Falcon (Own the Skies Book 3)

by Emma Nichole

  I crack the eggs into the bowl and begin to whisk. The click-clack of the metal hitting the sides of the glass almost creates a beat and suddenly, it morphs into the sound of skin slapping skin in a heated bout of fucking.

  Jesus. She’s really getting to me.

  “So who taught you to make this?” I hear her ask from beside me.

  Yes. Talk about family. Good. It’ll keep me from getting a hard-on in the French toast batter.

  “Well,” I add a dash of vanilla and stir it in, “my mom always let me help when she’d make it. I guess I just committed it to memory. As far as adding the chocolate chips, that’s all Nora.”

  “She seems to adore you, you know? She talks about you a lot.”

  “I hope so, the adore part at least. She was a pain in my ass growing up, but I didn’t want her to suffer. Kids in the system hardly ever pan out. It’s rough out there, so I took the hits—literally and figuratively—so she could have the best life I could manage. In the four years before I turned eighteen, we were lucky enough to end up in the same foster homes. I don’t know how we would have done it otherwise.”

  “That must have been hard.” I hear her pulling the chocolate chips from the cabinet and placing them by the bowl.

  “It wasn’t easy. That’s for sure, but it’s what I had to do.” My mind slips back to all the nights I went hungry so Nora could have dinner. The times I would take an extra fight or two so she could go on a field trip, or go have pizza with her friends. “I would hide any money I made from fights in a shoebox under my bed. I saved and saved and saved until I turned eighteen and could take her away from it all.”

  I would have done anything for her.

  I would have died for her, if that’s what it took to keep her on the straight and narrow.

  And hell, I almost have a time or two.

  “Okay, enough of the sad stuff. Let’s focus on the chocolate,” she says, with a nudge to my shoulder. She must have sensed the darkness shifting over my mood, and she wasn’t going to let that come between her and chocolate.

  “All right, so, you take each piece of bread and you jam chocolate chips into it… Like this.” I press four or five chocolate chips into the soft bread. “As many as you want, and then I’ll dip it in the batter and fry it up.”

  “This sounds so decadent.”

  “It’s a staple in the Masen home.”

  Time passes with ease when I’m with her. We go through the motions of making the French toast, I help her fry it in the pan, she burns it a little, which she isn’t happy about, but it’s fine because her pouty lip is all too ripe for kisses.

  .

  We sat at her kitchen table and enjoyed breakfast together, slowly savoring every sweet morsel. I took pride in watching her eyes roll back in her head from pure, food driven pleasure. She swirled each bite on her plate to make sure she didn’t lose any of the flavor before slipping the fork between her lips and moaning in pleasure.

  Note to self: She loves syrup.

  Faith

  “You cooked. At least allow me to clean up,” I tell him, watching him move around my kitchen, cleaning up our breakfast mess.

  “That’s not how I do things, baby. You perch your ass right there on that counter and let me stare at you while I finish these dishes.”

  “That, sir, is not how I do things. I’m a modern woman and I want to split the work equally. You wash, I’ll dry.”

  “Fair enough.” He gives in and steps over just a bit to give me room.

  “Mind if I put on some music?” I ask, pulling out my phone.

  “Not at all.”

  “Any preferences?” I slide my thumb down the screen, scrolling through my playlists.

  “Anything you like will be perfect.”

  A smile spreads over my lips and the devil on my shoulder tells me to go for it.

  I open up the music app and search for just the song I want before hitting play. There’s a moment of silence before the all too familiar beat of “The Macarena” seeps from my Bluetooth speakers.

  “What. The. Hell?” he says with a laugh. “Really?”

  “Come on, Mr. Big Tough Falcon.” I tug on the waistband of his pants to make him turn toward me. “Let’s dance. I know you know the moves.”

  I begin to move, doing the all too popular dance to the beat, wiggling my ass a little to tempt him.

  “I’m not doing the Macarena,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Oh yes, you are.”

  I spin around, facing away from him, continuing to do the little dance, but I make sure to put a little more sexy in it…if that’s even a thing.

  “You’re making a compelling argument, but I’m rather enjoying watching.”

  I face him once again and grab his wrists, pulling him closer. “Dance with me.”

  “You’re relentless.” He loosens up and lets me move him closer.

  “Yep. I am.”

  With a sigh and a laugh, he begins to dance, and it is, without a doubt, one of the dorkiest things I’ve ever seen a man do. Ever.

  But I love it. It’s so out of character and silly. His smile is infectious and his laugh, even more so. We go through the motions of the dance until the song rolls to a close, and my playlist continues on, playing a Secondhand Serenade tune next.

  I move to grab my phone off the counter to press stop, but a strong hand curls around my wrist, stopping me.

  “Let it play,” he says. His voice is nearly a whisper and I can feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck. My hair stands on end and goosebumps overtake my flesh.

  I turn slowly until we are face-to-face and he pulls both of my arms up to wrap around his neck and he glides his hands down to my shoulders then even lower to my waist, letting one curl behind my lower back.

  And we begin to dance.

  The band croons on around us about being vulnerable, and Falcon presses his lips to my ear and sings softly to me. I don’t even know if he’s aware I can hear him, it’s so faint.

  It’s a slow, romantic beat with only a guitar before the other instruments build in, creating an intense melodic experience, and coupled with this incredible man cradling me so close, singing to me in my ear, I’m putty melting into him.

  I was never one to believe in feeling this way about someone so soon, but I can already tell I’m stuck on him, and it’s going to be hard to let him go.

  The lyrics capture this moment perfectly. I am vulnerable. We are vulnerable together. And because we are together in our vulnerability, I know I am safe. I’m okay.

  “You’re shaking,” he whispers.

  “I’m overwhelmed,” I tell him, in a moment of honesty.

  He brings his hands up to cup my face and glides his thumbs across my lips as the song builds into its bridge, and it makes my heart flutter and race even faster.

  “So am I,” he says, before closing his mouth over mine in the softest, most tender kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life.

  It doesn’t build. It doesn’t morph into anything overtly sexual. It’s just the most perfect simple kiss.

  I can feel his hands rising to cup my face gently, even though they are some of the strongest I’ve ever encountered in my life.

  He pulls back just a bit and his eyes search mine. He doesn’t say a thing, not at first. He looks at me like he’s reading every line, every freckle on my skin, and every pore in my face. He’s trying to read my story on my face and in my eyes; desperately searching for the answer to a question he has yet to ask, until he does.

  “How could anyone hurt you?” His voice is low and raspy.

  “I’ve learned not to ask myself that question, Falcon. It just leads to sadness and me looking for my flaws.”

  “Flaws? Baby, you’re the closest thing to perfection I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. You didn’t do anything to cause what happened to you. You are a fighter and you’re living, hell, you’re thriving. I know we’ve only known each other for a short time
, but I’m proud of you.”

  My bottom lip trembles. His words are soothing a deep-seated insecurity that has resided in my soul since that night in college.

  “You’re crying,” he says, using his thumb to wipe a tear I didn’t even know I was shedding from my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry.” I shake my head to pull away, to hide, but he doesn’t let me.

  “Don’t hide. Not from me.”

  “It’s hard to talk about this. I try not to.”

  “I’m sorry. I just looked at you and I couldn’t fathom anyone hurting you. It’s something I can’t even consider.”

  I simply shrug my shoulders. “If I can help it, no one will ever again.”

  “You can help it and so can I. Before I leave this city, we will make sure you are one hell of a badass little pixie who no one would dare cross.” He places a kiss to my forehead, and I smile to hide the pit his words created in my stomach.

  When he leaves…

  In this moment, it slams into me like a lightning bolt.

  I don’t want that.

  I don’t want him to go.

  Chapter 13

  Falcon

  “Well, well, well. The plot thickens,” my sister says from her perch on her front porch, when she spies me leaving Faith’s house after breakfast.

  “You’re like a nosy old lady. Don’t you have better things to do?” I trudge up the front steps with my hands in my pockets.

  “I’m doing one of my favorite things, actually. I’m making sure my big brother doesn’t do anything stupid while he’s in town.” She sips her coffee loudly with that I’m on to you gaze.

  “Define stupid.” I lean my shoulder against the wall.

  “Leading Faith on and breaking her heart before you leave. I know how you operate, Marco. You are a wonderful human, but you fly through women like a competitive eater flies through…I don’t know…hot dogs or something.” She flings her hand around for effect.

  “Yeah, not exactly many hot dogs used in my time with women, but I see where you’re going with that.”

  “Shut up, you know what I’m saying.”

  “I do and I understand, but for this, for whatever it is that is happening with Faith, I need you to trust me, okay?” I say to her, as I place my hand on my chest. “I am not an asshole. You know this. I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “Then what exactly are you doing, Marco?”

  “Enjoying getting to know her. Spending time with her. Doing what feels right and what we both consent to doing. That’s all anyone can ask for, right?”

  She releases a heavy sigh and settles back in her seat. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous hovering like that.”

  I shake my head and push off the wall then plop down in the chair next to her.

  “I feel like you have one hundred things to say, just say them now so we can avoid the word vomit that will come within the next two hours after you’ve had time to stew.”

  She always does this. She’ll hold something in until she absolutely explodes with a thousand accusations and questions.

  “I don’t word vomit.”

  “Do we need to recount the great word vomit escapades of your senior year?” I smirk as her eyes go wide.

  “No. We will never speak of that again, ever, and if you mention it again, I’ll junk punch you so hard.”

  I laugh loudly and lace my fingers behind my head, relaxing even farther back. “Then spit it out.”

  She places her mug of coffee on the small table between the chairs and pulls her leg up so she can shift completely around to face me. “I want to talk about your injury.”

  “That’s a strong word.”

  “No, it’s an appropriate word. Marco, I want to know exactly what the doctor’s are saying. I’d love to read your chart, but apparently you deem that a step too far and I guess calling and threatening someone’s life for it would violate laws so…tell me.”

  “Nor.”

  She interrupts me instantly, “Don’t feed me the bullshit again, Marco. I deserve answers, don’t I? You’re my big brother and I need to know if you are going to be okay.”

  She’s right. I know she is. But?

  “The long and short of it is: I’m not ready to admit the next three fights will likely be my last. My body isn’t taking the stress well. Too many concussions. Too many ligament tears. Too many broken bones and too much trauma over the years. They are trying to tell me I need to stop before it gets to the point where something bad could come from continued fighting.”

  “And you’ve been having migraines again?” She tilts her head, trying her best to keep it stoic and professional, even as my sister, so she can absorb the facts.

  “Significantly more than normal, yes.”

  “Have you been doing anything for that? Medication? Acupuncture? Massages? Anything?”

  “You know I don’t want meds, Nora. Joe keeps suggesting acupuncture, but the thought of that is insane to me.”

  “As a medical professional, I’m supposed to fully put one-hundred-percent faith in Western medicine, and I do, obviously, but I also think looking into Eastern medicine couldn’t hurt. Try acupuncture. What do you have to lose?”

  I weigh her words carefully. Maybe acupuncture would work. I know she’d rather I not fight again at all. My sister loves me and always wants nothing but the best for me. I know that, but I can’t make her understand that this is bigger than migraines and possible health concerns down the line. This is my career. The only thing I’ve ever known.

  This is me.

  Who am I if Falcon is no more?

  I’ll tell you who.

  I’m an orphan who barely finished high school, didn’t attend a single second of college, and knows jack shit about anything except fighting.

  That’s exactly what I can lose if nothing works to fix this.

  Myself.

  “I told you I’ll make some calls, and I will…after the last three fights.”

  “Christ Almighty, Marco! Why are you so stubborn? What do I have to do to make you understand that these fights could severely harm you? They aren’t worth it anymore. Nothing is worth your safety.”

  “Nora… Braxton is my final fight.”

  There is a wave of silence that passes between us.

  “I see.”

  “And after everything that happened, I just need to do this.”

  “You’re risking your safety and life to beat up an asshole who will get his one day? Karma is a real thing, Marco. Braxton is a piece of shit asshole and he can’t avoid it forever. We only know about the things he’s done and said to us. Lord knows what else he’s done in his life.”

  “You know I can’t walk away from that fight.”

  “You went to jail over fighting him outside of the cage. Why do you need to prove anything to him or anyone else?”

  “Because of the things he said to you. The things he’s said to me. He doesn’t get to pop off at the mouth and get away with it. I can’t and won’t get arrested over him again, but I will embarrass him in the Octagon. That’s the last thing I’m saying about it.”

  “Marco…”

  I cut her off, “Do you think I will lose? Do you honestly think I’m in danger fighting him?”

  “You’re in danger fighting anyone, but because of the history, because of who this asshole is, he will fight harder. He will fight dirty. I just…I can’t lose you.” She looks down at her hands folded in her lap.

  I lean over and take her hand in mine.

  “Nor, look at me.”

  She does and I can see the tears in her eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to cry.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m too stubborn for that. I’ll outlive everyone just to say I did.” I squeeze her hand and hope she laughs. She doesn’t. “I want to finish my slated schedule, and then we can discuss retirement, okay?”

  “Promise me you’ll retire.”

  Can I do that? Can I promise her something I’m not even sure of? What if somethi
ng changes? What if another fight pops up, or I am not able to walk away? What if the unknown and the fear of the unknown become too much and I’m too scared to actually step away.

  “I can’t do that, little sister, because I can’t predict the future, and anything can happen. What I can say is, we will discuss it.”

  She yanks her hand out of mine and stands up. “That’s not good enough. I live every day with wondering if my fiancé will come home, and now I have to do the same with my brother? I don’t accept that. I can’t.”

  “From what the doctors are saying, this isn’t a right now scenario. If it starts to affect me, it’ll be later in life.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re a smart man. Do you know what multiple concussions can do to a person? You’re a football fan, so I know you’ve heard of CTE. Do you want to have memory loss? Do you want to live with your constant migraines so bad that you can’t even function? Some reports show that repeated concussions can cause altered personalities and intense anger, sometimes even making people act in ways they never would before. Is that what you want for your life? Is a fight worth it?”

  She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. She storms off into the house and leaves me alone on the front porch.

  Faith

  It’s impossible to deny how close my house is to Case and Nora’s house. It’s also impossible to deny I didn’t hear that Falcon and Nora were having a very heated conversation on the front porch.

  I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t try to eavesdrop. I couldn’t make out all of it, but I know she’s scared for him.

  I step out onto my front porch about thirty minutes after the voices have stopped, dressed in leggings and a tank top to go grocery shopping, and I see Falcon is still sitting on the porch alone.

  He looks up when he hears my front door close, and a small smile plays on his lips. I pull my crossbody bag on and walk over toward him.

  “You okay over here?” I ask, standing at the bottom of the steps.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”