Falling Over (Falling In Series Book 3)

by Andrea Hopkins

  “I Feel It Coming” by The Weeknd

  Cady

  Oh my goddess, I feel like death. Twice over. Like I was just run over by a semi, miraculously revived, but then turned into a fucking zombie. And not like one of those somewhat pretty zombies that are still dangerous as fuck but look like they just stepped off the runway in Milan. No, I’m talking about the ruthless, crumbling, and nightmare-inducing zombies from that one show everyone loved when I was a kid. I’ll get to it one day…on my TV bucket list.

  Ugh. I’m never drinking again.

  Fucking Luce.

  I lay in bed and stare—or more like squint at my ceiling that is covered in red and black polka dots…although dots aren’t exactly how I would describe the atrocious paint job staring back at me. A small smile teases my lips as I remember how cocky Ben was when I asked him to help me. “Polka dots? Piece of cake, Bug!” he’d said. An hour and about twenty f-bombs later, he had made ten dripping and very distorted circles. His face was covered in droplets of paint, and he wore an incredibly adorable and frustrated expression. He was concentrating so hard, and I tried not to laugh, I really did, but the giggles escaped anyway.

  My tired eyes move to the wall on my left where a huge splatter of black paint remains after he tried to throw the sponge at me. I had ducked, it hit the wall, and I could never bring myself to cover it. That was three years ago. To this day, anytime he’s in my room—which isn’t very often these days—his eyes automatically go to that spot as a wide, heart-achingly beautiful smiles spreads across his face. Always.

  It never ceases to simultaneously warm my heart…and crack it.

  Ben has become a pro at that.

  Last night was no exception.

  Fuck. Last night… last night was everything I ever wanted, and everything I always feared.

  For a few, all too brief moments, Ben let go—something he does not do often, unless he’s smoking weed. But even then, he’s always still so…serious. Stuck in his head and stubborn to no end. But I had him. Last night, I had him. Fisting my hair and grinding against my needy and inexperienced self as his mouth hungrily mauled mine.

  Best. Moment. Ever.

  But of course, in true Ben-like fashion, when things got too hot, too close, too real, he pulled back, retreated from the heat, dousing any hope I had in him…in us. Whatever us is.

  But I have myself to blame for that. I knew. I know.

  I know.

  I cautiously turn my head away from the wall and glance at the clock, groaning when I see the time. For half a second, I contemplate calling in sick for my shift at the animal shelter downtown, but then I think of my many fur-friends who are in dire need of hugs…and yeah, I could also go for a hug or two. Maybe even a sloppy kiss.

  I shoot my arm out and fumble around my nightstand for my phone, but come up empty.

  And then I remember…shit.

  Luce. She wouldn’t let me wear my hideous messenger bag (her words, not mine) so once we got to the party, she made me hide it in Tucker’s (host of the stupid house party) closest. And as wasted as she was last night—I highly doubt she remembered to grab it. Fuck my life.

  Wincing, with deep breaths and many muttered “fucks,” I manage to roll out of bed and literally crawl to the bathroom I share with Dyl.

  I reach for the counter and pull myself up, immediately recoiling at the mess that is my reflection. Puffy raccoon eyes and hair that resembles a bird’s nest that was just blown over by a windstorm. Yikes.

  “Don’t you look beautiful this morning,” Dylan says to my left, looking slightly worn out but still impeccably handsome. I don’t understand how he manages to do that. I mean sure, the dude takes better care of his skin than I do mine, but still. We share the same damn genes! We’re twins, for fuck’s sake! Give me some of that morning glow, damn it!

  I flip him off, glaring as he chuckles at me. I run my tongue along the days’-worth of plaque coated on my teeth before snatching my toothbrush from Dylan’s outstretched hand.

  “How are you feeling, Cadybug?” Dyl asks, just a notch below screaming. My whole damn body winces as I cover my ears.

  “Motherfucker! Keep it down, asshole!”

  “Well, you’re just shitting rainbows this morning, aren’t you?”

  “I seriously hate you.” I grumble around a mouthful of toothpaste.

  “Pssh, you love me.”

  That earns him another finger.

  “Why are you up this early, anyway?” I ask, spitting the last remnants of paste into the sink, sighing in relief when my mouth no longer feels like I ate a handful of chalk last night. Minty effing fresh.

  “Practice.”

  I roll my eyes. Of course, he’s going to practice. The dude is never not practicing.

  “Well, I call dibs on the shower.”

  “Have at it. You need it more than I do. Seriously, have you seen your hair? How the hell does that even happen? Are there birds in there?” Dylan barks out a laugh, ducking as I chuck my toothbrush at him. “You always did suck at baseball.”

  “Shut. Up.”

  “I’ll catch ya later, yeah? And maybe you can give me the deets on what I walked into last night?”

  “Ben didn’t tell you?” I ask, surprised.

  “I haven’t seen him since I got you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Cady…shit.” Dylan grimaces and takes a step toward me, but I shoot my hand out and shake my head.

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “It doesn’t seem fine.”

  “It’s fine, Dyl. All right? It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “For what it’s worth—”

  “I need to shower.” I cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever he was about to say, knowing it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. He nods solemnly, wanting to counter but in the end, turns to leave. I sigh, calling out for him before he leaves, looking down at my feet and chewing my bottom lip nervously as he turns back to me. “Thank you, though, for getting me last night. I was kind of a train wreck.”

  “No need for thanks. I’m always here for you, Bug. You know that.”

  I nod silently and he winks before retreating back to his room.

  I stare at the door for a few seconds too long, trying but failing miserably not to think about where Ben is or who he’s with. I know it’s none of my business. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m nothing but his quasi step-sister…whose mouth was thoroughly owned by his, turning me into a melting and coiling ball of need, undoubtedly ruining my lips for anyone else…anyone but him.

  Fuck.

  I hate him.

  And yet, I love him so goddamn much.

  I’m so screwed.

  I’m in and out of the shower within five minutes, although I honestly could’ve stayed under that cascading spray of warm goodness for hours. It felt so good and made me feel almost human again. I allow my honey brown curls to air dry and as usual forgo makeup, settling for a little moisturizer before throwing on a white sundress and my signature red Chucks. I’m quietly walking down the stairs, careful not to wake the rest of the house because I know my mom has been working like a madwoman trying to finish her latest book, and since Jake is adorably, irrevocably, head-over-sneakers in love with her, he won’t go to sleep until she does. So, they definitely don’t need to be woken up by my stupid, hungover ass.

  I curse the damn coffee maker for taking its sweet-ass time brewing before I’m spilling half of the contents on the counter instead of into my to-go cup, popping a few ibuprofen, and miraculously out the door ahead of schedule.

  The drive over to Tucker’s house is daunting, to say the least. I don’t know why, but with each mile that passes, my hands grow damp against the wheel a little more and there is a knot in my stomach, heavy and foreboding. I try to shake it off, but it sticks to my skin like glue. I almost turn around and say ‘fuck it.’ I’ll get my bag later, or have Tuck drop it off. But instead, I keep driving, ignoring all the warning signs. I keep driving until I’m parkin
g next to a slew of cars still in the driveway, and countless cans of beer littered on the lawn. Thanks for helping with pollution, assholes.

  I kill the engine and hop out before I change my mind.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I don’t even bother to knock because I know there is no chance in hell anyone would answer. Thankfully for me, no one thought to lock the door.

  Once I’m in the foyer, my eyes widen in shock. There is a sea of passed out bodies strewn across the room in various positions on the furniture. What was the dance floor last night has now morphed into a drunken campsite.

  I’m so never drinking again.

  With another disgusted shake of the head, I anxiously make my way upstairs. I should have turned back around. The ice-cold chill that runs up my spine in a prickling prophecy should have been enough of a warning. But I’ve never been the best listener.

  When I open the door to Tuck’s room, I go straight to the closet without looking anywhere but at my destination. The barn-style doors are slightly ajar and once I quietly pry them open, I spot my bag instantly on the floor in the corner next to the biggest bong I have ever seen in my life. I crouch down and retrieve it, quickly sifting through the contents, making sure everything is still there. Satisfied with my findings, I stand up and swivel on my feet, jumping at least six inches off the ground, cracking my head on the dark cherry wood.

  “Shit!” I curse in pain and absolute shock.

  “Cady?” That voice. That stupid, fucking sexy voice. My eyes meet a pair of familiar green ones and I just stare, bound to my spot, clutching the back of my throbbing head as my mind slowly starts to process what I am in fact seeing.

  Ben.

  He looks beautiful, as always. A little groggy, but he still manages to make my fatuous heart beat double-time, thundering so loud inside my chest I know for a fact he can hear it. How could he not? It’s all I can hear—the constant, frenetic thump pulsing through my eardrums.

  He’s bare-chested, with only a thin top sheet covering his lower half. In a stupid moment of weakness, my eyes drop to his insanely sculpted torso, treacherously moving down his taut olive skin, tracking the fine trail of hair all the way down from his navel to the top of the ugly plaid sheet hiding his undoubtedly large package—I’ve seen his bulge many a time before; impressive would be an understatement.

  My breath catches in my throat and my mouth goes desert-dry as I will my eyes to meet his again. A small smirk graces his sleepy face, and I know my warm skin flushes a crimson red at being caught staring. Deep, soulful yet confused green eyes search mine for something, but I don’t know what. That’s when he looks behind him and my eyes follow, connecting with a sleeping and very naked Lucy.

  Luce.

  My Luce.

  My best friend. My only friend that isn’t blood related. Luce.

  Ben’s eyes snap back to mine, looking wild and panicked. He looks terrified and in complete and utter disbelief for a few seconds…a few seconds that seem more like minutes, or even hours. A few seconds in which I can no longer breathe. I shake my head back and forth. No, no he wouldn’t do that. This is a simple misunderstanding. Ben would never…

  And then I see it. It’s like a switch flipped on inside his head. The memories of what happened last night begin to rapidly torrent through his psyche, landing on the very last one. His face pales and twists as if he’s in pain—a pain I feel deep inside my chest. My palm digs into the skin protecting my heart as I try to dull the sharp stabbing permeating the failing organ.

  “No.” The word leaves my lips without intent. My voice is barely above a whisper.

  “Cady. I don’t—I’m so… Fuck!” He sits up, yanking the sheet off Lucy to tie around his waist. My eyes fly to her now fully exposed form, naked as the day she was born. I try to look away, even as the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. I try damn hard to tear my eyes away, but I just can’t.

  “Cady, look at me. Cady. Breathe, Bug. Cady!” Ben’s raised voice breaks me away from the trance and I realize he’s right next to me, his hands gripping my arms, singeing my skin underneath his touch. I yank my arms out of his grasp and take two steps back. His shoulders drop, as if my gesture hurt him.

  Good.

  I hope it fucking kills.

  “Cady,” he pleads my name again and suddenly I can’t take the sound of his voice anymore. What used to send tingles of desire down every inch of my body now sounds like nails on a chalkboard, grating on my nerves. I cringe in repulsion when he calls out to me again, taking a step towards me.

  “Stop!” I cover my ears and yell. My voice is unrecognizable—raw and rich in agony.

  Ben halts his progress, staring at me with sad, concerned eyes. But what does me in, what makes me completely lose it, is the guilt. The distinct look of guilt assails him, coating his entire body like a new layer of skin.

  He fucked her.

  He fucked Luce.

  Right after he kissed me, he fucked my best friend.

  The confirmed realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and the sob I have felt stirring inside, just biding its time to be released, hurls out of my mouth just as my knees give out, my body folding in on itself. But before I hit the floor, strong arms pull me into a broad chest, the familiar scent of summer rain saturates my nostrils, and I allow myself five seconds. Five seconds to feel the comforting heat of his bare skin against mine.

  Five seconds to wrap my own arms around him as he rests his chin on the top of my head, whispering his apologies into my curls, over and over like a broken record.

  Five seconds to remember just how much this hurts, the penetrating anguish of his carelessness, the stinging betrayal and the sobering realization that this will be the last moment I will ever be in his arms again.

  Five seconds to let the hollow ache take hold and latch on without fail.

  Five seconds to say goodbye.

  And then I shove Ben off me and run the hell away, leaving my bag and my splintered heart at his feet.

  Three

  Songs to listen to:

  “Let You Down” by NF

  “Nothing Can Change This Love” by Otis Redding

  “Stay (feat. Mikky Ekko) by Rihanna

  “Cherry Hill” by Russ

  Ben

  “Cady!” I scream at the beautiful blur of white hightailing it as far and as fast away from me as possible. I try to chase after her, but my feet get caught in the damn sheet. Once I’m free, I realize I’m buck-ass naked. “Shit!” I start to scour the room for my pants but holy goddess, does Tuck ever effing clean? I can’t find anything in this goddamned room!

  “What is all the fucking noise about?” Lucy, the treacherous leech, groans groggily from the bed. I turn to her with pure hate in my eyes.

  “The fucking noise is your best friend finding us in bed together!”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine. Now, come back to bed. I’m ready for round two.”

  This bitch.

  “Are you effing kidding me right now? You’re the shittiest person I have ever known—”

  “Like you’re any better? You just fucked—thoroughly, I might add—the best friend of the only girl you have ever loved. If anyone’s shitty, Ben, it’s you.” Lucy throws my issues back in my face before rolling her eyes and turning her back to me, most likely falling right back to sleep. I resume my search while cursing Tuck’s inconvenient uncleanliness, Luce and her shady but dead-on insight, tequila, and fucking pants. Eff you, Levi’s.

  “They’re behind the door.” I hear mumbled from the bed.

  I walk over to the door and sure enough, my mother-effing pants lie in a heap on the floor, along with the rest of my clothes.

  “Goddamn it Luce, you couldn’t have told me this ten effing minutes ago?”

  “Nope. I’m a shitty-ass person, remember?”

  “If I ever see you again, it will be too soon.” I seethe, shoving my legs forcefully into my jeans, only managing to stumble twice. I slip on my shirt, inwar
dly say ‘fuck it’ to my shoes and grab the worse for wear bag Cady left in her effort to get as far away from me as humanly possible. And thanks to my goddamn pants and mother-effing Luce, she has about a fifteen-minute head start.

  Fuck! She can be anywhere. Literally fucking anywhere. And yes, this situation calls for many fucking f-bombs, so get used to it.

  “And stay the fuck away from Cady. She deserves better.” I bark out with one foot out of the door, leaving without waiting for a response.

  I hear one anyway.

  “I could say the same to you, asshole. And thanks for the fuck!” Luce calls out to me as I’m midway down the stairs. The truth of her statement hits me like an uppercut to the heart, knocking the wind out of me so ruthlessly I have to lean against the railing for a minute to catch my breath.

  I fucked Lucy.

  How the hell did I let that happen? I don’t even like the damn girl.

  This is why I don’t drink. Strictly weed from now on.

  Fuck, I’ll stew in a vat of self-loathing later, right now I have to go find this girl—the greatest fucking girl I will ever meet and somehow convince her I’m not the asshole she or I think I am…that I’m worthy of a second chance…that I’m worthy of her.

  If only I could believe it myself.

  I’m a fucking mess.

  I take a few deep breaths—in through the nose, out the mouth—and gather my sorry-ass self just enough to get out of this godforsaken house and head towards my car before realizing I don’t have my fucking car. I rode here with some of the other dudes from my team, leaving my car at fucking Taylor’s.

  Dammit, you’re a shady-ass bitch, Karma.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  I allow myself three seconds to wallow in this bullshit before running back into Tuck’s house in search of the key bucket—if you don’t know what a key bucket it is, it’s exactly what it sounds like, a bucket filled with everyone’s keys who didn’t have a DD. Thankfully, it only takes me five minutes to find it in the kitchen pantry, nestled between organic dog food and a Costco-sized package of paper towels.

  I sift through at least thirty sets of keys before I find Taylor’s. He’s gonna be royally pissed, but it’s nothing a little weed and/or a thrown game of NBA 2k can’t fix. I palm the keys and hightail it out of the house before anyone wakes up.