A faint whirring sound enters the night, and then it's competing with the wind, and then it's louder, and I laugh almost hysterically as he swings his arm around my neck and pulls himself closer, smelling of booze and his zing of cologne that is mixed with him.

"Thank fate for that," Nathaniel breathes as we hear a siren. He catches hold of the railing. Our temples bump lightly and he breathes with exhaustion. His gaze shifts behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. Two ambulance officers are running toward us. The female officer grabs me from behind, as the male officer grabs Nathaniel and drags him over the barrier. Nathaniel's shoes hit the ground for the first time and I wipe at the flood of tears. He braces my arms. "Forgive me."

I'm about to reply when the female officer says, "Alright, that's enough," and drags me from Nathaniel.

"We were talking. That's hardly threatening. You can let her go," he says.

"It's okay." I attempt to move past the female officer, but her arm blocks the way. "I was helping him down from the rail when he slipped and fell."

"But you're the one who called '000', aren't you?" the male officer asks.

I nod. "But he seems alright."

"You were quoted as saying he was suicidal. Have you considered that he was attempting to take you over the edge with him intentionally?"

"No, it wasn't like—"

"That's not what happened," Nathaniel protests. "She was the reason I was getting down from the edge, not over it."

The male officer shares a look with his partner. When she nods and grips my elbow, Nathaniel looks alarmed. My heart kicks into panic mode.

"I'm Greg O'Neil, and this is Rebecca Chan," the male officer says. "You'll need to come to the hospital before we can release you. Can you tell us your name, Sir?"

Nathaniel's hair falls recklessly around his face. "I really don't think that's necessary. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Rebecca says.

He scoffs. "Would you be fine if you just attended your friend's funeral and spent the night sitting on the rail from which he jumped, trying to understand what he was thinking?!"

We all stare at him. Why didn't he confide in me about the funeral?

"Have you taken any drugs or alcohol tonight, Sir?" asks Greg.

"Vodka. Straight up."

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Maybe a third of a bottle? I don't know the exact quantity, as I seemed to have misplaced my measuring cup," he says, patting down his jacket. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

"Now, now. Let's not get hostile."

"This..." Nathaniel splays his fingers across his chest. "This is not hostile. Believe me. You ought to see me in a boardroom."

"What business are you in?"

"Technology and innovation."

"Hang on, you look familiar. Haven't I seen you in a magazine?"

Nathaniel stills, a cringe at the corners of his mouth. His eyes turn shimmery.

Greg moves in front of Nathaniel, while Rebecca shifts to his side. "Now, if you'd like to come for a ride with us..." she says.

"If I agree, she comes with me." Nathaniel nods in my direction.

"It's best if you ride alone. Calm down a bit."

Nathaniel's fist clenches. "I will be calm once you stop separating her from me. All I've wanted to do was talk to her. That's what I was trying to do after you pulled us from the bridge."

"Sure, you wanted to talk," Greg says, patting Nathaniel's shoulder.

"Get your patronizing hands off me. Don't you know who I am? I'm Nathaniel fucking Blake!"

Rebecca gasps.

Greg waves his finger thoughtfully. "You're that billionaire playboy, aren't you? CEO of Blake & Randall Enterprises. And your business partner, Damien Randall, he's the friend you're talking about, right?"

Nathaniel looks rattled by this news, and his gaze darts to mine before he grabs Greg's jacket. Nathaniel never sees Rebecca jab a syringe into his thigh. He stumbles and looks down at his leg, but the syringe is gone and the woman is standing a few steps behind him, arms out, ready to catch him if he falls.

Nathaniel turns his head, searching for me. He stumbles again and his hand drops from Greg's jacket. I sniff back tears as his eyelids grow heavier. Nathaniel's head nods drowsily, then lifts again, as if he's doing everything to fight off the sedative. He blinks at me, his smile bittersweet. "I'm not ready to part with you, angel."

Now I have all three of them looking at me. I smile weakly. Something in my heart is confusing the hell out of me. Nathaniel's tall frame droops. Before I've had the chance to reply, the officers are escorting him into the back of the ambulance and he's strapped onto a stretcher.

Headlights shine over me as a car slows to check out the scene and passes us by. I'd slowed like that when I'd first seen Nathaniel. I'd even considered driving home and not stopping. But now my world has been irrevocably changed. I could never forget him. I feel like I'm losing him again, as if he's about to slip from my life completely.

Rebecca approaches, her voice gentle, "No need to look so guilt-ridden. You've helped him through a very troubling time, and he's obviously taken a shine to you, but remember that you're under no obligation to travel with us." She gets out her pen and notepad. "Before you go, I'll need to get your name and number so the police can contact you for a statement."

I look at the notepad and the pen twitching in her hand. My gaze shifts to Nathaniel, thinking of his pleas to follow. "I'll go with him."

She looks surprised.

I jump into the back of the ambulance. Nathaniel has decided to co-operate, answering Greg's questions about whom to contact. Rebecca shuts the back doors and disappears. The ambulance revs and we are moving, and for the first time I feel as if everything might be alright, that I might get the chance to know this man lying before me.

Nathaniel peers up at the roof, blinks, then sees me out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry about your friend," I whisper, squeezing his hand.

"So am I," he mumbles. His eyes drift closed and open, fixing on mine each time, each time more heartbreaking than before. I lightly stroke the hair back from his face, crossing some personal boundary I probably shouldn't cross, but I don't care. He turns his cheek into my hand and stares up at me—something that my mother could never do when I'd stroked her face that last time. I'm about to start sobbing at any minute. I'm saved by the ambulance's arrival at the hospital—the rear doors slamming open and new medical staff wheeling Nathaniel's stretcher into the Emergency Rooms, me rushing to keep up with him, never letting go of his hand.

* * *

(Chapter continues...)