he’d hated the other man’s shame.
“Hell.” He couldn’t go on resenting Leo when he needed help. Van checked his pockets for his cell phone. “I’m on my way.”
“Hurry. I’m afraid he’ll jump.”
Thunder jolted the house. A keening scream—unbearable and hardly recognizable as Leo’s voice—seemed to form inside Van’s head. “Take my cell number in case you need it.” He gave it to Tom and then hung up.
Without a coat, without locking the door, with nothing except fear that Leo had gone insane, Van ran back into the storm.
He jumped into the car, switched on the engine and jammed the gas pedal. All the way down the driveway, the trees bent low, their branches open hands grasping at his roof. He skidded onto the main road.
How could he talk Leo off that bridge?
A truck crossed into his lane. Swearing, Van swerved around it.
Someone had to tell Cassie.
Someone.
Who was he kidding? He’d have to tell Cassie. Never mind that she’d long since stopped caring enough to even hate him.
The attack had done that to them. Attack. That was one way to put it—a way that let him face himself. He’d been away on business. She’d been home alone, and she’d left the bathroom window open, no more than half an inch, to air out the steam.
Half an inch.
He hit the steering wheel with his fist. Half an inch of air had changed Cassie forever, had forced a space like thousands of miles between them.
He’d tried to reach her, but she’d shut him out, lumping him with her father, who’d avoided her after that night. After she’d gone, Van had wanted to resent her, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He’d owed her more than just love.
Blue lights slashed the sky. Van slowed as he neared the bridge. Clouds ambushed the moon and swallowed its reflection. Blinking red bulbs beneath the bridge flashed a warning to shipping on the river. Behind Van, an 18-wheeler drew close enough to illuminate the men milling in front of the emergency vehicles.
Van parked behind a fire-and-rescue truck. As he parted the crowd with his hands, rain poured down his face, and lightning made him flinch.
“Leo?” He searched for the other man, yelling his name. Why hadn’t someone in this thicket of blue-and-yellow-coated rescue workers scooped Leo up and run him to the hospital?
At last Van saw Tom. Four paramedics flanked the sheriff, two on each side. They all turned. Trey Lockwood, a longtime family friend, lifted his hand toward Van. Behind Trey, about thirty feet onto the bridge, Van glimpsed Leo’s grizzled, frightened face above bony knees tucked close against his chest.
Sick to his stomach, Van shoved past the other men, but Tom took his arm. “Every time we try to get near him he backs out of reach, or we’d have grabbed him. He could stand up and jump at any moment.”
“I’ll get him.” If he had to dive into that dark water in Leo’s wake, he wasn’t about to tell Cassie he’d let her father die.
“He may not know you.” Tom had to yell over the weather and the noise of men and idling engines.
Van shook his head. “Does it matter? If we don’t get him off this bridge, he’ll die, anyway.”
“Somebody get this man a coat,” Tom said.
If he waited for a jacket, he might just end up wearing it to a funeral. “Leo.” Edging closer, he left the knot of rescuers behind. His hands shook. He tried to look as if he were offering help, but he’d just as happily jerk the other man to safety.
“Go away.” Leo turned his face toward the concrete guard rail.
“I can’t.” He’d been doing that for five years, and he was lucky Leo hadn’t died. “We’re still family. We were friends before Cassie and I even looked at each other.”
“She loved you from day one.”
She’d stopped easily enough. Van reached for the bridge railing, distracting Leo because it was easy to make the sick man follow his hand. Rain and wind gusted around them. Water rushed past the bridge supports below, but the voices behind them had quieted.
“Cassie’s my little girl. Victoria will take care of her.”
Van reached for the back of his collar as if something had slithered down his spine. It was one thing to hear Leo was sick, but another to see it.
So he lied. Anything to get his friend off this bridge. “Let me take you to them.”
“I remember.” Leo’s hoarse voice suggested a sore throat and congestion. He pressed his fists into his eyes.
“Let me help.”
“I don’t want to remember.”
“Just remember me long enough to trust me.”
Leo lifted eyes that refused to focus. “You look funny. Not like you used to.”
Five years of loneliness changed any man. “I’m older.”
“Older?” His voice trailed off as if he didn’t understand the word. He leaned harder against the bridge. “Bring me Victoria.” Her name, something familiar, comforted him. “You can’t help.”
“I can’t get Victoria.”
“I’m not the one who’s crazy here.” Bracing his hand on the concrete, drawing himself up on one knee, Leo resurrected a semblance of his old dignity. “She’s not dead.”
He pointed at a paramedic on Tom’s left. “Like he said. Wouldn’t I know?” With a bone-shaking cough, he sank back to the pavement, his legs folding like matchsticks.
Van hurried at least five feet closer.
“Victoria…” Leo’s gasp was desperate. “She’d never leave.” He jabbed the air in front of Van, his bent finger shaking. “You find her. Now.”
“You’re freezing and sick, and this rain is making you worse.”
“Get away from me.” He waved a wasted arm.
“You taught me my job. You probably taught me how to be a man. You would have been my best friend all my life.” Only vaguely aware of the men behind them, he didn’t care what they thought. “You were like my father once. Let me walk you off this bridge.”
“I’m not sick.” The bones in his scrawny throat moved up and down. “You’ll drag me straight to the hospital, and people die there. I’ve seen it.” He frowned in confusion.
He had to mean Victoria, but maybe the memory was too painful to face. “Aren’t you hungry?” Van prayed Leo’s weight loss came from forgetting about meal-times, rather than a serious illness. “Let’s get something to eat, a hot drink. We’ll talk all night,
