Catch Me When I Fall

by Jackson, A. L.

  Why was it we hid our hurt when those who cared about us would gladly hold some of our pain?

  She eyed me with her dark brown gaze as she passed, her voice held low, as if she were letting me know this was just between us. “Where in the hell did you run off to last night? I was worried about you. I called at least fifteen times and texted what had to have been a million. And what did you give me? Zip. Zero. Zilch. I thought you were dead in a dumpster somewhere. Not cool, Em, not cool. You’re lucky I didn’t have the cops out lookin’ for you.”

  Cringing, I blew at the steam escaping the sip hole, focusing on that rather than the warranted anger I could feel radiating from her. “I just . . . needed to get some air.”

  Her brows disappeared behind her bangs, and a slew of incredulous words started tumbling from her mouth. “You needed air? You ran off the stage in the middle of a song . . . which is like . . . the biggest WTF you’ve ever hit me with, and I had to spend the entire night dodging questions about what went down. I’m pretty sure the gossip columns are having a field day, half of them claiming you are sufferin’ from morning sickness and the other speculating you’ve got a thing for little white pills and we have to make the hard decision of checking you into rehab.”

  Frustration twisted up her expression. “And then you took off without a word, and that’s all you’ve got? You needed air? What is goin’ on with you, Em? And don’t you dare tell me you actually have gotten yourself messed up in that shady business because I will personally kick your ass from here to the Betty Ford Center.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what?” she pleaded, taking a step toward me.

  “I’m just having a bit of a rough time.”

  A frown pinched her pretty face, her tawny red hair swept up in a ponytail and her makeup done to perfection. The girl was all of five-foot nothin’, but her personality more than made up for her size.

  She was a spitfire.

  A powerhouse.

  Managed to keep four creative spirits focused and on task.

  She also loved like crazy.

  She never hesitated to tell it exactly as she saw it, either.

  Zero filter.

  She brushed back a tangle of hair hanging in my face. “Is it that bastard, Nile? God, I was hopin’ you would’ve ended up being thankful that pencil dick finally showed his true colors. I always knew he was a slimy motherfucker. You deserve so much better than him,” she drawled.

  I wished that was it. It was the rest of the rubble I was trapped under that was crushing me.

  I forced a small smile to my mouth. “Oh, I saw his colors, all right. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  I got an eyeful of plenty of other things I’d have preferred not to be subjected to, too.

  “He stole enough of your time, Emily. Don’t let him go and steal your dreams.”

  Her brown eyes filled with sincerity.

  “I’m tryin’ not to. I promise, I’m tryin’.”

  Only thing was, it wasn’t Nile who I was trying to outrun.

  Her expression shifted into playful sympathy. “Well, just because you wanted more to deal with, a word to the wise—your brother is in rare form this morning. Prepare yourself. He’s pacing around like a caged beast.”

  Nerves rattled through my senses. I knew the reason for that. The fight we’d had last night. He hated when we were angry with each other every bit as much as I did.

  We were going to have to hash this out. I just didn’t know what I could give him. Promise him. What I could confide in him and he could confide in me. It felt like we were going round and round on opposite sides of a circle, and we were never going to meet.

  “I got a text that he wants the whole band in his room at nine. Something about an important meeting that came up. You better get into the shower. You look like you went a round or two last night.”

  She let her attention travel down my body. “Holy shit. What did you get up to last night? Or I guess the better question would be, what got into you?”

  She was clearly only teasing considering she knew me a whole lot better than that. Which was precisely why embarrassment quivered in my belly.

  “Nothin’,” I said far too quick, spreading my hand over the skirt of my dress in a futile attempt at ironing out the evidence.

  “Nothin’?” she returned.

  I shifted on my feet and took a fumbling sip of the steaming coffee to bury the guilt I knew was written all over my face. “I said, nothin’.”

  “If that’s nothin’, then I sure would like to see somethin’.” She gestured at me like my state was the proof in the pudding, a taunt riding through her demeanor.

  A blush went racing again.

  Mel caught it, and she angled her head and lowered her voice when she realized something had really gone on. “Oh my God, Emily Iris Ramsey, did you actually have a one-night stand?” she demanded through the quietest whisper, her gaze darting around as if I still had the guy hiding in my bed.

  God, was it wrong that I wished I’d woken up with that body wrapped around mine?

  “I did not,” I whisper-shouted back, my gaze jumping around behind hers, as if I was going to get caught.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare keep the good stuff from me. Here I was, up all night, worried you were in some dark corner crying your eyes out or maybe facedown in some ditch, and you were with a man, weren’t you?”

  “Fine . . . I brought a man here, but we didn’t sleep together.”

  Her eyes went round with glee. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it. This is the best news I’ve gotten all year. Forget the whole record deal possibility. Was he hot?”

  His face flashed through my mind, that body and those hands and those eyes. A fever blistered across my flesh, scorching my legs as if I were still standing in the vestiges of his flames.

  “He was unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” I admitted with a tremble in my voice.

  Confusion pulled through her expression. “And you didn’t sleep with him? What in the world is wrong with you?”

  It was all a joke, but it had me fidgeting with the lid on the cup, wondering that very thing. Why he’d touched me with all that passion, looked at me that way, and then walked out the door, disappearing in the night. “I guess he wasn’t that into me.”

  She scowled as if I were speaking nonsense. “You are the prettiest thing between here and the Pacific. Men would die for a chance to be with you, and you turn your nose up at everyone.”

  I shrugged a little. “Sometimes people connect. Sometimes they don’t.”

  Except, in that short time, I’d felt more connected to him than I’d ever been with anyone before. I’d run into thousands of men in the years of touring. I’d been flirted with. Coaxed and fed a million lines, a nonstop parade of attractive men at my feet.

  My whole heart and devotion had belonged to Nile the entire time. Never once had I been tempted. Never once felt a spark.

  After everything that happened, the loss and the torment, I was sure the life had been stamped out of me, trampled into nothing.

  Then there was Royce.

  Mel rolled her eyes. “Yet he was here.”

  “And he left.”

  She huffed out a sound. “Maybe he connected with you enough to know you probably would have been freaking out this morning if things moved too fast. I mean, seriously. We are talkin’ about Emily Ramsey here. You bring someone up here? You’re goin’ to be all in. Hell, the poor asshole would probably have a whole album written about him.”

  I scowled at her for pointing out the truth of who I was. That was the thing about your assistant being your best friend. She knew you better than you knew yourself.

  “Or maybe he was just toying with me,” I said, wondering if he just wanted to see what it would take to make the good girl crack.

  “Yeah, that’s probably it, Em. Most guys bring a gorgeous girl to their room, tease them a bit, and then walk away. Cock-block themselves. Sounds like
some good, old-fashioned fun to me.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? We’ll be back on the road today.”

  Moving on.

  Connections lost.

  Just a blur of cities and faces and venues.

  My stomach sank.

  I knew that was a part of the problem.

  Mel released a heavy sigh, catching on to my mood. “Sorry, love bug. You’re gonna find someone. Someday. Someone who means everything.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone.”

  “Are you fine?” There she went. Calling me on my bullshit.

  “I will be. I promise.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s you who needs to believe that.”

  Five

  Emily

  Forty minutes later, I was being herded out of my room and down the hall toward Richard’s. Mel had dressed me in a wispy, floral tank, all straps and bare shoulders, and super-short white shorts. She’d paired it with the same wedges I’d been wearing last night.

  I’d rolled my eyes at her when she’d told me they were good luck.

  Carrying a tray of coffees, Mel knocked on Richard’s door before producing her own key and shoving it into the lock. She threw the door open to the suite. It was decorated the same as mine, all dark woods and marble surfaces and luxurious, rich textures, though Richard’s had a big dining table and a kitchen at the back that we used for meetings, song writing, and business.

  It was our favorite place to stay when we came into town.

  I think it reminded Richard of how far we’d come.

  Rhys and Leif were already at the table.

  Rhys was in an old holey tee, the guy as country as they came, a trucker cap on his head and a big ol’ smile on his face. Although today, that smile was filled with worry as he watched me come in.

  Leif had his back to us, and he slowly swiveled. Nervously, he tapped the drumsticks that he carried with him on the table. Brown eyes keen, sincere, and concerned.

  “Hey, guys,” I offered warily with a tiny wave of my hand as if it were a gesture of surrender, guilt grabbing hold.

  “Em-Girl. How’s it, sweetness?” Rhys asked in his southern way, rocking back and tucking his muscled, tattooed arms behind his head. “You caught us a bit off guard last night. You good, baby girl?”

  His voice was pure care, his expression telling me he was gonna have my back, no matter what. Rhys was Richard’s oldest friend, treated me like his baby sister, as protective as he was playful.

  Careless and fierce.

  Not a whole lot mattered to him except for the very few things that mattered most.

  Family and music.

  He treated the rest of life as if it was nothing but a big joke.

  I blinked and tried to swallow around gratitude and unease. “Yeah. I’m . . . I just got a splittin’ headache, and I needed to get some air. I knew you all could cover for me just fine.”

  Awesome.

  There I went. Spoutin’ a few more lies.

  Rhys cracked a grin. “We all have bad days, love. Look at our poor Leif here. Guy has one every show,” he razzed, smirking at Leif.

  Leif rolled his eyes, which always seemed to smolder. The guy was wearing a tank and shredded jeans, his lean body muscled out from banging on drums all day and all night. Richard had stumbled upon Leif playing drums for a failing heavy metal band and had snatched him up after that band fell apart.

  Leif had just gotten married this last winter. He’d had a rough past, but he’d finally found peace in Mia, the woman who had been meant for him.

  He lifted his arms out to his sides. “Sure, blame it on me, man. Everyone knows when we’re off, it’s because of you. Who even told you that you could play bass, anyway? Problem is, you can’t keep up.”

  The two of them went round and round. Enemies and the best of friends. Always challenging the other. It made for interesting days, that was for sure, and the music never, ever got stagnant.

  Rhys hooted and tossed his booted feet onto the table, crossing one ankle over the other. “Keep dreaming, Banger. You just don’t get the rhythm of a good country song.”

  “Head Banger to you,” Leif told him, sipping from the coffee Mel handed him. “And that’s what I’m here for . . . to get a little of the country out of you.”

  It was true. Rich wanted him to add a different element to our sound. He didn’t want us to just be another country band. He wanted us to stand out from the crowds. Write music that all different sorts of people and tastes would gravitate toward.

  “God, can you get your feet off the table, Rhys? I swear, you were born in a barn,” Mel chastised, swatting at his boots as she tried to find a spot to set his coffee.

  Rhys laughed harder. “That’s because I was, in fact, born in a barn.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, Rhys, but the barn that was torn down on the old farm where the city hospital was built does not count.”

  “’Course it does. I feel that country dirt all the way to my bones.”

  “The only dirt around here is your dirty dick. I saw those two chicks you snuck into your room last night.” Mel glared at him as if she were his keeper.

  Rhys cracked up. “No sneaking to it, Mells Bells. Could hear those two all the way to Atlanta.”

  “Gross,” I muttered, laughing under my breath.

  My nerves came rushing forward when the bedroom door opened to my freshly showered brother. The room instantly grew quiet, the two of us staring at each other.

  Discomfort bounded.

  Filling the space.

  Richard swallowed hard and roughed a hand through his damp hair. “Hey, Em. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  My throat felt swollen and achy, and I peeked at the rest of the band and Mel. All of them watched us with worry, apprehension thickening the air.

  I gave a tight nod and walked toward his room, the space only lit by a slice of sunlight slanting through a thin strip in the drapes. He stepped to the side to let me pass and shut the door behind us.

  Closing us off.

  Turning back to face me, he blew out a strained sigh and rubbed his palm over his mouth. The uneasiness was so dense I was choking on it.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice low, “about last night.”

  My heart gave a tremble. “I’m—”

  He held up a hand. “Let me get this out, Em. I . . . fuck . . . I’m fucking sorry for what I said. I was pissed that you ran off stage after what you said on the call with Fitzgerald yesterday morning, but I’m more pissed at myself for the way I handled it.”

  Warily, I nodded acceptance. “I’m sorry, too.”

  He looked to the floor, wavering, hesitating, and my nerves were getting bound up again.

  I could just feel somethin’ coming that I knew I didn’t want to hear.

  “But you can’t keep dragging your feet. It’s not fair. Not to Rhys and Leif. Not to Mel. Not to me. And it’s damn sure not fair to you.”

  He pinned me with eyes that were the same color as mine. “We’ve worked too hard for this, Em. Too fuckin’ hard.”

  I blinked at him, conjuring enough courage to at least get a small confession out. “The songs have dried up, Rich. I . . . I can’t write . . . can barely sing . . . and I don’t know how to fix it. I would if I could. I just need time.”

  “We don’t have the time, Em.” He glanced away, looking at the wall as if he had to prepare himself to deliver bad news. “Fitzgerald is pissed that this deal isn’t done. Angela said she’s left you a bunch of messages that you haven’t returned, and she’s getting pissed, too. This isn’t the way business is run.”

  Regret pulsed in my chest. I tried to inhale around it. Angela was our manager. She’d worked every bit as hard as the rest of us to ensure our success, believing in Carolina George when no one else did.

  “I’ll call her,” I promised. Somehow, I’d smooth it over. Make it right.

  Rich shook his head. “It’s too late for that. F
itzgerald sent the head of Mylton A & R. He’s going to be here this morning.”

  “What?” It came out sounding like a defense.

  We already had the offer.

  I already knew what it meant.

  I didn’t need someone here trying to convince me to sign something when I wasn’t ready.

  Not when I didn’t know if I could work in the same world as Cory Douglas. Just the thought nearly sent me into a panic attack.

  The doorbell to Richard’s suite rang. That feeling amplified by ten, anxiety chasing all the air out of my lungs.

  “Richard,” I begged.

  He took a step back. “Just, hear him out. Please. For the sake of this band.”

  What was this guy going to say that hadn’t already been said? What would it change? They represented everything I was running from.

  Literally.

  Richard swung open the door and stepped out into the bright, shimmering light, turning his attention to the door that Mel was opening.

  Tentatively, I stepped out behind him, then I nearly dropped to my knees as all the blood drained from my head.

  “Just remember in the morning that I warned you the only thing I do is make mistakes.”

  Only I was the one who had made the biggest mistake.

  Was the biggest fool of them all.

  Because my beautiful stranger was standing in the room.

  As dark and deadly and dangerous as last night.

  Royce.

  Six

  Royce

  They say there are seven deadly sins.

  Bullshit.

  Emily Ramsey was number eight.

  Although this sin?

  This sin came with immediate condemnation. I could feel the consequence of it quivering through the air, quakes of a warning trembling underfoot.

  I knew I’d regret it. Knew it with all of me. But sometimes you wanted something so damned bad that any other reason ceased to matter.

  Now she stood across the room in all that perfect, delicate flesh. Her expression one of horror, etched in bold, glaring lines; her face so ashen I was pretty sure she was trying not to spew her guts out onto the floor.