THE WIFE HE TRIED TO BURY

CHAPTER 3

The rain is in my eyes. In my mouth. I can’t feel my hands anymore just the cold railing digging into my palms as I lean forward, praying the wind will push me the rest of the way.

I’m ready. God knows I am.

There’s nothing left to fight for no one waiting at home. No home at all, really. Just empty rooms full of ghosts and broken promises.

I whisper to the river maybe to my father, maybe to something bigger than him I’m sorry.

That’s all I can think to say. Sorry for being so blind. Sorry for loving him. Sorry for not being enough to save anything.

I’m almost gone when I heard it,that voice. Deep but calm, like a hand on the back of my neck dragging me back from the edge.

“Do you always say goodbye before you jump?”

I twist so fast my feet slip off the rail.

For one wild second I feel my heart slam into my ribs then I saw him.

A man I’ve never seen before. He’s standing there in the rain like it’s nothing, coat whipping behind him, hair slicked to his forehead.

He grabs my wrist before I can tumble over. His hand is warm. Strong. Too strong.

“Let go!” I scream at him, my voice tearing apart in my throat.

I shove at him with my free hand, try to claw at his fingers, but he doesn’t budge.

He just stares at me not scared, not gentle, just steady.

“Not tonight, Mrs. DeMarco.”

The way he says my name, like it still means something makes my stomach flip.

I hate it. I hate him for saying it.

“You don’t know me!” I spit at him. The rain’s in my mouth, mixing with the taste of tears.

“You don’t know what he did! I have nothing left!” I cried out still struggling with him.

He doesn’t flinch. I slam my fists against his chest, push at him with every bit of rage and grief and shame that’s been choking me for months.

He catches my other wrist and yanks me off the railing like I weigh nothing.

My knees buckle. I crash into him the warmth of his body under the soaked fabric of my dress makes me shake harder. I hit him with my fists, my elbows, anything. He just stands there and lets me.

“Please” I choke on the word.

It comes out like a child begging for something she knows she can’t have.

“Please, just let me go. Let me end this. I’m tired , I’m so tired, I can’t do this anymore…”

He doesn’t answer. He just slips an arm around my waist and holds me there not tight, not soft, just enough to keep me upright while my bones feel like they’re dissolving inside me.

Something inside me snaps. The fight drains out through my feet, pooling on the wet street with the rain. My hands twist in his coat. I cling to him like he’s the last solid thing on earth.

“Why won’t you let me die?” I whisper it against his chest. I can feel the rain dripping off my hair onto his shirt.

“He took everything. My father. My name. Everything I thought I was. I’m nothing now.”

He breathes out,I feel it more than I hear it, warm against my temple. His hand slides up my back. It’s not comforting, exactly. It’s just there. Holding me together while I fall apart.

“Cry if you need to,” he says. His voice rumbles through his chest, into my cheek.

“Scream if you have to. But you’re not dying tonight.”

My knees give out completely. He lowers me down, slow and careful, like I’m breakable glass. I hate that I am.

I sink onto the cold concrete. My bare feet curl under me. The rain is dripping off the railing above my head like a broken faucet. I can’t breathe or maybe I’m breathing too much, too fast.

And then it comes.

The scream I’ve swallowed for too long. It rips out of me raw, ugly, wet with every word I couldn’t say when I smiled at galas and kissed a monster’s cheek.

He doesn’t move. He just stays crouched there, one hand on my back, letting me pour all of it out until my throat feels like sandpaper and my shoulders shake so hard they ache.

When I’m empty, when I’m just shaking and gasping and staring at the cracks in the street he moves.

He slides an arm under my knees, the other under my shoulders. He lifts me like I weigh nothing.

I don’t fight him. I don’t have the strength. I let my head fall against his chest and close my eyes.

I don’t remember getting in the car. Just the warm leather, the low hum of the engine, the city lights blurring past the window. I try to ask him something, but the words won’t come.

“Sleep,” he says. His voice is so close to my ear.

“I’ve got you.”

I believe him for some reason I don’t understand.

When I wake, warmth covers me,blankets heavy, the hush of rain tapping secrets on glass.

Lamps spill honeyed light across dark wood, soft carpet under bare feet when I shift.

My dress clings like old regret, damp and torn. I don’t dare lift my eyes to the mirror’s accusation.

The door creaks open and two maids slip in, eyes gentle, hands sure.

They say nothing about the mascara stains or the trembling in my fingers. They peel the dress from my shoulders carefully, like it might shatter and guide me into a marble bath where steam clings to my lashes.

Hot water hugs my skin raw. Bubbles slip through my hair as they wash away the night’s ruin.

They wraps Soft cotton around me after bathing, warm enough to make my throat ache.

Alone again, I perch on the bed’s edge, staring at the window’s ghost, a stranger’s hollow eyes staring back.

The door opens again.

This time it was the man from the bridge.

He shrugs off his coat. His shirt is crisp and white. He looks at me like he’s waiting for something to snap again. Maybe it will.

He picks up a glass of water but doesn’t drink it.

“I’m Damien Carter.” He said in a very calm voice.

I don’t say anything. The name is empty in my head.

He comes closer. His shadow falls over the rug where my bare feet press into the fibers.

“Your father and I built this city once. Or pieces of it, anyway. I knew him well. Well enough to know he’d never want to see you standing on that bridge.” He continued.

My laugh comes out like a cough. I’m too tired for pride.

“Why?” I ask him.

My voice is rough from crying.

“Why did you pull me off that railing?”

He holds my gaze. His eyes don’t waver.

He sets the glass down.

Slides his hands into his pockets like he’s about to offer me the deal of a lifetime.

And then he says it the thing that makes me realize I’m not done fighting yet.

“I saved you because I have an offer for you.”