When We Fall

by Madeleine Labitan

  I sniff then laugh, nodding. "Yeah, you were."

  He strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers. "But not anymore." Then he closes the distance between us and presses his lips against mine, kissing away the hurt, erasing all the pain, and promising to never make the mistake again.

  I cling to him, holding on to that promise with all the hope and love within me, trusting in him—in us—to make it work.

  We'll be okay.

  "Eww!"

  Startled, we pull away to see a few children watching us in disgust. And not far from them are, in my assumption, their parents, mirroring the same expressions.

  Duke is staring at us as well, tilting his head, as if wondering what the fuss is all about.

  Parker bites his bottom lip to hold back a smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Want to get out of here?"

  I laugh unabashedly, too happy to care, and nod. "Take me home."

  EPILOGUE

  Parker

  "Seriously, where are you taking me?" Sawyer touches the blindfold around her eyes before huffing indignantly and putting her hand down.

  "We're almost there," I chuckle, cutting my eyes back to the road.

  As much as I'd like to keep staring at my girlfriend, getting into an accident is the last thing I want to happen. I'm driving us back to Holy Oaks, but she doesn't know that yet. She has no idea where we're going. The blindfold makes sure of that.

  It's been exactly a year since that night on the beach. The night that started as a mess and ended up being the best thing that ever happened. It was the night that essentially brought us together. That's why I decided to do something about it. I'm bringing us back to that place.

  We were supposed to leave Carlisle University an hour ago, but I had swim practice and needed to wait for Sawyer to finish her meeting with her romance writing class professor, who she can't stop talking about.

  It may or may not have something to do with the fact that the woman happens to be a well-known author and a friend of Ms. Langham, our English teacher back in Holy Oaks Prep—and now her dad's girlfriend. So whenever Sawyer talks to her professor, she tends to lose track of time.

  I feel my lips curve into a smile, picturing the look on her face as she soaks up all the guidance and information she can get from her professor. As a Creative Writing major, Sawyer's dedication to learning her craft and following the footsteps of her father is awe-inspiring.

  I couldn't be prouder of her, and I'm happy that I'm right beside her as she carves a bright future.

  There'd never been a question of where I was heading for college. I wanted to be exactly where she planned to go. I almost lost her once. I couldn't chance that happening again, so I also applied for Carlisle University. And fortunately, I got accepted. I still have a year to decide on a major, but I'm already leaning toward architecture.

  It wasn't hard to make the decision, knowing that the university is just a couple hours away from Holy Oaks. I'm still close to my family, just as I initially intended.

  I'd kept it a secret at first, wanting to make it a surprise, holding off until graduation. And when I finally showed Sawyer my admission letter, she let out a squeal and launched herself at me.

  We'd celebrated the news by having dinner with our families. Mom, who'd just finished rehab, was there, too. It had been a little awkward for her, considering it was the first time in years she'd gone out to socialize with other people. But Sawyer and her family made sure Mom was comfortable, treating her like they would do any other acquaintance, not even attempting to walk eggshells around her. Which I knew for a fact she'd been grateful for.

  The road to her recovery hasn't been easy. Days are good, for the most part. But there are some bad ones too, and those are the times when she struggles. But just like Aria said, Mom is determined to stay completely sober this time around. My sister has taken over my role as her "guardian," monitoring her and making sure that she never relapses.

  But it doesn't mean that I'm not helping out anymore. It's still my job to look after them and make sure they're doing fine. That's why I come home almost every weekend and make it a point to call a few times a week, just to check in.

  Aria thinks it's overkill, but Mom doesn't have any complaints. She's always the one on the phone, enthusiastically recounting about the AA meetings she never fails to attend and how helpful her sponsor is to her.

  Slowly, and with determination, she's working on becoming the mother she was before Dad left us. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed this was ever possible. That Mom would be able to recover from her addiction and live her life fully. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes.

  But Sawyer always reminds me that it is, that I'm truly living this reality. And my kind, compassionate and supportive girl had a lot to do with it. She was there when Mom got out of rehab, making sure she was settled comfortably back home, coming over when she needed company. Until now she talks to Mom over the phone and always pays a visit whenever she's back in Holy Oaks.

  She's there for Aria and Ethan too, making herself available whenever they need someone to talk to. And sometimes, in Aria's case, someone to complain to about her "annoying older brother."

  I never asked Sawyer to develop a close relationship with my family, but she did, anyway. I'm glad for it and thankful for her. I'll always be thankful for her.

  "Are we already there?" Sawyer breaks into my thoughts just as I pull the car to a stop. Without waiting for an answer, she takes the blindfold off her eyes. Then she blinks and gazes outside. "We're at the beach...in Holy Oaks," she slowly says when it dawns on her, turning to me with a confused frown on her pretty face. "Parker, what are we doing here?"

  "Wait here." I climb out of the car and pop open the trunk, grabbing the six-pack can of Corona I stashed in there earlier before getting back inside and setting it on the dashboard.

  "Happy anniversary, baby."

  "Anniversary? But it's several weeks away. What..." She stares at the six-pack for a beat, and I watch until it finally hits, her face lighting up with a laugh. Jesus, she's fucking beautiful. "That's right. It's been a year since I got drunk in this very car." She narrows her eyes at me. "So that's why you brought it back instead of your new car when you went home last weekend."

  "I thought it was only right that we'd properly celebrate the night that started it all."

  Her eyes soften, shining with emotion as she murmurs, "The night that brought us together."

  The night that I'm so damn glad had happened. We wouldn't be here right now if it didn't. I'd still be the dumbass secretly pining after her, doing nothing about it. Maybe she and Liam would've broken up just the same. But she still wouldn't have been mine.

  I'm fucking glad things ended up working for the best.

  The girl sitting in the passenger seat is proof of that.

  "Should I get drunk, too? But you'll have to carry me up to my dorm." A smirk curves her pretty lips before turning into a grimace. "I bet my roommate is going to be there with her boyfriend again. It's bad enough to deal with them sober. But drunk? I'll probably blurt out something I'm just going to regret."

  Sawyer and her roommate don't get along—and for good reason. Erica Raley is a piece of work; she's a slob, raids closets without permission, and possesses the decency of a gnat—Sawyer's words not mine. I can't count the number of times my girlfriend has ranted about walking in on her roommate having sex. If I tell her that the girl also shamelessly flirts with me whenever her back is turned, she'll probably blow a gasket. It's the only reason why I don't bother. I don't want to stress her with something that I can easily handle on my own.

  "You can always spend the night with me. My bed is bigger, anyway." Reaching for the six-pack, I pop a can open and hand it over to her before grabbing one for myself.

  "But, baby, your roommate snores, remember?" She bites her lip to keep from laughing.

  I wince. "Right."

  Bruce Donovan, my roommate, snores louder than a goddamn helicopter. Eve
n the noise-canceling earmuffs I keep on my bed are no match to him. That's why Sawyer only sleeps over when he's not spending the night there.

  Sawyer peers at me from beneath her lashes and smiles, a look she knows full well that drives me fucking crazy. "I can't wait for the semester to be over so we can finally get an apartment together."

  That's always been the plan. We'd spend a semester at the dorms before moving to an apartment together. I'll finally get to sleep next to her and wake up to her face every single day. This semester is too damn long for my liking.

  I draw in a deep breath to ease the impatience clawing at my chest and grab her hand, entwining our fingers together before kissing the back of her hand. She loves it when I do this, and I love doing everything she loves.

  Her breath hitches, her eyes growing hooded.

  Just like that, my dick twitches in my pants. Fuck. "Come here, Peaches," I growl like the damn caveman I am, reclining my seat to accommodate us both. Then I plant my hands on her hips, hauling her out of her seat and depositing her on my lap.

  Her long dark hair cascades down her front as she leans forward to bring her lips to mine, the sweet scent of her skin mingling with the lavender scent of her shampoo driving me wild.

  "I need to be inside you," I murmur desperately against her lips.

  "Then fuck me," she pants.

  With a growl, I bunch her dress—thank fuck for easy access—around her waist and rip her panties off of her, making her gasp then giggle.

  "That's the third underwear you've destroyed this month."

  "I'll buy you a dozen." Even though it's her fault for buying skimpy-ass panties. She knows how much they turn me on.

  She just hums, pulling her plump lip between her teeth, working on freeing me from my jeans and boxers.

  As her hand wraps around my dick, stroking the flesh, I push two fingers inside of her, groaning at the wetness of her pussy. Always primed and ready for me. If I weren't so impatient to be inside her right now, I'd spend an hour eating her, taking pleasure at seeing her coming undone on my mouth. But I can always do that another day.

  "Parker, please," Sawyer whimpers, her nails digging into my bicep.

  "So impatient," I chuckle, slipping my fingers out of her. Then line my dick at her entrance and guide her down, my vision almost blacking out at the hot, tight feel of her around me.

  Fuck, she feels so damn good. Every single time I'm inside her, I'm in danger of coming prematurely like a fucking teenage boy having sex for the first time.

  As if to torture me further, Sawyer rolls her hips, the movement burying me even deeper, then clenches her muscles around me.

  "Baby." I grit my teeth, digging my fingers into her hips. "You're killing me here."

  She responds by moaning in my ear, then lifting herself up and slamming back down on my length so hard I almost see stars.

  "Jesus, fuck." The need to drive into her consumes me, and I give in to the primal urge. Gripping the back of her thighs, I pump into her hard and fast just as she likes, eliciting moans that only make my dick harder and my urge to come stronger.

  But not yet. I won't come until she does.

  Sweat beads on my temples as I plunge into her over and over, struggling to keep the urge under control. It's near damn impossible when she feels like heaven in my arms. And her looking like this—head thrown back, eyes snapped shut, lips pulled between her teeth as pleasure claims her features—doesn't help one bit.

  Beautiful and mine. All mine.

  It's all too much. Too fucking much.

  With a groan, I slam my lips against hers. Our tongues duel, breaths mingling together as our kisses grow frantic, matching the delirious movements of our bodies.

  We climb higher and higher, the pressure inside us building to an overwhelming crescendo. Until it ripples through our bodies and crashes over us, consuming us both.

  "That was…" she starts after we climb down from the euphoria, her head resting on my chest.

  "Amazing?"

  "Perfect. It was perfect." She lifts her gaze to mine, her smile bright and brilliant. A smile only reserved for me.

  How did I get so damn lucky?

  "Everything with you is," I murmur, my feelings for her, intense and powerful, making my chest tight.

  "Let's stay this way for a bit," she sighs, leaning her head back against my chest, making herself comfortable on my lap. "I love you, Parker."

  "Not as much as I do you, Peaches."

  THE END

  Thank you for reading! Did you like this book? Please don’t forget to leave a review. It’s never demanded, but always appreciated. If you want to get the latest updates on my upcoming releases, you can like my Facebook page and join my mailing list.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek of Faking It, Book 1 in the Fake Boyfriend Duet.

  SNEAK PEEK: FAKING IT

  "I can't believe he did that." Allison Turner, my best friend since kindergarten, is gaping at me like a fish. Like she's waiting for me to yell "April Fools!"

  But it's not April.

  And I wasn't joking when I told her that Brad McNeely, my boyfriend of four months, just dumped me. Dumped me like a freaking hot potato.

  I should have seen it coming—but how was I supposed to know? The jerk didn't even give me any hint that he wanted out.

  So when he drove me home from school a couple hours ago and told me it was over, I laughed a good minute, thinking he was just screwing around. But when he didn't share my humor and simply stared at me somberly, I realized he was completely serious. And that was when the shock settled in.

  "I'm not feeling it anymore," he said softly, his eyes pleading me to understand.

  What a load of crap. He was definitely "feeling it" when we made out in the backseat of his car two days ago. What, did he suddenly have a change of heart in that small span of time?

  I wish I could say I handled our breakup with dignity. That I acted cool and unaffected and uncaring of the fact that he didn't want me anymore. But my reaction was the exact opposite. I spent a good ten minutes screaming at him while tears ran down my face. If there was any consolation, Brad looked completely remorseful—and totally freaked out.

  Now, I'm at my best friend's house and still bawling my eyes out. I probably look hideous already, what with my makeup all smudged up and running down my face. The large pile of tissues tinged with black on the coffee table practically confirms it.

  Freaking Brad.

  "I don't get it. Why did he dump you? You're a great catch."

  "Right?" I sniffle, blowing snot into the tissue before tossing it on top of the pile.

  Allie wrinkles her nose at it then turns back to me. "I mean, you're one of the prettiest girls in school. And popular, too. Did he hit his head while playing lacrosse or something?"

  This is what I love most about Allie. She says the right words when I'm at my lowest. She knows how to lift my spirits up.

  But it's true. I have one of the prettiest faces in Maple Grove High. I'm not even going to pretend to be humble about it. I'm well aware of my physical attributes.

  I have long, silky reddish-brown hair that flows down my back. Naturally thick, curly lashes that frame my hazel eyes. Pink, soft lips with a peaked Cupid's bow, and small dimples on either side.

  I wish I could say that I have curves to die for, but they're pretty average. No big boobs and hourglass figure on this girl—just your regular B-cup and slim waist and hips. I have a good height though, standing at five feet and nine inches, and topping at six feet with high heels on.

  All in all, I'm happy and confident with the way I look.

  But back to the real issue—Brad and I were good together. We rarely fought. There was little to no drama in our relationship. And I always made sure to be a supportive girlfriend. If there was a lacrosse game, I would be there to watch. If he wanted to go to some party, I was right there with him. And whenever he had a problem—like a difficult homework—I always provided help.

&nb
sp; Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was great.

  Which is why I'm completely stumped that he broke up with me. Had I been too demanding? Or maybe he found my kissing skills subpar? But he always complimented me for being an excellent kisser. But what did I really know? He dumped me.

  "I gotta say, Red, this is the prettiest I’ve ever seen you," comes an amused male voice that makes me stiffen.

  I lift my eyes and see Grayson, Allie's older brother, smirking down at me.

  "Shut up," I snap, uncaring that he's seeing me looking like a raccoon. It’s just Gray.

  I’ve known the guy since I was, like, five. I’ve seen him run around the playground naked, chasing girls and making them scream by showing them his tiny-size dick. I’ve seen him plucking booger from his nose. And I’ve unwillingly smelled his disgusting farts every time he farted in front of my and Allie’s faces back when he was at the obnoxious ages of eleven to thirteen.

  He’s different from any other guys I've met. He's the one guy I’ll never be self-conscious with.

  But I digress.

  Because here’s the thing about Grayson Turner: he’s a senior like Brad and a year older than me and Allie. And again, like Brad, he plays lacrosse. In fact, he’s the captain of the team—which makes him the most popular guy in school. The title, which I know, my ex has always wanted for himself.

  He’s also extremely hot. Right now, he’s in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his thick, light brown hair damp like he just came out of the shower. Which is probably the case since I can smell the clean, cool scent of his shampoo from where I’m sitting.

  Which does nothing to me because, again, it’s just Gray.

  His deep green eyes flash a tad sympathetic as he stares at me. "Sorry to hear about McNeely.”

  I freeze. What the hell? How did he know about that? It’s only been hours since the breakup.

  “How did you find out?” Allie demands, beating me to it.