The Bridge (8 page)

T
hat night after their kiss Molly hurried him to the side gate. In the shadows he hugged her, holding on as long as he could. “You said to give you a reason.” He touched her cheek, feeling the urgency of the situation. “Give me time, Molly. Don’t leave.”

A quick nod, and she checked over his shoulder. “We’ll talk tomorrow. At The Bridge.”

But the next day, before classes, Ryan’s cell phone rang. The memory of the phone call still made his stomach hurt. The man was gruff from the beginning. “Is this Ryan Kelly?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t quite seven in the morning, and Ryan had been rushing around his room gathering homework for class. He stopped and stared at the phone. The caller ID was blocked. “Who’s this?”

“Wade Allen. I’m Molly’s father.” He sounded disgusted. “Look, I know about last night.”

Ryan stopped short. “What?” Was this really happening? Molly’s father calling him? Why would the man be awake at this hour? “How’d you get my number?”

“That’s none of your business.” He barely paused. His voice was clipped and pronounced, the talk of an agitated and highly educated man. “Look, I know you have feelings for my daughter. But I’d like to ask you, man to man, to think about Molly and not yourself.”

“You don’t know her.” Sudden venom spewed from Ryan’s voice. How dare her father do this, call and try to manipulate him. “She doesn’t want to work for you.”

“Listen to me, young man.
You
don’t know her.” His voice maintained a chilling level of calm. “Molly is in love with Preston Millington.” A dramatic pause filled the line. “They’re engaged to be married.”

Slowly, Ryan dropped to the edge of his twin bed. He pressed his elbows into his knees and tried to catch his breath. “She’s not engaged. She would’ve told me.”

“They’ve set a wedding date. Two years from this
summer.” He laughed, but the sound came across as condescending. “Molly is very young. This whole Belmont thing was her way of being sure about the engagement.”

Hope breathed the slightest air into his lungs. “Have you talked to her lately, sir? She’s not sure. I can promise you that.”

“She’s sure.” His answer was quick. “She called Preston yesterday afternoon and told him she was coming home in a few weeks. When she finishes final exams.” He sighed as if he could barely be bothered with the conversation. “I’m asking you to stay out of her life. Don’t confuse her. She knows what she wants, and she knows where she belongs.” This time his quiet laughter mocked Ryan in every way possible. “A guy like you? From Carthage, Mississippi? You could never give her the life she’s accustomed to.” He chuckled. “You didn’t actually
believe
she’d fall for you.”

“What if she already has?” Ryan had no trouble standing up to him. “You can’t control her.”

“I didn’t want to have to do this.”

“You’re not going to do anything. Molly’s entitled to live her life, to follow her dreams and—”

“Look.” His tone was sharp again, the laughter gone. “Don’t believe me. Let her tell you.” There was a clicking sound, and what could only have been a recording of Molly’s voice. She sounded upset. “Yes, Preston . . . you know how I feel about you. I’ve known you all my life. I told you I wouldn’t stay at Belmont forever.” Another clicking sound, and when her father spoke again, satisfaction rang in his tone. “Did you hear that? And yes, I recorded her.” He sounded defensive. “She called Preston here at the office. I’m a powerful businessman. I record all my conversations!” He took a breath and seemed to steady himself. “I’m letting you listen to it because I want you to know the truth.”

Ryan’s head was spinning. He couldn’t find the words to speak.

“Look, kid. You heard her. She’s in love with Preston, and she’s coming home.” His words were like so many bullets, steady and well aimed. “If you care about her, you’ll cut things off quickly. Let her go. Anything else will only confuse her.”

Ryan felt himself drowning, gasping for a way to keep his head above water. There was none. The voice was hers, the message clearly her side of a conversation
with the guy waiting for her in San Francisco. Ryan wanted to shout at the man. There had to be an explanation. Molly wasn’t in love with Preston. If she were, she would’ve said so. Shock quickly became fury against her father, rage that rose up and consumed him. He didn’t say another word. He ended the call, tossed his phone on his pillow, and punched his fist. Punched it so hard his palm was bruised and swollen by the time he picked her up.

Their routine that day was the same, but their conversation was short and stilted. He had no intention of honoring her father’s wishes, so he didn’t dream of ending things. But the chemistry that had captured them the night before was gone, and Ryan knew why. With every passing hour, he had to admit the truth. He could be mad at Molly’s father, but the voice was hers. Which could mean only one thing: Her father was telling the truth. Molly’s true feelings were not for him but for Preston Millington.

When their classes were over that day, they drove to The Bridge, like always. This time when they found their spot upstairs, Ryan faced her. “Hey, listen. I’m sorry. About last night . . . I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“What?” Her response was more of a quiet gasp.

“You’ve got your life back home.” He smiled at her as if the words weren’t killing him. “I have mine.”

She shook her head. “Ryan, that’s crazy.” She raised her voice and then caught herself. “You told me to give you time. That you would show me why I shouldn’t leave.”

“I was wrong.” He took a step back. With everything in him he forced himself not to think about how she had felt in his arms the night before. “We made a mistake, Molly. We’re friends. Let’s not let last night change that.”

She looked like she might argue with him, but then she must’ve remembered Preston. A resignation came over her, and when she spoke again, he could see in her eyes walls around her heart that hadn’t been there before. “You’re right.” Her smile looked forced. “I’m sorry, too.” She shrugged. “Just one of those things, I guess.”

Their study time went late, as usual. But nothing between them was ever the same again. Every time he saw her after that, he could only think of her conversation with Preston and the fact that when the semester ended, she was headed back. He felt like a blind
fool. He must’ve been crazy to think he could win her heart or that she would walk away from her family for him. No matter what he wanted to believe, she was going home.

As the final days of the semester flew by, he and Molly found a way back to their friendship. He never told her about her father’s phone call, never asked why she would promise her love to Preston that afternoon and then hours later lead Ryan to believe they were sharing the most wonderful night together. And he never asked her about their kiss, even though the questions plagued him every day. Hadn’t they both felt the connection? Felt it to the core of their beings? How could she be so heartless, so conflicted? Every time he asked himself, the answers were the same. Which was why he never brought the matter up to Molly, even when he was tempted to ask. Clearly, she wasn’t conflicted at all. She had pulled away from him after that night for one reason.

She was in love with Preston.

The memories lifted and Ryan stepped away from the window, from the snow falling outside. He needed to make calls, needed to check on the studio position. He wasn’t ready to give up his dream. Not yet. Not the
way Molly had given up when she left Belmont early that summer. Ryan hesitated and touched the copy of
Jane Eyre
as he passed by. He grabbed the keys to his truck and a heavy coat from the closet. Along the way, a thought occurred to him.

Of course he never said anything to Molly about her dad’s phone call—not only because of Molly’s taped conversation. But because she’d given up on the two of them so easily.

Three weeks later, when she announced she was headed back to San Francisco, there was no surprise, nothing he could say, no real argument or debate. They finished the semester and took their finals, and she bought them matching copies of
Jane Eyre
. Then she was gone. Leaving him with the one thought he couldn’t get out of his mind. Her father might’ve been right about Molly’s feelings for Preston. But if Molly truly believed Ryan wasn’t good enough, the sad truth was this: He had never known Molly Allen at all.

A
s on most Saturdays, Molly woke up just after six and climbed into her Nike running sweats, pale pink
and tight enough to keep out the cold on chilly November mornings like this. She had a routine that took her down Twenty-third to Everett, up the hill to the right, and through several smaller residential streets back to her apartment. The route was four miles, long enough to stir her heart and clear her head.

At least on most Saturdays.

Today, as she set out, last night’s video played in her soul, the unanswered questions hanging from the rafters of long ago. There had never been anyone like Ryan, and Molly fully expected there never would be. How had everything fallen apart? What could have caused him to change so quickly?

There had been so much she wanted to say to him before she returned home. But in the end, the only thing she had done was ask him to kiss her. One kiss. She jogged down her front steps and made the turn onto Twenty-third, the wind biting against her cheeks. The cold didn’t matter. All she could feel were his warm hands on her face, the strength of his arms. The way she’d felt safe and loved and whole for those few minutes.

This many years later, that single kiss, those
stolen moments in the backyard of her parents’ Brentwood house, were the most romantic of her life. Her whole life. In his embrace, she felt herself falling, changing, finding the strength to stand up to her father. She had meant what she’d said to Ryan Kelly that night. All she needed was a reason—and he was her reason.

She was sure of that back then.

Even after they’d been caught, her only fear was her father, whether he’d find out and buy her a ticket home. Either the staff never saw the two of them kissing in the backyard or they never contacted her dad, because nothing was ever said. She didn’t talk to her dad until a few weeks later, and by then she had her answer. She was going back home. Not because of his demands but because Ryan had changed his mind.

She knew something was wrong the moment he picked her up for school the next morning. Molly had planned out the moment. In her dreams, he would jump out and open the door for her—same as always—but when they were inside, he would draw her to him once more, and the kiss that had been cut
short the night before would continue. It would continue and it would never end. Not ever.

Instead, Ryan was distant and cool. He opened her door, but he seemed careful not to let their arms brush. On the drive to Belmont, he said very little, talking only about the test he had that day in music theory and how he needed to buckle down and study more for his history class.

By this time Molly began to feel sick. It was almost as if someone had come in the still of the night and kidnapped the Ryan she had known, the best friend of two years who had made her believe he was falling for her. As if he had been replaced with someone who looked like him and dressed like him and smelled like him. Someone who drove his truck and attended his classes.

After that, the Ryan Kelly she knew no longer existed.

All day she worked up the courage to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong and demand that he be honest. But when they reached The Bridge a few hours later, he spoke before she had the chance. In a few rushed sentences, he apologized for the night
before, calling it a mistake. He told her she had her life back home and he had his. She remembered wanting to scream at him or cry out or shake him. How many times had she told him she wasn’t in love with Preston? Or that her dreams had nothing to do with running her father’s corporation?

He was adamant, and in under a minute, the pieces came together. It wasn’t her life back home that had caused him to rethink their night together, their kiss.

It was his.

He must have realized that in the end he would go back to Carthage and that he wasn’t ready to break up with the girl waiting for him. He was still in love with her. That must have been the conclusion he had reached overnight, and now he could do nothing but apologize.

Molly shuddered, sickened by the thought as much now as she had been then. Could there be anything worse? The guy she’d spent two years with, so regretting kissing her that he had to apologize? In the same minute it had taken Molly to understand the reasons Ryan was sorry, she had known something else. She would never let him see her crumble. She wouldn’t beg him or question him or convince him he was
wrong. If he wouldn’t let go of his past, she would do the only thing she had left.

She would go back home without him.