Catch Me When I Fall
A.L. Jackson
Contents
Also by A.L. Jackson
Prologue
1. Royce
2. Emily
3. Royce
4. Emily
5. Emily
6. Royce
7. Emily
8. Royce
9. Emily
10. Royce
11. Emily
12. Royce
13. Emily
14. Emily
15. Royce
16. Emily
17. Royce
18. Emily
19. Royce
20. Royce
21. Emily
22. Royce
23. Emily
24. Royce
25. Emily
26. Royce
27. Emily
28. Royce
29. Emily
30. Royce
31. Emily
32. Royce
33. Royce
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by A.L. Jackson
Kiss the Stars Sneak Peek
Prologue
1. Mia
2. Mia
Copyright © 2020 A.L. Jackson Books Inc.
First Edition
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the publisher. Please protect this art form by not pirating.
A.L. Jackson
www.aljacksonauthor.com
Cover Design by LJ Designs
Editing by Susan Staudinger
Proofreading by Julia, The Romance Bibliophile
Formatting by Mesquite Business Services
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Print ISBN: 978-1-946420-46-6
eBook ISBN: 978-1-946420-45-9
Also by A.L. Jackson
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Falling Stars
Kiss the Stars
Catch Me When I Fall
Falling into You, Coming Late Summer 2020
Beneath the Stars, Coming Early 2021
Confessions of the Heart
More of You
All of Me
Pieces of Us
Fight for Me Series
Show Me the Way
Follow Me Back
Lead Me Home
Hold on to Hope
Bleeding Stars Series
A Stone in the Sea
Drowning to Breathe
Where Lightning Strikes
Wait
Stay
Stand
The Regret Series
Lost to You
Take This Regret
If Forever Comes
The Closer to You Series
Come to Me Quietly
Come to Me Softly
Come to Me Recklessly
Stand-Alone Novels
Pulled
When We Collide
Hollywood Chronicles
A collaboration with USA Today Bestselling Author, Rebecca Shea
One Wild Night
One Wild Ride
Prologue
Royce
Red and blue lights whirled through the deepest night, reflecting against the heavy clouds that hugged the city in a hazy glow.
I raced down the dank alley, my footsteps pounding through the black puddles and dirt and debris. Maybe if I ran hard enough, I might be able to escape.
Jagged panting rose into the dense air, aggression and fear and hatred a pulsing ache in my arteries.
Thunder rumbled, a dark, ominous warning that twisted through the heavens, and I lifted my face to the tiny droplets of rain that began to pelt from the sky, burning cold against my heated skin.
What had I done?
I pushed harder, desperation seeping all the way to my bones as the sound of sirens grew louder.
Agony clutched my spirit, time slipping as I darted through a tunnel of hopelessness that I knew led to a dead end.
I skidded out of the alleyway and hit the sidewalk.
My ribs were gripped in a searing blaze of pain from the blows I’d sustained.
I sucked for breath. For relief.
It didn’t matter. It had been worth it. There’d been nothing that could have stopped me from seeking this revenge.
The taste of vengeance still danced on my tongue.
Violence lighting a path through my veins.
Whirling lights closed in from behind, and another cruiser came at me from ahead. Blocking me in. Nothing left to give, I dropped to my knees in the middle of the street.
I tipped my head up to the rain that began to pound harder, and I roared.
Roared in surrender and anguish.
But with it was a shout of victory.
Blood dripped from my mangled, torn knuckles like evidence signed on the pavement.
I had no place to go.
No place to escape.
I’d already been convicted.
The reason didn’t count.
None of it mattered, anyway, because I’d do it all over again.
A thousand times.
Give up everything like an offering.
Condemning myself was the one sacrifice I could make.
One
Royce
Present Day
I crossed an ankle over my knee where I sat in the high-backed leather chair situated on the far wall of the office, focusing on readjusting the cuffs of my button-up rather than the rage that blistered across my skin.
Tension radiated through the massive room that was as pretentious as an eighty-dollar bottle of water, all carved wood and original first editions and the pungent stench of arrogance and BS.
I angled my head at the man who sat on his pompous throne on the opposite side of the desk.
He wore a suit and a tie, as per usual, hair perfectly styled and parted to the side, though his stomach was beginning to paunch, like it was trying to keep up with the pride that overtook his conscience.
Karl Fitzgerald.
Owner of Mylton Records.
Prick extraordinaire.
My piece-of-shit stepfather.
Yeah, my mother hadn’t had hearts in her eyes. She’d had dollar signs.
“Royce,” he said, like he was giving me permission to speak.
I cracked a grin. “Father. So nice to see you.”
The words dripped with sarcasm and disdain.
I couldn’t stand the sight of the bastard, which was an unfortunate circumstance considering he was my boss.
But it was all part of the plan.
You know what they say—Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Believe me, I was right on his tail until the moment I overtook him and trampled him underfoot.
He’d stolen everything from me, crushed it in his fat, greedy fist.
I couldn’t wait to return the favor.
“I just wanted to be sure we were clear on the situation. I wouldn’t want there to be any further . . . mistakes,” he jeered.
“I think you made it plenty clear.”
“Did I?” he shot back, angling his head. “You failed the task the first time. I won’t accept a repeat.”
Incredulous laughter rumbled in my throat, and I turned my attention out the window to the sprawling grounds of his estate, the lawn meticulously manicured and a negative-edge pool stretched over a cliff like it touc
hed the tops of the skyscrapers in the city below.
I tapped my tattooed fingers on my knee that was bouncing at the speed of light, agitation curling through my senses and setting fire to my veins.
Slowly, I swiveled my focus back to the man who overshadowed this family like a wraith. A monster at the helm.
“There was a . . . difficulty.” I refused to gift him with more information than that.
He scoffed. “A difficulty? Your job is to eradicate difficulties. Your job is to seal the deal. Get it penned in ink, in blood, or whatever the fuck it takes. Taking no for an answer is not acceptable.”
Bitterness tightened my chest in a fist. Of course, he would think no wasn’t a sufficient answer. Money the solution to every obstacle. To every reservation and fear and question.
To every crime.
Cover it up with a little dough.
I just wondered how deep it went. The depravity. The sickness he poured into the world.
Slowly, I pushed to my feet, unable to stop the aggression that lined my bones. I prowled across the floor until I was standing at his desk and planting my hands on the gleaming wood. “I am very aware of my job description. But I do it my way, and I’m fucking good at it. You have a problem with it? Feel free to cut me loose.”
He wouldn’t.
He needed me. I’d seen to it that it was a fact. That I was the best.
Indispensable.
Didn’t mean he liked me for it.
Redness colored his ears and hatred darkened his eyes. “You’re standing here today because of me. Don’t forget that.”
I leaned in closer, spitting the words, “I’m standing here because you need me. I never asked for any favors. Don’t pretend like I did.”
My position was the one thing my pathetic mother had offered. She’d done it out of guilt. I’d jumped on it, salivating at the mouth as I’d plotted for revenge.
Venom fueled his smile. “So angry, aren’t we? A hothead getting ready to snap.” He tsked like the smug old bastard that he was. “Maybe they should have left you locked up after all.”
I grinned. All teeth. “You never know. Maybe they should have.”
Air huffed from his nose, and he rocked back in his chair.
I cocked my head. “Are we done here? Because I have work to do.”
He gave me a tight nod, and I turned on my heel, my dress shoes echoing on the marble floor as I left him sitting there.
“Don’t come back here until it is finished.”
I froze when his voice hit me from behind. I tossed a glance at him over my shoulder, anger seething in my blood, disgusted that we both wanted the same fucking thing though it was for entirely different reasons.
“Trust me. This deal is as good as done.”
“That’s my boy.” He said it with a derisive gleam in his eye, like he’d ever given two fucks about me.
Without giving the prick the credit of a response, I turned and strode out into the foyer.
I stumbled a step when I saw my baby sister, Maggie, pacing at the bottom of the stairs. Mahogany hair, two shades lighter than mine, swished from the ponytail she wore it in, the girl petite and oozing a fear that I would give anything to hold for her.
She took two steps in my direction.
Rage that would never abate thrashed in my spirit when I saw the scar that slashed across her chest. Permanently as red and angry as I was.
Hugging herself, she angled her head, an innocent petition written into her expression. “I don’t know why you fight with him. You know it’s not going to change anything.”
I went right for her and pulled her into my arms, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There are some things I can’t seem to control.”
Hating Karl Fitzgerald was one of them.
“You’re so angry. So sad,” she whispered into my heart, the girl so short she barely came to the middle of my chest.
“I’m not.”
“You’re a liar,” she returned. “I can hear it. Feel it.” Affection tightened my chest, the love I had for my sister the only love I had left. The rest used up. Burned to ash. Scorn in its place.
I hugged her tighter. “I’m the last person you should be worried about.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“You make me happy,” I murmured against the crown of her head.
Fists in my suit jacket, she edged back and blinked up at me. “You know that’s not enough. Not when I was responsible for you losing everything.”
I gripped her by the outside of her arms. “Bullshit.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. “You know it’s true.”
Violence flashed across my skin, and I struggled to hold it together. To stop myself from marching back into my stepfather’s office and making him confess whose fault it was.
To end this now.
I had to remember my purpose. That attack I’d been setting into motion for the last four years.
“No, Maggie, it’s not. None of the blame is yours.”
The greedy bastard who was her father made sure the one responsible didn’t have to pay.
I touched my baby sister’s cheek, wiped the tear that had fallen. “I won’t fail you again, Mag-Pie. I won’t. I promise you that.”
“I just want to be safe. For this all to end.”
I pressed my lips to her temple, whispered, “The end is near.”
Then I turned and strode out the door to my car waiting for me in the circular drive. I slipped into the backseat.
“Mr. Reilly.” My driver glanced in the rearview mirror, waiting for instruction.
I sat back in the seat. “Airport, please.”
Releasing the button of my suit jacket, I blew out a sigh and roughed my hands through my hair, trying to calm the riot that was pounding my heart into mayhem.
My driver weaved down the long drive of Karl Fitzgerald’s estate before maneuvering the winding road that led to the bottom of the hill. He headed directly to the airport, taking me to the private hangar where the jet was waiting.
I slipped out of the car, and the concierge gathered my bags from the trunk.
I climbed the stairs, nodding my head to the pilots and flight attendant who were waiting to welcome me aboard. I took a seat, accepted the tumbler of whiskey I was offered, pulled my phone from my pocket when it buzzed with a message.
We need you to make this happen.
I tapped out a response.
I’m on my way.
Two
Emily
“Emily!” My brother shouted from behind me, trying to push his way through the group of people that had descended on him the second we’d come off stage.
Backstage, the energy was alive, the way it always was, only dim lights illuminating the wings. Roadies hustled to tear down our gear and set up for the next band, local reporters vied to get the scoop, and fans tried to get a closer look. To brush up against the only world that I knew.
I ignored all of it.
Feet pounding the floor, I fumbled over cords and pushed through curtains and dodged equipment.
“Emily,” Richard shouted again, “would you fuckin’ wait?”
I didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to turn around and see the questions in his eyes.
Without looking back, I pushed myself faster. Fought to get away.
Hide.
As if there were any hope to change any of this.
Fear pulsed like wildfire through my veins, lungs burning with panic and exertion.
Where I was going, I didn’t know.
Searching for a solution.
A safe place, I guessed.
A way to scrape the ugliness that had seeped into my consciousness, this gross feelin’ I couldn’t escape.
Trapped.
And God, I hated it. Hated it so much that I was doing my best to outrun it.
Keeping my face down, I slinked around a group of fans with backstage passes, their excitement a palpable brand of anticipation and suspense.<
br />
I said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t recognize me, though I figured they were probably there to see Civil Stone, the headliner on the tour, anyway.
There wasn’t even a rustle of awareness. Thank God.
Increasing my pace, I rounded into a narrow hall that ran along the back of the old club. With every step that I took, my heart rate spiked, amplifying the suffocating sensation that pummeled me in nauseating waves.
I almost shouted in relief when I found a side door, my hands planting on the heavy metal latch as I shoved it open to the waiting night.
It banged against the wall, and I stumbled down the three steps into the dark alleyway, gasping for breath and wondering how I thought isolating myself in the shadows was any better.
Humidity slapped me in the face, clogging my lungs, and the panic only intensified.
Footsteps clamored after me, my brother slowing when he found my hiding place. A shiver of unease rolled across my flesh as he eased down the steps, stopping two feet away.
“What the hell is going on with you, Em?”
My throat grew tight, locking up the confession. One I wasn’t sure I wanted to make anyway. I shook my head. “Nothing.”
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