Catch Me When I Fall

by Jackson, A. L.

  Hatred clutched my heart. So tight, I was pretty sure all the blood was being squeezed out. What was left was nothing but a hollowed, thudding pulp of destruction.

  My baby sister was nineteen and still acted so young.

  Naïve and innocent and completely violated.

  Locked in that time. Forever a prisoner to the age when she’d been savaged.

  Fifteen.

  “Okay . . . okay,” I coaxed. Or maybe I was only trying to talk myself down from the ledge. To keep from coming unglued and destroying my purpose. Ruining it all before I got the chance to take that piece of shit down.

  “Tell me where you are.”

  She whimpered. “I’m in my closet.”

  “Okay, good girl. Is your door locked?”

  “Y-y-yes,” she stumbled. Wanted to ask her if she had a knife or a gun or a fucking rocket launcher. Girl deserved to blow that shit into the fucking sky and let the bullshit rain down around her.

  “Good. Very good.” I raked a hand through my hair, pacing some more, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do. How I could make this right when I was on the opposite side of the country.

  Hours and a few documents and one beautiful girl away from ending this once and for all.

  “But I’m scared.” It was a wheeze of shame.

  “I know, sweetheart, I know. But you did exactly what we talked about. You did good. So good. What I need you to do is stay there until I call you back, okay? I’ll give you the go when it’s safe to come out.”

  “Okay.” The word was nothing but a hitched sob, but in it, I knew she was giving me her trust.

  “I’m going to hang up right now, and then I’m going to call you right back. I want you to plug 9-1-1 into your phone and be ready to call it if you need to. If anyone comes into your room before I call you back, call it. Don’t hesitate or question it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’m hanging up. I love you, Maggie.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I ended the call and immediately dialed the number.

  Two rings later, Daddy Dearest answered.

  “Ah, Royce, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he answered.

  “Tell me you didn’t invite that twisted fuck into your house.”

  Pretentious laughter rippled out. “I assume you’re talking about our friend Cory.”

  My teeth grated so hard I could feel my jaw crack. “Don’t act like a fucking prick. Tell me that cocksucker is not in your house.”

  He tsked. “Such a chip on your shoulder, Royce. Green is such an ugly color on you.”

  He thought this was about me being jealous? Thought it was about money?

  Like any of that bullshit counted. But I knew well enough that it was the only thing that mattered to him.

  “Tell me if he’s there, because your daughter is locked upstairs having a panic attack, not that you’d notice or care. I’d just like to let her know when it’s safe for her to come out.”

  I could almost see him rolling his beady eyes. “Always so dramatic, isn’t she? Just like her big, bad brother. Making things a bigger deal than they really are.”

  It took everything I had to stop myself from putting my fist through a wall, wishing it was his face. Still, I was pressing my knuckles against the pitted, jagged brick, sucking in cleansing breaths before I totally blacked out.

  Before rage took over and I said or did something I couldn’t take back.

  “Tell me if he is there.” The demand flew off my tongue. Daggers and knives. Sharp enough to kill. I only wished.

  “You can cool the overreaction. He’s gone. And before you start making accusations, he showed up at my door. What kind of person would I be if I was so rude not to invite him in? He’s one of our biggest names. The best talent we have. He is the face of our label, Royce, don’t you agree? Besides, Anna was with him. You don’t expect me to be some kind of coldhearted bastard, do you?”

  Agony clutched my chest.

  Her face flashed through my mind.

  The memory a jagged knife twisted in my guts. I slumped forward, my hand pressed to the wall to keep me standing.

  Breaths nonexistent.

  Lungs caving.

  He laughed. The asshole knew exactly how to bring me to my knees.

  “He’s gone?”

  “As of five minutes ago.”

  It was the only relief I could find. That my sister was safe. But that didn’t mean Anna was.

  I had to push the thought out of my head. Shun it. It’d been the only way I could stay sane for the last four years.

  “And I’m not sure why you’re the one making demands when I don’t have my contract in my hands.”

  I was still reeling from Maggie’s scare, but I knew what was important to Karl Fitzgerald. It was my duty to play the part. See it through to the end.

  I wasn’t going to mess it up now.

  “I told you what it would take for them to sign.”

  “The deal was they had the spot at the ACB Awards if they signed. It wasn’t your place to renegotiate.”

  “And the one thing they need to see is you’ll actually come through for them. They want to see you’re not talking out of your ass. That this isn’t bullshit. You make a big promise? They want evidence you’re going to deliver. You do this? Get them on that stage? They will sign. I guarantee that.”

  Part of me wanted to derail the awards show.

  Last thing I wanted was Emily there. In the same room with that bastard. Hell, I didn’t want her in the same state. But I got the distinct sense she needed this. To see she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. That she was going to rise above it all.

  “You guarantee it?” It was a challenge. A gauntlet thrown.

  “Yes,” I told him, sure, though I wasn’t sure at all. Wasn’t sure if they should go through with it. If I should just come out and ask her to do this for me.

  The only thing I knew was I was doing what was right for my sister.

  For Anna.

  For this motherfucking world.

  “Fine. But if I don’t get that contract? Your ass is done. You won’t work in Hollywood again. Not in music. Hell, I’ll see to it that McDonald’s has you blacklisted.”

  I wanted to tell him to fuck off. To bring it on. Only solace I had was knowing this asshole would soon have what was coming to him.

  “Perfect.”

  He laughed. “So cocky and sure of yourself.”

  “You seem to forget who I am.”

  I ended the call without another word and called my sister back. She answered on the first ring.

  Hated that I’d even left her waiting for a second.

  “He’s gone.”

  She gasped out a cry of relief. “Are you sure?”

  “I talked with your dad. He said he left five minutes ago.”

  I could almost see her nodding frantically from across the miles, like she was trying to convince herself of her safety.

  Ripped my fucking black heart out of my chest. Wanted to give it to her for collateral, but who I was failed to matter. Only thing left of me was the debt. A reckoning that was coming.

  “Are you okay?” I grated, barely able to control the hatred in the words.

  “I think so.”

  “You are strong, Maggie. The strongest person I know.”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  “The fact you called me? That you did what you did? That makes you a survivor. A fighter. That is what makes you strong. And I promise you I’m going to take this threat away from you. Make sure you don’t have to live your life in fear.”

  “And what if you get hurt in the process?”

  “I’d die for you.” It flew out of my mouth like a bullet. So fast it cracked in the air.

  “And what if I want you to live, too?”

  “Everything I do is for you.”

  She gulped for air. “Then do this for me, Royce. Live for me. End this, but don’
t be stupid. You think I can’t see the hatred in your eyes? You think I don’t feel your desperation? Don’t do something that ruins you. He already ruined me.”

  She might have been naïve. Stuck in that time. But she was wise beyond her years.

  “You aren’t ruined.” I refused for her to even think it.

  I might have been ruined.

  Irredeemable.

  A sad, pathetic Hollywood cliché.

  But not her. I refused to let it happen.

  “Then let’s thrive together,” she whispered.

  “I’m going to get you out of there, Maggie. Get you out of that house forever. Soon. So soon.”

  “I’m ready.”

  When she said it, I could picture her hugging her knees to her chest where she sat on the floor of her huge walk-in closet, buried in the deepest corner, hidden by draping clothes hanging from above, wiping the tears from her face with the heel of her hand.

  Relief bounded through my chest.

  It was the first time she’d said it. Always so frail and fearful and agreeing with every bit of gnarled, distorted BS that bastard spewed. Scared to deny the lies he fed her.

  He expected her to swallow it down and purge it right back out.

  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “I love you so much, Royce.”

  “I love you, too. Mag-Pie. We’re almost there. Just . . . hang on for a few more days.”

  Ending the call, I pressed the top of my phone to my forehead, wondering if the pressure could force out the disgust and hurt and savagery that spun through my mind.

  This feeling that I was on the edge of something severe. No footing remaining underneath. I was about to slip. When I hit the bottom, there would be nothing left.

  Only thing I knew was I was taking both of those bastards down with me.

  Finally, I forced myself out of the alleyway, but I found I couldn’t go back to the hotel where the band was staying. Couldn’t bring myself to step into another vacant room, the blackness from within swallowing me whole, night after night taking another piece of me.

  Knowing Emily would be close.

  So fucking close.

  So far out of reach.

  I hit the sidewalk. The night was alive, neon signs flashing from where they hung outside bars and clubs, beacons for those out looking for a good time.

  A way to forget.

  To let go.

  A lighthouse for the hopeless who had nowhere left to go.

  Pretty fucking sure I fell into the latter.

  I passed by a couple larger clubs, opting for the first dive I came to.

  They were easy to spot.

  Grungy and bleak.

  The sound of live music seeping out from within, tendrils that swirled and wafted, crawling along the ground until they found someone to sink their claws into and sucker inside.

  At the door, I paid the five-dollar cover and moved inside the crowded space.

  It was drab, as expected. Muted, hazy lights glowed from the lamps that hung from the rafters, extended by metal ropes from the ceiling, set to a slow sway by the beat of the bass from the band that played tonight.

  For the last year since I’d taken this position, these had been the types of dives I’d sought out.

  Fitzgerald called it dumpster diving.

  Thing was, you found the best talent in the lowest places. Bands made of grit and determination and raw genius. They were just waiting for someone who knew what the fuck they were doing to sculpt them into something great.

  It was my job to chase greatness.

  Not that any of that was even a concern now.

  That title nothing but a way to swindle myself in.

  Didn’t mean I wasn’t good at it.

  I’d had the honor of discovering some fucking awesome bands that had earned their right in the spotlight.

  Like instinct, my attention moved to the two-foot riser stage where three guys performed beneath a fog of yellowed, dingy lights.

  I pegged them as local.

  Twangy country boys who were slinging covers.

  Good but not great.

  I found a secluded booth in the back, slipped into the scarred wooden bench. A second later, a waitress appeared. “What can I get for you?”

  “Woodford, neat.”

  “Be right back.”

  She disappeared back into the fray, and I slung myself back in the booth, fingers tapping at the tabletop.

  Itchy.

  Antsy in a way I hadn’t been in forever. Could feel this slowly brewing storm coming to a head.

  In a flash, the waitress was back, sliding the glittering tumbler down in front of me.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  She walked away, and I brought the glass to my lips, taking a big gulp, hoping it might calm my raging nerves. That it might soothe some of the hatred that roiled and disgust that distorted.

  I cringed when I felt movement at the side, cringed even harder when I felt the hand on my shoulder.

  “You look lonely.”

  I lifted my attention to the voice. Flirty and high and not close to being the sultry voice I’d come to crave.

  “I’m not looking for company.”

  I turned away and took a sip of my drink.

  Giggling, she slipped into the booth beside me.

  “Maybe I could change your mind.”

  I swiveled a hard glare her way. “I don’t think so.”

  Her blue gaze swept over me, the girl gorgeous in that overly done way, dressed up for a night out, to dip her fingers into something salacious and sinful.

  I couldn’t blame her.

  But not with me.

  Not tonight.

  She leaned closer. “You sure about that? You look like you’re nursing a broken heart. Nothing like a little distraction to make you forget.”

  I almost laughed, looking over at her when I asked, “You think I’m suffering from a broken heart, huh?”

  I had news for her. This heart had been broken a million years ago. No chance of healing it.

  Angling her head, she smiled something sad. “Isn’t everyone?”

  Couldn’t help but return a smile. “Seems so.”

  “What could it hurt to be broken together?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Had no fucking clue what was holding me back. Probably was exactly what I should have done. Put a wedge so thick between me and Emily that neither of us would attempt to cross it.

  Sever the bonds my heart had been so foolish to forge.

  Fucking impossible.

  Knew it with the tremble of my insides that came with a lash of awareness.

  Need and this deluge of devotion that engulfed me.

  My gaze drifted, and it immediately snagged on the silhouette of the girl who’d been haunting me since the moment she’d stumbled into my life. Eyes piercing me from across the cramped bar, bodies shifting around her while the girl stood stagnant in the middle of them.

  The eye of a storm.

  A spotlight.

  Soulshine.

  My guts twisted.

  Need consuming.

  Dick instantly hard.

  But it was the way my spirit shivered that was the problem. The way possessiveness bounded.

  She wore that fucking white dress that damn near dropped me to my knees every time it was draped over that gorgeous body.

  Nashville written all over it.

  Cute and sexy.

  Blonde waves cascading down her back.

  Old, scuffed brown cowgirl boots accentuating a mile of legs.

  What the fuck was she doing here?

  Alone.

  Immediately, it sent me spiraling back to the first night in Savannah. When she’d been out by herself, searching for a way to erase the agony that clung to her like a disease.

  Tonight—with the way she looked—I had to wonder if she wasn’t looking fo
r me.

  Drawn the same way I was.

  Magnets pulling through time and space.

  I leaned toward the woman whose name I hadn’t bothered catching, gesturing with my chin. “That’s why.”

  Her attention moved to where Emily stared at us.

  The girl winced. “Sorry . . . I didn’t realize.”

  She quickly slipped out of the booth, but not before Emily had whirled around and started to push through the crowd.

  Fleeing.

  Motherfucker.

  My guts tangled in regret.

  What I needed to do was let her go.

  Not feel as if I’d committed a wrong.

  She wasn’t mine and I wasn’t hers.

  As soon as I thought it, I knew it was a blatant lie.

  Sliding out of the booth, I tossed a twenty onto the table and shouldered through the crowd in the direction she had gone.

  Something frantic rose up. Clutching and strangling.

  People glared as I shoved through, but I couldn’t seem to find it in myself to give a fuck.

  One thing on my mind.

  One destination.

  I caught up to her close to the front door. Knew she sensed me there, the way her footsteps faltered for a beat before she increased her pace.

  Hated that she was running from me.

  Couldn’t stomach the idea even though I knew it was for the best.

  I grabbed her by the wrist. Flames swept up my arm, so intense I was pretty certain my chest seized. She whirled around. Distress twisted her face into a knot of pain. “Please . . . just let me go.”

  My hold intensified. “Is that what you want?”

  Confusion pinched her face. “I thought that’s what we decided was for the best.”

  “It is. Doesn’t mean it’s what either of us want.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed. “Why’s this so hard?”

  I took her hand, trying to get her to see me. To look at me. Slowly, she opened that mossy gaze to me, looked back in the direction of the booth where I’d been sitting.

  “Did you want that girl?” Pain leached into the question.

  “No. Not for a second.”

  Sadness pulled across her face, and she gently tapped her fingertips over the words stamped across my chest. “Maybe someone else deceived you . . . hurt you . . . but I’m not her. And I’m not sure I can keep deceiving myself about what I feel for you.”

  Then she pulled away. So close but out of my reach.