He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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They hurtled towards the bridge.
Blood thundered in his veins. Lawson couldn't recall the last time they'd run together, all four Wilder Boys, tangled together like yarn. Their footsteps knew each other; when one boy stumbled, another grabbed him. When one boy sped up, the others followed. It was an intricate dance. A play they'd performed since childhood.
The bridge came into sight, materializing like some great animal breaching the surface of the ocean. Fog obscured the structure, making it impossible to tell if someone was standing on it. Lawson slowed.
Fear — his old, troublesome companion — curled in his chest.
There was Paige, tumbling off the edge. Paige, choking on water. Sweat beaded his palms, and he rubbed them on his trousers. Griffin clasped his shoulder.
"Wait here," he said.
Lawson held his gaze. "Take care of her."
"I will."
Griffin jogged towards the bridge, the others close behind.
Lawson leaned against the bark of a tree, half-closing his eyes. He flexed his hands. His useless hands, he thought bitterly, staring down at them. They were calloused and capable, worn from years of use; but even they couldn't guide him on to the bridge.
The fog parted.
Lawson looked up.
He saw her all at once; she was standing in the center of the bridge. There was a moment — one perfect moment, balanced on a knife's edge — when their eyes met. Harper was looking in his direction, and even though Lawson knew it was impossible in the pitch black, he could have sworn that she saw him, too.
Then the stone gave way.
Harper screamed. The sound ripped through the night, startling several birds from the trees. Lawson felt it in his chest, felt it as if the scream had been his own. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he was running.
"Harper!"
He hurtled for the bridge. A small knot had gathered at the base. The Wilder Boys. They'd stopped, Lawson thought frantically — why had they stopped? He shot past them, and Alisdair made a grab for his sleeve.
"Lawson, don't," he barked. "It won't hold!"
Lawson shook free.
Bits of stone shook loose beneath him. Harper was falling, her brown eyes wide with surprise, her slender neck arched towards the sky. Her sunflower skirts had come up around her, blooming like spring petals.
Lawson sprang forward.
He collapsed on his stomach, his hand flying out. His fingers caught something. Her shoulder? Her wrist? Harper gave a hoarse cry of pain, and Lawson dug in deeper, every muscle straining with the effort of holding still.
