Breathe Again Read online

  Copyright © 2016 Sydney Logan

  Published by Enchanted Publications

  http://www.enchantedpublications.com

  Cover design by T.M. Franklin

  Cover images by ssuaphoto & Vlastimil Sesatak

  Formatting by Lindsey Gray Formatting Services

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Any trademark references mentioned in this book are the property of the respective copyright holders and trademark owners.

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  A Personal Note

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Sydney Logan

  Connect with Sydney

  Other Titles Offered by Enchanted Publications

  For those who’ve lost someone they love.

  Don’t ever let anyone tell you how to grieve.

  Nothing is more personal or more sacred

  than finding your own path to peace.

  “Can I get you more coffee, Mr. O’Malley?”

  The old man shakes his head and places a twenty on the counter.

  “I’m headed home. Keep the change, Carrie.”

  I smile and thank him for the tip. My regulars know I’m working my way through college by waiting tables at this greasy diner. I’m thankful for the job, and I’m grateful to my sweet customers who tip me outrageously for something as simple as a cup of decaf.

  Glancing at my watch, I sigh with relief when I see it’s nearly closing time. With renewed energy that only comes at the end of a shift, I grab a cloth and start to do my final wipe down. Mr. O’Malley was my last customer, which will make clean-up that much easier.

  Ten minutes. If only the customers will stay away for ten more minutes.

  But the universe is cruel, because five minutes before closing, he walks in.

  Without a glance toward the tired waitress who’s ready to clock out, the man finds a stool at the end of the counter. I grab what’s left of the coffee and a mug and make my way over to him.

  “Can I help you? The grill is closed for the night, so all we have is coffee and pie. There’s cherry, apple, and I think a slice of butterscotch.”

  He just stares straight ahead with glazed eyes as I pour him a cup of decaf. His rude silence gives me the chance to check him out. The guy looks a little older than me, but not much older. He’s definitely good looking, with his dark hair, blue eyes, and the type of sculpted cheekbones you’d expect to see on the face of a model.

  Despite all that perfection, the man looks like recycled shit.

  The wrinkled dress shirt, probably white once upon a time, is now a grungy gray. A dingy tie hangs loosely from his neck. His slacks are torn at the knees, and his shoes are caked with mud.

  And on his wrist? A Rolex watch.

  Weird.

  I clear my throat. “Sir, we close in five minutes. Can I get you anything else?”

  The man blinks and looks around, seemingly surprised to be sitting in my diner. His eyes finally settle on me. Beautifully blue and painfully cold.

  “Your name’s Carrie?”

  The question surprises me, and quite frankly, scares me a little. But then I remember I’m a waitress, and my name tag is part of the gig.

  “Yep. I’m Carrie.”

  He nods once, and that’s the end of the conversation.

  I finish closing up and try not to stare at the beautiful disaster sitting at the end of my counter. He must have money, if the watch on his wrist is any indication. A man with a Rolex shouldn’t be dressed like he lives in a cardboard box in the alley.

  I head back to the kitchen to find Tony, my boss, working the dishwasher.

  “Tony, stop! I can do that.”

  He grins. “I don’t mind doing dishes. Since Amy called in, I knew you could use the help. Besides, it’s a nice break from my paperwork.”

  Tony’s a good man and pretty laid back as far as bosses go. He’s nice enough to schedule my shifts around my classes and never gives me grief about doing homework if business is slow. Most managers would want you doing something productive, but Tony gets it. He doesn’t expect me to make a career out of working at the diner. It’s a paycheck—most of which goes to pay for rent and tuition. My salary is just a little better than minimum wage, but the tips are decent, and so far, I’ve been able to juggle my course load and working at the diner without completely losing my mind. Most importantly, I’m paying for my senior year of college, and thanks to my scholarship and job at the diner, I’m doing it without student loans.

  “Ready to clock out?” Tony asks.

  “Not yet. I still have a customer at the counter.”

  He nods. “I have to finish some paperwork, but it shouldn’t take long. Want a ride home?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just walk.”

  “You sure? It’s cold out.”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Tony.”

  He says goodnight before heading back to his office. With a tired sigh, I make my way back out front, expecting to find the man still sitting on his stool.

  To my surprise, he’s gone.

  I’m walking over to grab his mug when I spot two objects on the counter that stop me in my tracks.

  His full cup of coffee.

  And his Rolex.

  Cold November air nips at my bare fingers, and I mutter a curse. Leaving my gloves at home isn’t the dumbest thing I’ve done lately, but it’s close.

  You should’ve let Tony drive you home.

  Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I quicken my pace. It’s just a few blocks between the diner and my apartment, but the cold air makes it feel like miles.

  Flurries start to swirl, prompting me to walk a little faster. I’m just making my way across the Hart Street Bridge when something catches my eye.

  A man’s standing next to the concrete barrier, looking down into the frigid water below.

  I stop.

  Without a backwards glance, he places one leg over the edge.

  My heart pounds in my chest. “No!”

  His head jerks up, and there, under the lights of the city, my eyes lock with the man who left his watch on my counter.

  I’m paralyzed.

  So is he.

  Thank God.

  People keep walking. Cars keep moving. But my eyes remain fixed on the man straddling the concrete barrier—the only thing that’s keeping him from plunging into the icy river below us. I don’t know his name. I don’t know why he’s dressed like a beggar, and I certainly don’t know why he left his Rolex on my counter.

  But in this moment, none of that matters.

  I make sure the street is clear before walking across, keeping my movements slow as I approach him. The last thing I want to do is freak him out. For now, one leg is still on this side of the barrier, giving me hope that maybe he doesn’t really want to die tonight. Needing the support it provides, I hold onto the cold concrete and pray I say the right thing.

  “What are you—”

  “Lea
ve me alone, Carrie.”

  The fact that he’s coherent enough to remember my name gives me even more hope. But his voice . . . it’s raw and tinged with so much sadness that it nearly breaks my heart.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s none of your business. Go away.”

  “No.”

  His eyes flash with anger.

  “Screw you.”

  “Don’t jump and maybe I’ll let you.”

  It’s a ridiculous thing to say, but I’m desperate. He’d never survive the fall, and I already have enough guilt in my heart to last a lifetime. I don’t need this on my conscience, too.

  The man blinks rapidly, as if he’s trying to comprehend what I said.

  “Tempting, but trust me. I’m not worth saving.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Believe it,” he whispers. “Please, Carrie. Just . . . go.”

  I shake my head and take a step closer.

  Keep him talking.

  “I don’t even know your name. You know mine. That’s not fair.”

  He looks surprised. “You don’t recognize me?”

  “Should I?”

  “Wow. That’s . . . refreshing, actually.”

  I glance around. Surely someone has noticed us and called the cops by now. But I don’t hear sirens, so I keep talking, hoping the man will come to his senses.

  I offer him my hand. “My name is Carrie Malone. What’s yours?”

  “Josh Bennett.”

  The name sounds vaguely familiar.

  “Nice to meet you, Josh. Now, would you please place both legs on this side of the barrier before I have a heart attack?”

  Josh looks down into the river.

  “Please? Let me call your family.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say.

  “My family’s dead, which is exactly what I should be. What I want to be.”

  His body sways, and my hands reach out, grabbing onto his arm. My entire body shakes. Maybe it’s adrenaline, cold, fear, or a combination of the three, but I know I have to do whatever it takes to keep him from jumping off this bridge.

  “Josh, isn’t there someone who would miss you? Someone whose entire world would shatter if you weren’t in it?”

  He tries to shake me off, and I grip his arm tighter. I’m a strong girl, but I know if this man truly wants to jump into the water, there’s really nothing I can do to stop him. And there’s nothing I can do to keep him from taking me with him.

  Still, I hold on.

  His voice quivers. “Why do you care?”

  “I care because there has to be someone in this world who can’t live without you.”

  “She won’t miss me.”

  She. It’s a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

  “She would. I know she would. I’m sure she loves you, and I bet she’s worried sick.”

  “Sonia always worries,” he says. His voice is a little stronger now. “Ever since we were kids, she’s done nothing but worry about me.”

  Sonia. A wife? Girlfriend?

  “What’s Sonia’s number? I’ll call her to come get you.”

  Josh shakes his head, but talking about Sonia—whoever she is—has given him a moment of clarity. The lines along his forehead are gone, and his jaw is no longer clenched.

  “My apartment is just up the street.” The words are out before I can stop them. “You can take a shower. Get something to eat. My couch isn’t the greatest, but it’s comfortable. You could get some sleep, and tomorrow, we’ll call Sonia.”

  My subconscious screams at me, telling me how stupid this is. Josh Bennett is obviously unstable, and I’ve just invited him to my apartment.

  His tortured eyes meet mine. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “I really don’t.”

  “Obviously. Because if you did, you’d realize that I don’t need your charity.”

  “You’re ready to jump off this bridge. You may not need my money, but you definitely need my help.”

  His eyes—dark and deep and blue—stare into mine, begging me to let him do what he came here to do. Begging me to understand. Begging me to go away.

  I can’t.

  I won’t.

  I loosen my grip on his arm, but I don’t let him go.

  “Come home with me.”

  With a shaky sigh, Josh closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re a little softer. A little kinder. And so, so tired.

  “Okay,” he says softly.

  Very slowly, he swings his leg around, and when both of his muddy shoes are planted firmly on the street, I finally allow myself to breathe.

  You know that little voice inside your head? The one that tells you that something is dangerous or wrong or just plain idiotic?

  As I watch Josh Bennett sleep on my couch, I’m surprised to find that little voice can’t be heard.

  In a complete daze, Josh had walked around my small apartment, looking at the few pictures on the wall and running his fingers along the spines of my books. I found an old T-shirt and a pair of jeans that my ex had left behind and pointed Josh toward the shower while I made spaghetti. He’d eaten three platefuls before thanking me quietly and passing out on my couch.

  Beneath the dirt and grime, Josh Bennett is a gorgeous guy, with his strong jaw and his damp, dark bangs hanging loosely in his eyes. He snores while I stare, wondering what could have led him to want to kill himself tonight.

  I glance at my laptop sitting on the kitchen table.

  Do I dare?

  Josh Bennett is obviously someone important. He was far too surprised that I didn’t recognize him. Nashville is full of aspiring singers. He could be famous—or someone almost famous—and I wouldn’t know the difference. My entire life is focused on school and work.

  And on my cat, Oreo, who’s lying at the bottom of the couch and curled around Josh’s leg.

  My cat hates strangers. Men especially. He’d never warmed up to Shane, even though we’d lived together for six months. Whenever Shane was within an inch of me, my normally gentle feline turned into a hissing, scratching ball of fur.

  Oreo knew all along that Shane was bad news. It took me a little longer to figure it out.

  Suddenly, Josh shifts in his sleep, and I hold my breath as he mumbles something I can’t quite make out. After a few seconds of rambling, his body stills, and the room is filled with his snores once again.

  I consider my options.

  I can grab my laptop and look him up online. I don’t know why, but that seems like such an invasion of his privacy. On the other hand, the man is spending the night in my apartment. It’d be nice to confirm that he isn’t a serial killer.

  I don’t know what to do, so I just sit there and watch him sleep.

  With my cat.

  So weird.

  It’s nearly two in the morning when I finally decide to go to bed. I still smell like the diner, so I take a quick shower, hoping the hot water will relieve the tension that’s settled in my shoulders. I can’t stand to sleep with wet hair, so I quickly dry it, praying the noise won’t wake him. It’s only when I’m ready to head to my room that I realize I hadn’t taken the time to grab something to sleep in.

  “Way to go,” I mumble to myself, wrapping my towel around me and quietly creeping into the hallway.

  That’s when I hear muffled sobs.

  I rush down the small hallway and into the living room, finding him sitting on the floor, his knees pulled close to his chest.

  “Josh.” My voice is just a whisper.

  Racing to his side, I fall onto the floor next to him. His head is buried in his hands as he cries uncontrollably. Desperate to help, to bring him some sort of comfort, I gently touch his arm. His entire body shudders, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. His grief. His anguish. His desire to end his life. His desperate emotions are palpable, and I can feel them all, radiating through his body and into mine.

  “Josh, let me help you. Please . . .”r />
  Suddenly, his arms wrap around me like a vice, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe. He buries his face against my neck while frantic sobs wrack his body. I have no idea how to react. No idea what to do.

  So I hold him, too.

  I don’t whisper that everything will be all right. I don’t promise that the world will look a little brighter when the sun comes up. I don’t say those things because I have no idea if they’re true. I just cradle him in my arms and let him cry.

  Eventually, his body stills, and his tears subside.

  And his hands begin to roam.

  “You’re so soft,” he whispers hoarsely.

  His touch is gentle and slow as his fingers slide up and down my spine.

  I should be scared, but I don’t feel one ounce of fear.

  I should run, but I don’t want to.

  Burying his face against my neck, I tremble when he brushes his lips across my skin. His hot breath against my flesh ignites my blood, and when his hands push away my towel, I don’t try to stop him.

  His fiery blue eyes find mine in the darkness.

  “Do you remember what you said on the bridge?”

  Don’t jump, and maybe I’ll let you.

  Unable to find my voice, I simply nod.

  “Let me, Carrie.”

  His voice is a desperate plea, and I’m powerless to resist.

  I don’t even try.

  Sliding my hands along his chest, I reach for the hem of his shirt, lifting it above his head. Josh climbs to his knees and unbuckles his jeans, letting them slide down his legs before kicking them aside. His clothes join my towel, somewhere in the middle of my living room.

  Then his mouth is on mine.

  “Are you asleep?”

  Is he kidding? We’re wrapped around each other like ivy in the middle of my living room floor. I’m surprised how comfortable it is. Then again, that may have something to do with the fact that my head is nestled on his chest.

  “I’m not asleep.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fantastic.”

  Josh chuckles lightly. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “No regrets?”

  “Nope. You?”