Catch Me When I Fall

by Jackson, A. L.

  Wasn’t sure I knew how.

  “I don’t want to cause any trouble between you and Mr. Fitzgerald . . .”

  Oh, there was gonna be trouble all right.

  “But . . .” She hesitated, fidgeting with her fingers. “I can’t remain silent anymore. After I sign, I’m going to have to make a stand. Do something. And I’m not sure right now exactly what that looks like. It could get messy. I think . . . maybe you should stay away from me until it dies down. I don’t want you to get in the middle.”

  Affection pushed and pulsed.

  I could barely see.

  My hold on her face tightened in emphasis. “I’m the last person you should be worried about, Emily. The last. But you’re right. It’s better if we stop whatever this is before it’s too late. Before I hurt you in a way that I can’t take back. But promise me, Precious, promise me. You do what’s right for you. When you’re ready—to tell me, to tell Melanie, to tell anyone? Whoever it is? You do it. Just . . . do me a favor. If you’re going to agree to do that show? Know that I will be there for you, Emily. I will protect you. Tell them yes, but under the stipulation that you don’t sign the contract until after. Until you play and you’re sure. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  That piece of shit couldn’t have any power over her before this ended.

  “But what about Mr. Fitzgerald? I don’t know the details, but I’m guessin’ he’s not gonna be pleased with that.”

  Hatred rolled out on dark laughter. “I’ll handle Karl Fitzgerald. Don’t give that bastard a thought.”

  Her eyes pinched, her pulse thudding so fast and hard and erratic. The beat of it calling for me.

  It was fucking brutal.

  “I . . . thank you, Royce. Thank you for all you’ve done for us. For me.” She pressed her hand over the thunder raging in my chest. “You are the best thing that has happened to me in so long.”

  I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  Relishing.

  “No, baby, you are the best thing that has happened to me.”

  Then I stood, went to the door, and pushed out into the hall.

  The second I stepped out, Melanie darted in, cutting me a glance of worry and speculation as she passed. The door slammed behind her, and I heaved out a strained sigh and started for my door only to freeze when I felt the presence behind me.

  “What the fuck is your game?”

  I slowly swiveled around to find Richard glaring at me from ten feet down the hallway.

  He moved for me, advancing until he brought us head to head.

  Toe to toe.

  I lifted my chin. “I needed to have a word with your sister.”

  A strobe of anger flashed through his eyes, and he lowered his voice. “I asked you to come here to help convince her to sign. Show her the reasons that she should. Not for you to go thinking she’s a good place to dip your dirty dick. She doesn’t come with the package.”

  Rage flared, and I pushed him by the chest.

  Hard.

  He stumbled back into a door across the hall.

  “The fuck?” he shouted low, the words barely contained in the hotel hallway.

  I got in his face, voice grating and hard, dripping venom. “You have no fucking clue what your sister will do for you, do you? Have no idea what she’s been through, what she’s going through, to keep your name clean?”

  Bewilderment bounced through his expression, and the redness coloring his cheeks quickly drained, his flesh turning a pasty white.

  “What the hell are you implying?” he shot back, eyes narrowing.

  “Playing ignorant isn’t a cute look on you, Ramsey.”

  He shoved me back an inch.

  “You think you know a fucking thing about me? Don’t you dare come in here trying to toss around some bullshit you don’t know shit about. And if my sister has issues with something in my life? She’ll come to me. Me.” He slammed a fist on his chest. “The last thing we need is some ex-con sniffing around, thinkin’ he’s gonna get a bigger bite out of the pie.”

  I blanched.

  He let go of a menacing laugh. “You forgettin’ I know who you are, asshole?”

  My jaw clenched, and it was taking my all not to lunge for him. To keep from pounding that fucking knowing smirk from his face.

  Only thing saving him was it was clear he thought he was standing up for his sister’s honor. Protecting her.

  He took a step closer. “You think I don’t see you salivating over her? Sick bastard wanting to take a little more? She’s a good girl, has been through a ton of shit, and she sure as hell doesn’t need more. So why don’t you do what you do best and sign this fucking deal, and then step the fuck back?”

  Eyes shooting daggers, he pointed at her door. “If I catch you even looking at her again, I’m going to ruin your ass, starting with me telling her who you are.”

  “You were the one who wanted me to come here, Richard.” My voice lowered, nothing but gravel. “The one who wanted to sign with Mylton Records so badly that you were willing to go behind your sister’s back.”

  He scoffed out a laugh. “I was doing it for the band.”

  “And the deal was you didn’t mention my past if I came here. You want me to walk, keep making threats.”

  It was bullshit.

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  But Richard didn’t need to know that.

  What he needed was to keep his fucking mouth shut.

  He scrubbed a frustrated palm over his face, backing away and shaking his head. “Just, don’t touch my sister, man, and we’re cool.”

  He didn’t need to worry about that.

  I wasn’t going to touch her again.

  But not because I was doing him any favors.

  This? I was doing it for her.

  Because she was quickly becoming the only thing that mattered.

  Sixteen

  Emily

  “Can we talk?”

  My brother’s voice hit me from behind, and I flinched where I stood at the edge of the pond outside the hotel, arms crossed over my chest, hugging myself beneath the sun that shone from above.

  I was wearing the warmth like a blanket of security.

  Warily, I turned to look at Richard, who was under a shade tree about thirty feet away, hands stuffed in the pockets of his holey jeans. Dark blond hair flapped in the wind and those green eyes watched me with worry, as if he wasn’t sure the two of us understood each other anymore.

  Close yet detached.

  Loyal forever but the connections that had bound us slippin’ away.

  My heart ached at the thought.

  “Of course,” I gently called, though I really wasn’t sure it was such a good time, considering I was fighting tears.

  Not even sure where they were coming from anymore.

  Tears of horror at the thought of having to see Cory Douglas again all mixed up with this confidence building in me, making me ready to fight. Because I wasn’t gonna allow that vile man to hold me back from what I’d dedicated my entire life to.

  I’d come to acceptance.

  It was okay to feel fear, but it wasn’t okay to let it dictate my life.

  Or they could have been tears of gratitude. Gratitude for being invited to play at the awards show that’d felt like nothing but a pipe dream.

  The reality of it was overwhelming.

  The pride and the joy and the hope for the future.

  Most worrisome of all, I was pretty sure these tears had everything to do with Royce.

  Maybe I was wrong to push him away.

  Derail us before we had the chance to get started.

  But I couldn’t put him in that position. It was gonna be a firestorm when I made the accusation against Cory. Carolina George up against A Riot of Roses, Mylton Records smack dab in the middle.

  I couldn’t ask Royce to get mixed up in it any more than he already was.

  We really were a conflict of interest.

  Richard took an
apprehensive step my direction. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I returned, softer, hating that he was watching me like I was gonna break. Considering that was precisely what I’d done back in the hotel room, I couldn’t blame him.

  He took a few more steps. “You okay?”

  My teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek, and I warred with what to tell him. “Yeah,” I whispered.

  “That’s what you keep saying, Em. Again and again. I can’t keep accepting that every time you freak out. This is serious. Guts are all twisted up, worryin’ about you.”

  My ribs clamped down on my heart. Squeezing so hard. Affection and grief. “I’m tryin’ to get better.”

  “When did you get sick? What did I miss? I keep thinking this is about Nile, but there’s this spot inside of me that’s insisting that it’s bigger.”

  I could feel my expression pinching up. “And what about you, Rich? You think I’m not scared for you? You think I don’t know something’s going on? That you’re into somethin’ you shouldn’t be?”

  Agitated, he drove a hand through his hair, tone deflecting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And this isn’t about me, Em.”

  “Isn’t it? We’re all tied, Rich. All of us. And if one of us is hurting? In trouble? That means the rest of us are, too.”

  Alarm shook his head, and he put his hands out in front of him. “No, Em. This is something you cannot get involved in. Can’t. You need to stay out of this.”

  I stepped toward him, a plea in my voice. “What if I’m already in it?”

  Fear streaked through his features, and he shook his head harder. “Not possible.”

  “Secrets don’t stay secrets forever, Rich. They don’t. People find out about them, and they come back to haunt us.”

  “Shit,” he wheezed, looking off into the distance. Panic rolled through his body. A second later, he jerked his attention back to me. “Whatever you think you know isn’t the truth, Em. I don’t know what the hell you think you saw or what someone told you, but I promise you that I’m fine.”

  “And what if I saw it for myself? What if I’m tryin’ to protect you, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep on doing it?”

  Richard erased the last bit of space between us, jolting forward and grabbing me by the shoulders. “I would never ask you to do that, Emily. Never. Stay out of it . . . it’s dangerous.”

  A tear slipped free. “It’s way too late for that.”

  Dread filled his expression. “What are you saying?”

  “I . . . I’m just . . .” The confession lodged itself in my throat.

  Richard pulled me into his arms, hugging me tight. I could feel the frenzy buzzing to his bones, his voice so hard that it sent a rush of terror zinging through my blood. “Tell me, Emily. Fucking tell me who hurt you . . . for what? Because of me? They’re dead.”

  And that was the thing. Without question, he was telling the truth. That was a consequence I couldn’t swallow.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist, and the refusal was out before I could stop it. “No one hurt me, Richard.”

  I wondered if he could taste the lie the way I did.

  Perverted and vile.

  How was I ever gonna get this out when one atrocity was hinged on another?

  “I’m just . . . I’m worried about you.” I pulled myself back to look up at him. “Who is she, Rich?”

  Maybe if he could give me something, I could give him something back.

  Instead, he went rigid.

  Chills raked down his spine, freezing him cold. He pressed his mouth to the side of my head, words so hard I could feel them penetrate to my soul. “No one.”

  Then he peeled himself away and strode for the bus that was waiting to haul us to the next city, his big body rushing across the lawn as if he were trying to run away.

  Escape.

  I knew in that second that his lie was as big as mine. And I didn’t know how many more we could tell before everything came toppling down.

  * * *

  “I’ll see you and raise you a hundred.” Rhys slammed a hundred-dollar bill down on the table as if he was some kind of high-roller. He, Leif, and Richard were playing Texas Hold’em on the tour bus.

  Darkness pressed in on all sides as we traveled through the night, the low rumble of the big engine humming as we barreled down the road.

  “Ah, come on, dude, that shit is not fair. You really gotta go there?” Richard moaned, a forced smile perched on his face as he glanced between his hand and Rhys and back again, scratching at his chin as he contemplated his next move.

  Trying to act as if all of this was normal.

  As if things hadn’t busted up between us four days ago, walls coming down for a flash before we’d both shoved the barriers between us back into place.

  “Pussy,” Rhys goaded, flapping his hand of cards toward his face without giving him a peek.

  Richard swatted them away. “Uh, yeah, you’re on to me . . . I do love me some pussy.”

  “Ha. If only you could get some.” Rhys smirked.

  Leif laughed and threw a wadded-up napkin at Rhys. “Stop projecting, asshole, and play.”

  “Projectin’?” A scowl the size of Canada took over Rhys’s face. “Come now. Who do you think you’re talkin’ to? I could have had any lady in the house tonight, and I only took two. I am the picture of self-restraint.”

  He gave a bow where he was stuffed behind the small table.

  Melanie looked up from her tablet where she sat next to me on the couch, voice wry. “You are actin’ like you deserve some kind of dignitarian award.”

  “With the way those two were grinnin’ when they walked out, I think it’s safe to say I do. Just doing my part at makin’ the world a happier place, one woman at a time.”

  “Sounds like someone needs a big ol’ slice of humble pie to me,” I sing-songed under my breath, my knees curled under me as I doodled in my notebook.

  Trying to act normal, too.

  Three hours ago, we’d wrapped a show at Olive’s, a trendy bar in Gingham Lakes, Alabama.

  We’d had to leave there right after the show in order to get to the next venue in South Carolina in time, the wheels grinding and eatin’ away at the miles to get us where we needed to be.

  It was gonna be a long night.

  I jolted when a flying card impaled me in the chest. I jerked my head up to glare at the culprit, Rhys, who was just smirking.

  “Who needs humility when you look like this?”

  Mel rolled her eyes. “If your head gets any bigger, there won’t be any room left on the bus for us.”

  He tapped at his chin as if he were contemplating curing world hunger. “Huh. You know, I haven’t really had any complaints about the size of my head.”

  “You are disgusting,” she told him.

  I grabbed the card and flung it back. I had to stick up for my best friend and all. “I second that.”

  Of course I had to go and miss him by about a mile.

  “So dangerous, Em,” he ribbed. “You should watch yourself with sharp objects.”

  “Speaking of sharp objects, one more pervy comment and you’ll need to watch yourself while you’re sleeping tonight,” I tossed back.

  I was actually smiling for what felt like the first time in days.

  That was until my heart suddenly took off at a sprint, all my senses tilting to the right the second the door separating the sleeping quarters and the main area slid open.

  Royce slowly stepped in, his jacket discarded and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up those sinewy, muscled arms, the man radiating power and greed and everything that dropped my stomach right to my toes.

  One second of him and I could barely breathe.

  I tried to keep my head lowered.

  Appear as if I were buried in seriously important business. You know, like drawing a stick figure of a decapitated Rhys I had planned to deliver on the wings of a paper plane.

 
But not looking was impossible.

  This faking thing was getting old.

  Four days had passed since the incident at the hotel.

  Four days since I’d told the band that I was in. That I would sign as soon as the show was over.

  Royce had kept his promise—I wasn’t sure what he’d told Fitzgerald to smooth things over, but we were slated to play. Our manager had the contract—the contract that was scheduled to be signed after the show.

  “Yo, Royce, my man,” Rhys hollered. “What the hell have you been up to for the last hour? Tell me someone explained to you that you gotta hold the code browns for the next stop. Tour bus etiquette, brother. Bus can’t take it.”

  A smile actually ridged Royce’s plush mouth as he slipped by.

  My heart fluttered.

  “No need to worry. Had a call I had to take.”

  “Ah, I see . . . some more of that secret, covert shit you seem so keen about.” Rhys was all easy smiles.

  Leif kicked Rhys under the table. “Dude, why always such an asshole?”

  Rhys hiked his shoulders as if he didn’t have a clue what Leif was talking about.

  Royce slipped down onto the leather coach chair that was swiveled around to face the table and couch. It might as well have been a throne with the way the man owned it.

  Possessed it.

  The same way he had possessed me.

  Infiltrated every thought and dream. Made me feel brave and confident and beautiful when I stood on that stage night after night, singing my heart out and wondering if a piece of me was actually doing it for him.

  He rocked forward and rested his tattooed forearms on his knees, flashing the pawns stamped on his knuckles, as if they were being ruled by the intricate king inked on the back of his hand.

  The resolve I was trying to cling to went fuzzy.

  “Talking to my mom, actually,” he said in his low voice.

  My chest fisted. It was the first time I’d heard him mention her.

  I could feel it—the unbearable shift of energy that shivered through the dense air.

  Bitterness and unease and regrets.

  My ribs constricted around my heart, stalling out the flow of blood. I had to bite down on my lip to keep myself from looking up, drawn that direction.