“What are you doing here, Jo?” he growls.
“Saving you. Thought that was pretty obvious.”
“I don’t want you to save me.”
“Tough.”
His face contorts in rage, and he shoves me away. “Get the fuck out of here!”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Harry move forward, but I hold out my hand to stop him. My eyes never leave Justin. “You know there’s no way in hell that’s happening.”
“Why?” he spits out. “You hate me. I—I lied to you. I almost got you killed, for Christ’s sake! Everything! Everyone I touch, I destroy. Rebecca! Daisy! Lucy! You! I’m toxic, Jo. I can’t,” he says, voice cracking, “I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.” He turns back to the edge, quivering with emotion. I’m losing him.
“If you do this, Alkaline triumphs. This is what he wanted. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Don’t you dare let him win.”
“Jo, I can’t…I can’t…” He’s close to hyperventilating and almost doubles over.
I take a deep breath to calm myself before stepping back over to him. I don’t say anything for a moment, just let him get used to my presence again. “You know, people have asked me, rather rudely, through the years why you and I are friends. They assume it was because you were rich and gorgeous, and I was madly in love with you. I didn’t blame them because if I was them I’d think the same thing.” I shrug. “But actually, I stuck around in spite of that stuff. I hate parties and designer clothes. And you are nice to look at, but I could have done that through magazines. And as for the loving you thing…I hated the fact you didn’t love me back. There were even a few times when I considered cutting all ties because it just hurt too much.” He opens his mouth to respond, but I nod, “I don’t hold that against you. I never did.”
“I really had no idea,” he says. “I am so sorry.”
“That one’s not on you, rich boy. You couldn’t help it anymore than I could. So no, I’m not your friend for anything I could get out of you. And I’m not your friend because of what happened right here twenty years ago. I know without a doubt had we met at the movies or at the park or something, we’d still be friends.” I catch his gaze and for the first time he meets my eyes. “Because in spite of the lies, the whole unrequited love thing, all of it, I know you. I know your heart. I know your soul as well as I know my own.” I take his hand. “Because, you see, that’s what they don’t understand. We’re the same. Same heart, same soul. Two halves of the same whole. And nothing, nothing will ever change that. I know you’re hurting. I know how attractive eternal nothingness is. I do. But I also know you are no coward. You are a fighter. A survivor. A hero. And…a lot of the time that sucks. It’s painful, hard. And not fair. But what is? You are the Champion of Galilee. The righter of wrongs. Defender of the weak. This city needs you. I need you. Because I know as long as I have you, I can survive anything. And if that’s true for me, then it’s true for you. I trust you, and I love you.” I cup his hand to my cheek as I sniffle. “And shame on you if you throw that away.”
He bursts into heart-wracking sobs and falls into my welcoming arms. We cling to each other for dear life, crying on each other’s shoulders like we’ve done a hundred times before, and will continue to do until the day we die. He lets go first, and we wipe each other’s tears off, chuckling.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.” I kiss him chastely on the lips. “Now, let’s get off this fucking bridge.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VILLAINS
Why has my life become all about déjà vu?
Here I am at a gala event, dressed to the nines in a black cocktail dress watching the society set walk past me with looks of pity, and my boyfriend is a no show. I’ve called him twice and no answer. This is getting a little old.
I wait outside the hospital ballroom in the hallway scanning the crowd. Someone is always throwing a charity event for the hospital so they converted a meeting room into a ballroom some years back. I’ve come to this hospital for parties more than as a patient. The usual suspects are here, hopefully with their checkbooks, looking pleased until they see me. They have no idea how to react, uncomfortable being what they settle on. No eye contact, just half smiles before scurrying into the party. Geez, I survive one little supervillain attack and they act like it’s catching. At least most of the bruises and cuts are covered with make-up, otherwise they’d hiss and cover their faces like a vampire confronted by a cross. This is why Harry needs to get his butt here. The only person willing to speak to me is busy with his charity event.