The Bridge (17 page)

Only when he was halfway out of the parking lot did he see the piece of paper. There, tucked beneath his windshield wipers, was something that looked like a note. He slammed on his brakes, jumped out of the
truck, and grabbed it. The sky was clear, so the paper wasn’t wet. He held it up to the parking lot light and read it.

Ryan, it was nice seeing you. Good luck with the next tour. Molly
.

What was this? Anger coursed through him. He crushed the piece of paper in his fist, and threw it to the floorboards. That was all? A quick “good luck” and she was gone? So she was married. Did that mean she couldn’t give him a proper good-bye when they’d probably never see each other again?

She couldn’t leave like this.

He squealed out of the parking lot and headed to the airport, driving like a maniac until the light ahead turned red. “Come on!” The Nashville airport was at least twenty minutes away. He stared at the signal and checked for cross-traffic. No one was coming. For a serious moment he thought about running it. At the same time, a voice of reason shouted to be heard.
What are you doing? Chasing after her? Driving to the airport and then what?
He would have to park and guess at her airline. By the time he got it right, she’d be through security, and it would be too late.

Same as it always was with Molly.

The unexplainable thing was that she wanted him to know. The reference to
Jane Eyre
in the letter left him no doubt who the mysterious donor was. She was waiting for him to look at her as Donna read the last lines of the letter. For what? So he’d know she had a heart? He already knew that. She’d given it to some other guy before Ryan had a chance. The light turned green, but he felt the fight leave him. Forget the airport. He wouldn’t find her, anyway. Instead he would go to The Bridge. He had one more book to give, the one on the seat beside him.

His copy of the Brontë novel.

He hadn’t planned to give it away, but after seeing Molly’s wedding ring, he’d changed his mind. She had long since moved on. What good would it do to keep something that stirred so many emotions in him, so many memories? Seeing her these past few days had confirmed what he’d always denied in himself: In the deepest part of his heart, he had always held out hope. If he kept the book, if he remembered the girl who gave it to him, then maybe someday they’d find each other again. She’d come back and she’d be single and they could figure out what went wrong.

Now that hope was dead, so his copy of the book would be the first in Charlie Barton’s new collection.

He settled into his seat and turned his truck south toward Franklin.

M
ain Street was pitch dark. Besides the half-moon, only the occasional dim light from inside a closed storefront provided any light at all. Ryan didn’t care. He parked his truck in front of The Bridge, climbed out, and leaned against his hood. Charlie Barton was awake and had his store back. What more could Ryan ask for? Especially when everything about the last few days with Molly felt like nothing more than a dream.

He was about to get the key and walk inside when he noticed something. The front door was open a few inches. Franklin didn’t have a large community of homeless people, but that had to be it. Someone without electricity and a roof over his head had found a way inside. Ryan wanted to be careful.

Moving without a sound, he came to the front door and listened. A shuffling noise echoed through the empty storefront. The movement seemed to come
from upstairs. Ryan took a deep breath and crept inside. If someone were sleeping here, that was one thing; especially with the store in this condition. But if vandals were having their way with the place, he’d have to take action.

He was about to move past the front counter when he heard another sound. A voice or maybe a video player. He couldn’t make it out, exactly. Adrenaline poured into his veins and put him on edge. What were these noises? Not until he reached the stairs did he realize what he was hearing.

Someone was crying. Sobbing. Soft and muffled and hopeless. His concern doubled. Whatever the situation, it no longer felt dangerous. He moved catlike up the stairs and peered around the corner, and what he saw made him nearly call her name out loud. It was her, of course. Even from the back he recognized her immediately, her blond hair catching the light of the moon from the nearby window. Molly Allen wasn’t on a flight back to Portland.

She was here.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in the exact spot where they had spent so many afternoons, her face in her hands, her heart clearly breaking. She hadn’t
heard him until now, but something must have caught her attention, because she shifted and sat up straighter, glancing over her shoulder into the dark room.

He didn’t want to scare her. So he did what he would’ve done seven years ago if he’d known he wasn’t going to see her again. He didn’t need the book. The lines were in his heart. “‘I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.’” He hesitated. “What happened to that girl?”

“Ryan!” She allowed a quick gasp and spun around, facing him. “What are you doing here?”

He came closer and sat on the floor opposite her, their knees inches apart. “That was supposed to be my question.”

The shock looked to be wearing off, but she seemed discouraged, resigned in some way he couldn’t quite understand. “You . . . you’re supposed to be at the hospital.”

“And you’re supposed to be at the airport.”

“I missed my flight.” She exhaled, finding control again. But something in her tone was more hurt than defeated. “What did that mean? The
Jane Eyre
quote?”

“What happened to her?” He shrugged. “You didn’t give me a chance to ask.”

Molly dried her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater and looked at him. She couldn’t maintain the connection now any more than she could earlier that day. She let her eyes find a spot on the wooden floor. “I play violin for a local symphony.” Her tone settled a bit more. She lifted her eyes to his again. “No net ensnares me, Ryan. I’m still that girl.”

She played the violin? He forced himself to remember that they weren’t sophomores in college, and this wasn’t the backyard of her parents’ home. He could barely concentrate outside of the way he was drawn to her. “You didn’t tell me. About the violin.”

Her face didn’t apologize. “You didn’t ask.” She angled her head, allowing him to see a little deeper into her soul. “When we first met, you told me you might have questions. I told you I might have answers, remember that?”

“Yes.” He slid back a little, fighting his emotions. “I remember everything.”

“This time you didn’t ask.” She lifted her chin a little. “You don’t know anything about me, Ryan Kelly.”

She was right. That was the worst part. He sighed, wishing he could explain himself. He hadn’t felt right
asking questions, not when she had a man waiting back at home. “Okay.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Your husband . . . does he like music?” His voice was soft, the question merely his attempt at a window to her heart. The one he hadn’t looked for earlier. “And does he know about your obsession with
Jane Eyre
?”

Her gaze fell. For a long time she said nothing, only stared at the floor again and moved her fingers nervously along the old wooden planks. Finally, a shaky breath slid across her lips, and two fresh tears fell onto her cheeks. When she looked up, her eyes were the same as they’d been back at the hospital. Filled with a raw pain that made no sense. “Ryan.”

It took all his strength to keep from drawing her close and finding a way to comfort her. “Talk to me, Molly.”

Before the words would come, the look in her eyes changed. As if, whatever she was about to say, she was already begging him to understand.

“Look, I never stopped caring about you, Molly. I hate seeing you like this.” He reminded himself to be careful, not to say too much. “You and your husband . . . is there a problem?”

She pressed her fist to her forehead, and when she lowered it, she said the words he never expected. “I’m not married.” She twisted the ring on her left hand. “This is my mother’s wedding band.”

Ryan heard the words; he just couldn’t register them. Couldn’t find a place where they made even a little sense. She wasn’t married? The ring wasn’t hers? He closed his eyes and then blinked them open. He didn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The assault of emotions on his heart was so varied, he had no idea which one to tackle first.

Shock seemed to take the lead. “Why, Molly?”

Her voice fell to a whisper, tears choking her words. “It was safer.”

“But . . .” His own eyes were damp now. “You hate safe. Remember?”

“Except with you.”

Ryan remembered her father’s phone call. None of it made sense, why Molly would have run to the guy if she hadn’t been in love with him. “All this time I thought you married him.” He stood and paced to the window. When he turned around, shock took a backseat to anger. “Why did you call him if you weren’t in love with him?”

“What?” She sounded mystified.

“The night we kissed, you called
him
, not me.” He didn’t hide his fury. For seven years he’d wanted to have this conversation with her. He found a level of restraint. “Don’t act surprised. Your father told me.” He could feel the disgust in his expression. “He even played me the message.”

With that, her eyes no longer held an apology or a broken heart or righteous indignation. They held sheer and complete horror. In that single moment he knew with absolute certainty that he’d based the last seven years on nothing more than a lie.

A wicked, ruinous, heartless lie.

C HA P T E R  T H R I T E E N

M
olly tried to get up, tried to scream out over the news, but she could do neither. Instead she rose to her knees and leveled her gaze straight at him, at all he knew about the past that she hadn’t known until now. When she could catch her breath, she said only the necessary words. “Tell me everything.”

Ryan looked like he’d been shot through the heart, as if the life he’d believed in for almost a decade was emptying onto the floor around him. “You didn’t call Preston that night?”

“After we kissed?” She heard the pain in her voice. Even from the grave, her father had manipulated her life. “Really, Ryan? Did you actually believe that?”

He came to her and held out his hands. “This is going to hurt us both.” He helped her to her feet. “I won’t have this conversation without you close to me.”

The feel of his fingers against hers weakened her defenses, and she knew he was right. Whatever was coming next, she wanted nothing more than to hear it from the safety of his arms. His fingers eased between hers, and she felt her head spin. She wanted details, answers, but not as much as she wanted him. She closed her eyes and tried to assess the damage her father had wreaked on her life.

It was too great to get her mind around.

He drew a slow breath. “The staff must’ve told your dad about our kiss.”

“Nice.”

“However he found out, the next morning he called me.”

“How?” She started to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “He called on your cell?”

“Yes. He told me not to worry about how he got my number.”

She groaned and hung her head. How could her dad have done this? “He had a friend on the board at Belmont.” She wanted to run, hide her face from Ryan for all her father had put them through. “What did he say?”

“He basically forbade me to have feelings for you.”
Ryan’s words were slower, kinder. As if he were well aware of the pain they were causing her. “He told me a boy from Carthage, Mississippi, would never be good enough for you.”

“What?” The word was more of a cry. “That was never true.”

Ryan didn’t stop. “He also told me that you were engaged to Preston Millington. He told me you’d set a date and that you had called Preston the night before—after being with me.”

Molly felt faint, felt herself losing hearing and vision and consciousness. “No . . . he couldn’t have done that.” She tried again to take a step back; this time he eased his arms around her waist.