When The Rain Falls

28. Why Can’t We Be Friends?

28 WHY CAN’T WE BE FRIENDS?

AIMEE

“Is this where you push me into traffic?” Finn groans painfully behind me.

As we come up to the intersection, the green pedestrian light changes to a flashing red hand, stopping my forward momentum.

“Just waiting for the right bus.” I angrily slap the crosswalk button and it sends a jolt of pain up my arm. I recoil and try to shake off the sting. This isn’t fair. He doesn’t deserve a break yet. There are far too many intersections on this road.

Reluctantly, I jog in place and turn to face Finn. He’s hunched over, hands on knees, panting and sucking air through his mouth. He’s standing excessively far from the edge of the sidewalk. And that’s a good thing. Because today is not ideal to test whether I’m one of those humans that are capable of revenge murder.

“Goddamn, can’t you just key my car or something?” He tilts his head up to cast me a pity-seeking look. “Isn’t that usually how this works?” I try to ignore how attractive he looks covered in hot sweat-marked cotton, his chiseled face glowing red from exertion. Damn this bastard. Looking so hot when I’m trying to torment him.

“You drive a minivan.” My ponytail bobs on top of my head as I continue to run in place. Sweat is beading on my forehead and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. It’s cold this morning, but not after you’ve been running for several minutes.

Finn rolls his eyes at me. “What do people have against minivans?” he mutters.

“Yours in particular? Probably the zip ties on the fender.”

“Perfect. Just how I like my torture. With a side helping of digs at my ride. I’m trying to think of other ways you can emasculate me, but I think you may have it covered.”

That statement earns him a laugh, which I quickly cover with my hand. I haven’t tortured anyone before. Not on purpose. But I’m pretty sure laughing takes away the severity of the punishment.

“Stop complaining. And running isn’t that bad. You have all those muscles .” I gesture across his body. “Let’s see you use them.”

“Muscles don’t help you run. They just weigh you down. Do you know how much work it takes to move these muscles around?”

“Poor thing,” I cluck at him. “You should hear yourself.”

“I can’t hear a goddamn thing over the pounding of my collapsing heart. I can feel my pulse in my fingers , Aimee.” He raises a hand into the air and wiggles his fingers to demonstrate. “In my fucking fingers . My heart’s going to fucking explode.”

“Heart? Wait, you have one of those?”

“Aimee!” He reaches for me but I jump backwards. “I’m sorry . Can we turn around now? How much longer are you going to torture me?”

I glance down at my GPS watch. Ponytail still bobbing furiously. “Oh, just three to four more miles.”

At that moment, the crosswalk sign changes back to green. I spin around and take off across the intersection.

“ Miles ? Goddammit. You know if you kill me, you can’t torture me anymore. You know that right?”

He’s right. I need him alive if I want to stretch out this suffering. I take care to go only the speed that will elicit pain and not death.

Finn was not pleased this morning when I met him at his front door with two pairs of headlamps. But he didn’t complain. He hemmed and hawed and did a lot of glaring. But he did not complain. I waited as he reluctantly trudged back up his stairs to put on gym clothes. He’s been shooting me daggers ever since.

And I’ve been trying to peel my eyes off his hot, sweaty frame. This plan of mine appears to be backfiring.

My mind knows he shattered me, but I wish someone would tell my body that. It’s still burning steady with desire. And so, I’m in a tug-of-war of wanting him desperately but knowing that I can’t be his. That the attention he gives me is not really for me. I’m both elated and destroyed at the same time.

Things were quiet for a while. But somehow we slipped into easy ribbing and chatter. It almost feels normal. And I’m almost tempted to think we could be friends somehow. Friends that talk. And wave to each other from across the street. And exchange Christmas cookies. And chat about the weather. And remember the night they were passionately mouth-fucked on the deck.

I quickly brush the thought away and turn my attention to the sidewalk in front of me. The world is passing below my feet like a never-ending red carpet. But where is the red carpet going? Where is my life going? And why did I ever let myself believe that the man across the street was more than another fling?

It’s not long before we come up to the pedestrian walkway of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, near several lanes of busy traffic. When we get to the bridge, I slow down so Finn can catch up. He’s moving even slower now, clutching his side and bending awkwardly.

Good.

When he catches up to me, we walk side by side onto the bridge. I peek over the railing and marvel at the terrifying drop to the water below.

This bridge, as I learned from Jack, is an iconic Tacoma landmark. A suspension bridge that rises hundreds of feet above a narrow channel of the Puget Sound. It consists of tall, green and grey columns that soar high into the air.

When we reach the middle of the bridge, the wind picks up. It sends my hair blowing in every direction as thick locks come loose from my ponytail. I glance around at the horizon, checking our surroundings. I stop and turn off my headlamp. Finn follows suit, the puzzled expression on his face lit only by overhead bridge lights. As Finn’s heavy breathing regulates, I can make out the faint sound of sea lions barking below us. I shiver against the chill in the air.

“Now what?” Finn’s voice is barely noticeable above the roar of the wind. My eyes are already starting to adjust and I can see that he’s propped his hands on his hips. The gesture always accentuates the broadness of his frame.

“Now we wait,” I tell him.

“Aimee, wait for what?” Frustration oozes into his tone. When I dragged him outside at 6:00 in the morning, I deliberately chose not to tell him our destination. I figured the less he knew, the better.

I cross my arms at him and slump into one hip. “You’re a troll, aren’t you supposed to have a thing for bridges?”

Finn blows air out his nose. “Fucking comedian. Aimee, if you brought me out here at 6:00 in the morning just to tell me I’m a troll, I swear to?—"

My laugh interrupts his sentence. I absentmindedly prop my hand on his shoulder as I double over. But when his muscles ripple and tense beneath me, I pull back quickly. I squeeze my thighs together and tell my heart to stop racing for a man who can’t be mine.

“You’ll see,” I assure him. “Just a couple more minutes.”

Finn looks anything but assured. "In a couple more minutes you’re going to freeze," he mutters, pointing to my body. And he’s right. It is cold here, standing high above the water in the middle of a bridge. I rub my arms to ward off the goosebumps.

“Your lips are already starting to turn blue,” Finn scolds.

Maybe you should kiss them, you idiot.

No, Aimee! Bad girl.

“Aimee, let’s go back.” There’s concern in his voice now. This isn’t working. I’m supposed to be torturing him and he’s being all protective over my wellbeing. What a jerk.

"It’s fine. I'll just do jumping jacks.” I begin to bounce in place. Folding my shivering arms up to my chest. It helps. A little.

"Stop it. Jesus,” Finn mutters. He reaches an arm out and pulls me towards him. “You're making me nervous jumping close to the edge.” My arms tremble slightly under his firm grip. My sweat dampens my sports bra, turning frigid against my skin. My teeth begin to chatter so I clamp my mouth tight to stop it.

“Come on,” he sighs. He opens his arms wide. “I can keep you warm.” My eyes dart to his face and I give him a suspicious look. Finn sags his shoulders in exasperation.

“My muscles may be worth shit for running. But they’re good for this,” he says. When I don’t move, he lets out a sigh. “Aimee, it’s for survival.”

“Right. Sure. Survival .” My eyes practically roll around my head.

“Fine,” he says flatly. I swear to God he’s flexing his biceps on purpose to lure me into his body. “Just freeze.”

I hesitate for a moment. I rub my arms. My shoulders hike up to my head to protect my neck from the chill. Then, tentatively, I walk into his wall of muscle.

We can totally be friends.

But when Finn’s arm wraps around me, and my face plants against his warm, strong chest, and his hand settles at the small of my back, and he rests his chin gently on the top of my head, I’m second guessing everything. He doesn’t hold me like he’s keeping me warm. He holds me like he’s keeping me. Period. And I don’t know how he does it. Making me believe that he wants me when she still has his heart.

This is fucking torture.

“Have you heard of Galloping Gertie?” he asks into my hair. The words rumble and vibrate in his chest.

I shake my head. Because if I try to talk, I’m afraid what might come out. My brain is swirling with so many thoughts that I don’t know which ones might turn into words if I open my mouth. Thoughts like, why did you do this to me? and why do I still want you ? and fuck me, please?

“That’s the nickname for this bridge,” he explains. “The original version of it, anyway. It was built in the 1940s or something like that. After a couple months of heavy winds, it failed and collapsed right into the water.”

I don’t really know why he’s telling me all this. But I like the sound of his voice. I like when he talks passionately about something. Even if that something is just baseball or this bridge. Hell, I’d enjoy listening to him read the Wikipedia page for grasshoppers.

“It was redesigned a few years later,” he continues, “and then it was hit by a major earthquake. And after that ominous start, well, it’s still here.” I can’t help but notice he reminds me of the bridge, sturdy, and strong, and enduring. “Most recently, they built that second bridge right alongside it.”

I take in the twin bridges, their tall towers, their gracefully sloping tension cables. I note how they’re standing tall together, side by side. Enduring heavy winds, crashing waves and all kinds of temperatures.

“This bridge is goddamn resilient.” Finn’s voice contains a hint of awe. And before I know it, we’re swaying. His arms rocking me side to side. The morning stubble on his neck bristling against my skin. Finn’s gaze flicks down at me before it darts away again. And then the swaying stops.

I want to be resilient. With all my confused, lost, broken heart. I want to be resilient. I want to take life’s punches over and over and still be standing. I want to rise above my past. I want to be so tall that I can see into the future. I want my foundation to be settled so deep into the ground that no angry, rushing tide will be able to wash me away.

Too bad Finn’s mere proximity makes me feel so damn weak.

"Hey, don’t you have a race coming up?” he asks, loosening his squeeze around my torso. I’m surprised he remembered. I told him about it the day he helped me carry boxes into Alicia’s house. And so much has happened since then.

“Yeah, next week. At Mt. St. Helens.”

“Mt. St. Helens?” he asks. I nod.

“That’s far. Who’s driving you?”

I try not to roll my eyes. Because obviously, I’m driving myself. Because who else? And way to rub it in. “Me,” I tell him, trying to sound completely unaffected by the sentiment.

“Helens is far, Aimee. Several hours. Shouldn’t there be someone to drive you home? Especially after you run all those miles.”

“I’m used to it.” I shrug and try to bite back the hint of sorrow creeping up my esophagus. “Running’s a solo sport. That’s the whole reason I started. My best friend, well, she started to have other priorities.” I rest my head against his chest and let myself slump against him. I hate how comfortable I feel with him. “I was getting restless. I needed an activity I could do alone. Something just for me,” I explain. I swallow hard and try to hide the slight tremble in my chin. Finn’s hand is caressing my back now. The friction warms me to my toes.

“I kept hoping she’d see how much I liked it and join me for a race. Or even come hang out and wait for me at the finish line,” I sigh. It comes out more exaggerated than I had intended. “Lots of people have someone waiting at the finish line. I always thought it would be nice. At least once. To have her waiting for me. I don’t even know why I still run. Spending all this time alone on the roads and trails just makes me feel lonely. But here I am. Still doing it.”

“That’s called tenacity,” Finn whispers in my ear. I almost can’t hear the words over the whipping of the wind.

“Being alone and pathetic is tenacity?” I scoff. He really must think I’m stupid.

“Forging on is.” I feel his fingers in my hair now. There’s something almost admiring in his voice. “Not quitting. Adapting. When things get hard.”

“Then what do you call hitting your head against the same wall over and over again? Persistence? Look at that idiot, at least she’s persistent.”

Finn doesn’t respond to that. But it may be because the wind has grown more violent around us. It slaps against my head and forces more strands of my hair loose. My hair whips wildly around my face until I can barely see. And then a large hand appears, parting the curtain of tendrils and smoothing them back down the side of my face. He uses both hands to secure the ends into a ponytail at the nape of my neck with a gentle fist.

The touch is simple, yet so intimate that my breath stops for a moment. The gesture lifts my chin towards his face. And I can’t avoid his direct gaze. He studies me. His eyes bouncing across my face. I resist the urge to lean closer. To take his mouth in mine.

It’s almost a perfect moment. The world bustles around us, but we’re so still. The wind catches our clothes, like open sails on the ocean. Traffic rushes by. Seagulls squawk in the distance. Sea lions bark. The smell of salt permeates the air. But we’re just here. Wrapped in each other. And also trapped. Finn, because he’s thinking of someone who’s no longer here. And me, thinking of someone who is right in front of my face, but couldn’t be farther away.

Is he thinking about her right now? Is he looking at me and seeing her eyes? Her smile? Her face? Am I that forgettable? That someone can use my face as a blank canvas where they can project all the things they really want to see?

The piercing clang of a bike bell knocks us back to attention. And that’s when I see it. The very reason we’re here. I tilt my face and nod to the sky where a stroke of orange is cracking across the horizon. Vibrant and wild. Off in the distance, the familiar outline of Mt. Rainier appears.

“Look. There,” I announce. I watch the orange rays grow bolder until all of Mt. Rainier is bathed in color. I watch the sky change colors, from orange to purple to pink. For several minutes, I watch the sunrise. But the entire time, I feel him watching me .

Why is he watching me?

The cold of the wind finally catches up to me and I feel myself shivering, even within the cocoon of his strong arms.

“Come on, Aimee. Let’s go," Finn says softly. His fingers teasing the sleeve of my shirt. "Before you freeze."

"But that would require me to let go of you,” I whine. “And it's too cold." The words sneak out between chattering teeth.

"On the count of three,” he says solemnly. “We let go of each other and run to land. Ok?" I nod into his chest. And he starts counting. "One. Two." The very corner of his mouth twists up. He raises an eyebrow and pauses. I feel his body tense just before he shouts, “Three!”

At that, we peel back from each other and take off running back towards land.

"Catch me," I screech, pumping my legs as fast as they will go, freeing myself from the chill that’s settled over my body.

When I toss my head back to him, I swear I can see the ghost of a smile on his face.