Divided (Unguarded #2) (2 page)

Eleven Months Later

My feet pound the pavement of the familiar path. Adrenaline boosts to a high causing my heart to thunder in my chest with every step. Hiding in the shadow of my hoodie, covering my face as well as my head, I keep my head down as I jog onto the Brooklyn Bridge along the same route I run every night. Out here it’s quiet, even when it’s loud. Somehow being alone is the calm I never feel anywhere else.

But tonight the quiet is outweighed by sobs. Soft cries pull me from the calm and that’s when I notice her. Tears fall through gaps in her fingers covering her face. Ratty blonde hair sits on her shoulders as they shake with each sob. Her small frame leans against the structure of the bridge and I glance around for someone, anyone. But we’re all alone. Nothing but the bright lights and city sounds of New York at night fill the small distance between us. I shift on my feet and rub the back of my neck. I could continue my run—go back home, pretend I never saw her, do what most other people would do when they see a stranger upset. Because no one helps anyone anymore, no one cares about your problems when we’re already burdened with a fucking ton of our own. But she’s upset leaning on the side of the bridge, and that knowledge alone is enough to curdle my stomach with unease. I can’t fight my feet from moving toward her. I can’t fight the training ingrained in me to help. It’s my job, my life, the one thing that makes me proud and gives me a purpose in life.

The girl steps out of her shoes and braces her hands on the bridge.

“Ah, fuck.” I curse under my breath. There’s no time to think further, only time to act.

A few quick strides and I’m beside her. Still hiding my face from view, hands tucked into the front pocket of my hoodie, but ready to move.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My deep voice catches her attention and her hair swishes in the air as she turns her head in my direction. Stormy eyes, tear into me with shock. I watch her search my face, for what I don’t know. It’s dark, and I’m too far away for her to get a good look at me. But I see her. Her porcelain skin is illuminated by a streetlight. Her gaunt cheeks are stained with the pain behind her tears. She’s young, thin—way too thin. A pang resonates in my chest at the agony in the face staring back at me.
Shit, this isn’t good.

She lifts a shaky hand and wipes her face. Her soft voice sounds through the sobs as her chest heaves from too much crying. “And why is that?”

My brows bunch in and I bite the inside of my cheek before saying the wrong thing. I open my mouth to speak—to give the same ridiculous spiel my training tells me to use in situations like these, but the truth begs to come out and I’ve never been one to follow the rules.

I take another step closer and the pressure on my chest alleviates the slightest knowing I’m closer to her, within reach.

“Might hurt yourself.”

Okay. Maybe not the smartest fucking thing to say.

She scoffs and flicks her gaze back over the water as she mutters, “That’s the point, jackass.”

My lips curve into a small smirk at her attitude, and relief unwinds the tension in my muscles because she just gave me everything I needed to know.

She’s still got an attitude, she’s still got fight in her. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t stop to hesitate. She’d jump off this bridge with a sense of relief. Maybe it wouldn’t happen quite like that. I’ve never claimed to be a profiler. But watching her right now, this can’t be what she really wants.

Moving to the railing, I come up beside her. “So you think jumping off a bridge is gonna solve all your problems for you?”

“Yes.” Fear creeps into her shaky voice.

I grimace at her response and anger ignites within the questions in my head. Who had such a power over this girl to convince her this is where she should be? That she should end her life because she isn’t worthy of this world, isn’t good enough to be here?

My lips flatten into a hard line as I hold in the hatred I already have for someone I don’t know.
Fucking assholes of the world.
“Well, you’re wrong. They’ll still be there, long after you jump.”

I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole, but when she cringes and her shoulders curl over her chest, I realize my mistake. I open my mouth to apologize but her words halt me.

“It doesn’t matter. The moment I hit that water and all the life is taken from this body of mine, I’ll be a shell of nothingness, which won’t be that much different to what it is now,” she whispers, her words so quiet I almost don’t hear them all.

I move closer to her but still don’t touch her. My hands itch to reach out and hug her, hold her. But I’m a stranger and the last thing this girl needs.

“Come on, let’s sit down for a minute. Maybe you can talk it out with someone. Get out whatever the bullshit in that head of yours is telling you to jump off a bridge.”

She sighs and slumps back around, gripping the railing in front of us with both hands. Sadness falls upon us when she hits back with reality. “Nobody wants to listen.”

Isn’t that the fucking truth?

I glance down to her small delicate hands, and shift mine beside hers. I want to comfort her, help her. I’ve felt helplessness. I’ve lived it and loathed it. I didn’t have anyone to help me when I needed it. I’m not about to let this girl feel alone, just like I did. If I can comfort her for a few minutes, an hour, just one night, it’ll be more than anyone’s given her. I sure as fuck won’t say the right thing, but I’ll try. I want to let her believe for a moment she’s wrong. Somebody does want to listen. Someone will always care, even if it’s a load of bullshit. I want to get her down, away from this bridge.

She glances at our hands, just a whisper away from one another before beaming up at me, confusion in her lost blue eyes. I cough past the awkwardness growing between us. Give me guns and bad guys any given day. This part of the job—the comforting victims—is not my thing.

“Let me listen.” I look straight into her eyes so she knows I’m serious.

She tilts her head to the side. Her brows furrow in as she whispers, “Why?” The cold December air blows white clouds out of her mouth.

I want to tell her it’s because I see something in her I’ve always seen in myself, and I’ll feel like absolute shit if I walk away without trying to help. But I don’t tell her that. I give her something else instead.

Hope.

“Because you’re so used to your own opinions of yourself, on your life, on everything. That you don’t realize just how amazing you might be to a stranger.”

Her bottom lip trembles as she stares at me, eyes wide with surprise and I prepare for the waterworks to begin again, but they don’t come. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Her lips part. “That was really sweet considering you’re kind of a jerk.”

My head tilts back and a deep throated laugh erupts—albeit not a time for it. I haven’t pissed the girl off. She just stares at me, studying my face.

She angles her head to the side and peers up at me with big round eyes as deep blue as the ocean. “What’s your name?”

I hesitate. My response lodging at the back of my throat. Somehow she’s asking me so much more than my name with just a look.

“Roamyn,” I reply.

She juts out her hand and adorns me with a small smile, one I won’t forget anytime soon. It’s soft and sweet, kind of like her. And the last thing I expected to see.

“It’s nice to meet you, Roamyn. I’m Ali.”

Quietness engulfs us as we sit and watch where the river meets the sky. We’d spent hours talking, nothing specific enough for the inner cop in me to go on a rampage, but enough for me to feel her pain and want to wish it all away. The quiet is a welcome pause, not an awkward one or uncomfortably so. We just sit, saying nothing, but at the same time, it feels just as therapeutic as talking everything out. I glance over at Ali and back and realize this time with her—a complete stranger—is the most time I’ve spent actually talking to a female for longer than I can remember. No expectations. No strings attached. I could talk to this girl all night and never see her again. It’s the best kind of therapy, and oddly enough, I’ve found myself enjoying her company.

The night darkens as clouds steal the light of the stars. Looking at Ali, the moon shines down on her, casting a white streak across her face, baring the vulnerability written all over her face. She’s calmer but still stiff, and I wonder if she feels the same way I do about being here, up on this bridge. There’s a lot to be said about sitting alone watching the world pass by.

Her voice shimmers through the air, breaking the silence. “Do you ever wonder how it’s possible to feel so alone in a city so full of people?”

I answer without thought. “All the time.”

“I’m so lost,” she croaks out, her voice breaking. Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand rests on her shoulder. She turns her head toward me and her eyes flicker an unreadable expression to where my hand sits. Confusion? Shock? Maybe a little of both. I curse under my breath and yank my hand away. Shifting in my seat, I give her an awkward smile.

Fuck. Shouldn’t have touched her.

I rub the shadow on my jaw and hope I haven’t fucked everything up. “You’re not lost. You just haven’t found yourself yet.”

Her eyes gloss over and tears begin to build. “I don’t want to find myself. I don’t want to remember.”

Her words sink in, beneath my skin until they’re squeezing my heart with an unforgettable ache. I can’t tear my gaze away from her. I can’t manage a comforting word to leave my mouth. Instead, I fall deep into the eyes before me, begging for the story behind them. I recognize the torture in her voice, the agony in her eyes. They are familiar, like the ones staring back at me in the mirror every day. Maybe not to the same extent as hers but shit, what I wouldn’t do to never see that look again.

A lump clogs my throat and I struggle to swallow past it as memories and old wounds surface with the mention of hers. My best friend’s advice, from a drunken night when I blurted out everything from my past, comes into my head. Mason always knows what to say, and right now nothing else fits more perfectly than the shit he spun me that night.

“So don’t. Walk a new path and forget about the past. Find a new you. Don’t search for the old you because you’re not her anymore. You’re not the girl you were a year ago. Hell, you’re not the girl you were yesterday, Ali.”

She sighs, and glimpses up at the sky as if it holds all the answers. “It’s not that easy.”