Fragile Lives: Chapter 5

The nerve of that jerk, I fume as he walks away.

To be completely fair, he didn’t ask for my opinion or my help, but he got me involved regardless of what he might think when he was alone on that damn bridge, and I was driving by, not knowing that he was the man my brother talks about all the damn time. How would I, anyway? He introduced himself as Stephan. Stephan my ass.

God, I hate that bridge, I think as I look at the ceiling. Like truly hate that bridge. When I was a kid, one of the girls at my school wanted to jump from it because her boyfriend cheated on her. Then there was a kid who was bullied and came to the same bridge. There was an old guy who came there when his wife died. I’ve seen my own brother eye that bridge a few times before Freya came to town.

The thing is, even though there were a lot of bad thoughts on that bridge, nothing bad had ever actually happened, and I want to keep it that way.

The girl with the cheating boyfriend? She met a guy whose car broke down at the same time, and as far as I know, they married and moved to New York.

The bullied kid? A coach from the karate school in Springfield drove by and noticed him. Now, the bullied kid is our very own karate kid, and he won some federal-level championship. The whole town celebrated.

Then that old Irish guy. It was Kayla who noticed him. He was the regular patron of the diner she worked at, and she knew him well enough to know he needed help. Turned out the guy had a grandson. Well, before, he had a son, but it was actually his grandson who came to town and stumbled upon the diner since it’s on Main Street.

When the old guy was young—can someone give me a Pulitzer for the mind-blowing phrasing here—his high school sweetheart moved out of town when he came back from WWII. And guess what? She was pregnant with his baby. His son died a long time ago, but his grandson had been looking for him ever since.

A great story I wanted to write about at some point, but when I met the old man, I felt like he didn’t want his story to be told—he was too settled into his quiet happiness. And a good reporter should know when to back down.

The point of all of it is that I hate that bridge. Good stories with happy endings come from it, but I don’t want to get involved in making it someone’s end. It’s too much responsibility, and I can’t carry it.

And yet somehow, somewhere, I got tangled with this man who refuses to let anyone call him by his real name (even though he introduced himself to me with it) and who talks to me like, well…that.

Like that. Like I’m a woman and not just someone’s sister. The fact that everyone around seemed to miss it.

My phone pings in my pocket, and I take it out. When I read the notification, I frown—a few weird messages have come in recently. The sender’s phone number is hidden, so I can’t see who it is.

I tried to ignore it at first, assuming it was some prank, but the more I get them, the more uncomfortable I become, feeling like they’re sending it to the right person, and I just don’t get the meaning.

I look around as if hoping to find the person who’s pranking me, but I don’t find anyone, of course. I’m at my parents’ house, after all.

Archie and his antics are immediately forgotten since I have more pressing matters.

Putting my phone back in my pocket and returning to the dining room, I can’t help but notice how slowly time is moving. I just want to go back to my place and wallow in my misery alone—brought upon myself, I should add. Some people just can’t help themselves, and I’m one of those people. I know I shouldn’t have grated on his nerves when he was clearly on edge, but I just couldn’t help myself. He was sitting there, surrounded by us, yet alone at the same time. He must be thinking he doesn’t belong when in reality, he does.

And then this secret sender with that ominous message. Yes, I’m so ready to go so I can openly freak out without setting off my family’s alarms.

When I get back to the table, Archie is sitting in his spot with a plastic smile on his face. My mom is sending him curious looks, but she’s curious about Stephan’s enigma. Well, Archie’s, my bad.

Up until seeing him here, I thought of him by the name he introduced himself with. I think it suits him better. To be fair, it suits better the person I see, but Archie is the one whom everyone else seems to see, and I don’t understand why.

His eyes scream for help when he smiles. They scream when he flirts. Even when he seems relaxed and so confident in himself, his eyes are full of melancholy. How do they not see it? I make a mental note to speak to Alex about him when I get the chance.

“Where have you been?” Aiden asks, brows furrowed.

I roll my eyes. “In the bathroom. Peeing. Am I allowed?” My brothers have always treated me like a baby. I’m older than Aiden, and I’m still questioned about bathroom breaks.

He scratches his nose with his middle finger and sticks his nose back into his phone. I wonder what’s happening with him recently—I’ve never seen him anywhere without his device for the last couple of weeks. Another mental note to check on him. My mental list of things to do is never-ending.

When I sit back in my chair, Archie shifts his weight, so his body is facing Kenneth. I shouldn’t feel offended, but I do; plus, this whole secret sender situation is playing dirty tricks on my mind, so I decide to take off. While everyone is chatting, I go to give my congratulations to Freya and Alex.

When she gives me a hug, she asks, “How did you know?”

“P-p-please!” I pull back. “Your glowing face, a widening waist while you run five miles every single day, and your aversion for Lonely Kurt.” Freya loves Lonely Kurt, absolutely adores it. It’s the heavy breakfast from Marina’s diner she’s been religiously eating for years. “Yeah, I wonder what tipped me off.”

“You are too attentive to everything around you for your own good.” She laughs and pats my shoulder.

“Don’t I know it,” I mumble, smiling. She gives me a quizzical look but lets it go. Thank God.

Then I say bye to Alex, still unsure of how much sisterly affection he wants to receive, and give Aiden a peck on his cheek. When we were younger, we used to be very close. He might be a little shit, but he is my little shit. Then I move on to mom and dad.

Finally, I go to give Kenneth a hug. He rises from his chair and envelopes me in a big, brotherly bear hug. The same one he gave me when my first boyfriend dumped me. The next day, the ex miraculously had two shiners. Or the secret one he gave me after mom and dad yelled at me for failing an exam—completely my fault, by the way. That type of hug.

“Are you alright?” he asks into the top of my head. Every man in my family dwarfs me.

“Yeah.” I sniffle into his shirt. It smells like family.

“Didn’t sound so,” he chuckles.

“I’m really okay, Ken.” With that, I pull away. “Just a little tired.”

His piercing eyes watch me for another moment, and he lets go of me with a slight nod. “Let me know if it changes.”

“I will.” I smile at my big brother and turn to Archie, just so my attitude toward him won’t raise any suspicion. “It was nice meeting you.” I give him a weak smile and walk away.

When I’m inside my car and start the engine, a body shows up by the passenger window, making me scream.

“Sh-sh, chill.” Archie’s eyes roam my face, puffs of air coming from his mouth with every word he says.

I roll the window down. “What do you need?”

“I feel like an asshole.” He rakes his hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “It wasn’t my intention to end your family’s dinner. I should be the one to go if you’re uncomfortable.”

“If I am?” I quirk a brow.

His eyes squint. “When. When you are uncomfortable.”

“You’re off the hook.” I pull my hat off and place it on the passenger seat. “I didn’t leave because of you.”

“You left because you’re tired?” He waits for me to look at him. “Yeah, I heard that part.”

“Eavesdropping?” I ask accusingly.

“Not when you’re practically shouting into my ear.” His flirty smile is back.

I sigh loudly. “I’m tired, Archie.” He winces at me using his name, and I wonder why—after all, he wanted me to call him that when he introduced himself to me today. Again. “I need to go home.”

“I thought you live here.” He glances at the house.

“I don’t,” I reply, staring ahead.

“Surprising,” he says.

“Why?” I glare at him.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe because you’re so young.”

“I’m twenty-four. Where were you when you were twenty-four?” I challenge.

“In Iraq.” His face darkens.

“Yeah, exactly. Go inside.” I nod toward the house. “You’ll freeze to death.”

His cackle is too happy at the prospect, and for the umpteenth time I remind myself that Archie’s brain works differently—his own value is nonexistent in his eyes. He suddenly leans through the window. “Go back, Leila. I was about to leave anyway.”

I lean closer to him. Seems like all we do is lean toward each other. Like magnets.

“Contrary to your belief, my life doesn’t revolve around you, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” His voice sounds seductive, and his tongue peeks out to lick his lower lip. “You think I’m pretty?”

I pull backward. “I think you like to play with fire.”

“How so?”

“With all my brothers in one,” I point at the house, “place. They might not like the way you speak to me and teach you a lesson.”

“And I might just like that.” His face stretches in a wide smile. A very scary one. Something clicks in the back of my mind: I think Alex had mentioned at some point that Archie doesn’t bare visible scars; his are of a different kind. What are they?

I start rolling the window back up, but he puts his palm on the top and stops it. “Really, Leila. Don’t leave because of me.”

I let out a tired sigh and take pity on him. “It’s not because of you. I’m just—” I chew on the inside of my lip, thinking about what I can tell him, and then I decide on nothing. I can tell him nothing. “I just really need to go home.”

His face changes. He becomes Stephan in front of my very eyes, the man I met on the bridge. The one who doesn’t hide behind a sexy smile and swagger.

“Is it because of the message you got? What did it say?” His nostrils flare as he squeezes his jaw tight.

“How do you—” Then I stop myself and shake my head. “You know what, never mind. I really need to go.”

I roll the window up, and he lets me this time. Then I hit the gas, and the front of my car slides to the side, nearly hitting him. Good thing he has quick reflexes and jumps out of the way. My heart squeezes as I dare to glance in the rearview mirror, but he’s standing there watching my tailgate with a maniac smile on his face.