the first time we’ve been here specifically to meet with someone from the Riot. The peace between our clubs continues to be unsteady. Today is an information-gathering session, and according to my father, judgment day.
Not sure what that means, but I was asked to ride along.
We’re at a public park. A few women jog on a concrete path in pairs or in threes. Kids squeal and laugh from the towering playground that’s on the far side from where we left our bikes. I’m sitting on top of a picnic table staring at my cell.
Me: You there?
Breanna doesn’t respond.
Because I’m a glutton for punishment: I miss you.
And love her. It’s been a month since I’ve seen her, since I’ve held her, since I’ve had any contact with her. This text, it’s in vain, and watching my cell like she’s going to respond hurts as bad as having a bullet rip through my arm and my skin scraped off by the road.
Naw, that’s wrong. It hurts worse.
A month ago, when everything went down with Kyle, her parents deactivated this number, but it doesn’t stop me from calling. Doesn’t stop me from searching for a connection with her. Doesn’t stop me from hoping.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair. Hope. Never had it before, but Breanna taught me anything’s possible. That a gorgeous, intelligent girl like her could love a guy like me.