The Bridge

He didn't go to the bookstore.

He knew where she would be.

He ran into Central Park. The rain was heavy now, soaking him to the bone, ruining his suit. He didn't care.

He ran to the Bow Bridge. The cast-iron bridge that spanned the lake.

It was empty, save for one figure standing in the middle, looking down at the dark water.

She was wearing a yellow raincoat, holding an umbrella that wasn't doing much good. A suitcase sat on the pavement beside her.

Damian slowed to a walk. His chest was heaving.

"Elara," he called out.

She froze. She turned slowly.

Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked at him—wet, disheveled, shivering.

"You're supposed to be at the launch," she said, her voice barely audible over the rain.

"I resigned," Damian said. He took a step closer. "Well, I walked out. Same thing."

"Why?"

Damian didn't answer with words. He closed his eyes and hummed.

He hummed the opening notes of *The Last Waltz*. He hummed the bridge, the part where the saxophone takes the solo, soaring and melancholy.

Elara dropped the umbrella. It tumbled away in the wind.

"You remember," she whispered.

"I remember everything," Damian said. He walked until he was standing right in front of her. "I remember the apartment on 4th Street. I remember the way you burned the toast every morning. I remember that you hated the cold."

He reached out and took her hands. They were freezing.

"And I remember that I promised to find you," Damian said, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry it took me nineteen years. I'm sorry I was scared."

"The fire..." Elara started.

"It's gone," Damian said. "I'm not afraid of the fire anymore. I'm only afraid of a life without you."

Elara let out a sob and threw herself into his arms.

Damian caught her, burying his face in her wet curls. The scent of rain and vanilla was there, stronger than ever. The silence in his head was profound, a deep, abiding peace.

"I'm leaving for college tomorrow," Elara muffled against his shoulder. "I was going to go to Oberlin."

"Okay," Damian said, holding her tight. "Oberlin is nice. I can work from anywhere. Or not work. I think I'm done being a King."

"What will you be?" Elara pulled back to look at him, smiling through her tears.

Damian wiped the rain from her cheek.

"Just a guy," he said. "A guy who loves jazz. And you."

He kissed her.

It wasn't a desperate kiss, or a tragic one. It was a greeting. It was a promise kept.

Around them, the rain fell on New York City, washing away the soot of the past, leaving the world clean and new.

"Hello, Julian," Elara whispered against his lips.

"Hello, my love," Damian answered. "Let's go home."