Falling into You

by Jackson, A. L.

  “Daisy,” I corrected her.

  Mama tsked and waved me off, shifting her attention to the child. “You are my sunshine, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

  Daisy nodded emphatically. “Yep, I’s am!” She started to sing off-key in her voice that should be a balm, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are gray…”

  But today, everything was too raw. Too real and wrong and devastating.

  I tried not to choke on that clot of grief that always lurked in the recesses, but somehow today, it felt suffocatin’.

  Agony so intense it fought to overwhelm.

  It left me wondering if I might not make it.

  Daisy continued to sing, her innocent joy echoing through the room, while I stood there, frozen to the spot. When she finished their favorite song, she leaned forward and plopped a messy kiss on my mama’s cheek.

  So sweet.

  Mama melted, this puddle of sorrow and joy, her thin, sunken arms wrapping around my child as if she wanted to imprint her embrace on her forever. “Beautiful, my darling Daisy. You keep singing your songs forever.”

  “I will, Nana. Forever and ever. You’ll hear me, right?” she asked, suddenly worried, pulling back to look at my mother.

  We’d prepared Daisy. Been as honest as we could in a delicate way.

  But I’d learned quickly there was no way to prepare myself.

  My knees wobbled, and there I stood, still holding her breakfast tray while I fought the stinging at the back of my eyes.

  Mama brushed her fingers through Daisy’s hair, solemn affection on her sallow face. “Forever and ever. You keep singin’, and I will be listnenin’. Just turn that sweet face to the heavens. I promise. I’ll be there.”

  Mama cast her attention on me, no doubt feeling the waves of torment coming off me.

  I sucked it down and forced myself to move farther inside. Carefully, I set the tray on her lap and made sure the legs were adjusted just right.

  “My, my, what is this?” she gushed, plucking up the picture and opening it to a squealing Daisy who started bouncing on her knees again.

  “It’s for you. It’s for you.” She got up close to Mama’s face, hunting for the truth. “Do you likes it? It’s got all the colors and all the flowers and the amor, amor, amor!”

  Love. Love. Love.

  It swirled and danced through the room.

  She cupped Daisy’s face. “All the amor.”

  Daisy beamed in high voltage.

  “Thank you, my darling Daisy.”

  “You’re the welcomest, Nana.”

  “Why don’t you get me a piece of tape and hang it right there so I can look at it all day?”

  Mama gestured at the wall that was already covered in the pictures that Daisy colored for her each morning. The display was interspersed with the get-well cards that had been coming in at a steady stream since the news had spread around town and the neighboring counties.

  Daisy scrambled off the bed. “Be right back,” she shouted as she flew out the door, taking all her energy with her.

  “Sit with me,” Mama said, coaxing me to the spot on the opposite side of where Daisy had been.

  Carefully, I sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing up a knee so I could face her. I brushed her matted hair from her sweaty forehead, praying another prayer that I could take it away. Make it better. Do something that would change the brutal reality of this.

  She reached out and touched my chin. “Don’t be sad, my beautiful daughter.”

  One of those tears I’d been fighting slipped free. “How could I not be?”

  She traced the pad of her thumb over the trembling of my bottom lip. “Because I’ve lived the best life I could have lived. Have loved and have been loved. Have been given the greatest gifts.”

  Agony stretched tight.

  I’d been wearing an armor of strength for so long, trying to hold everything together for my mama and papa, for Daisy, but I could feel it getting stripped away.

  Piece by piece until I was brittle and bare.

  Unable to handle the itchy feeling, I pushed to standing and paced toward the window as if I could hide it, hugging my arms across my middle as I stared out on the fields of awestriking color that rambled for acres behind the house.

  “You saw him last night.” It wasn’t even a question.

  I glanced back at her with a weary smile. “I did.”

  “How was it?”

  I choked out a laugh. “Horrible. I haven’t felt so weak in a long time, Mama. I thought I’d overcome it, and one look at him, and I realized I’m not even close. I shouldn’t have gone.”

  Mama’s expression twisted in compassion. “Just because you continue to grieve someone you lost is not the same thing as weakness. It just means you have a soft heart. A good heart. One that continues to beat. And even though it hurts, you get up each day and you live your life beautifully. That’s what I call overcoming.”

  “Mama,” I whispered, not sure how to accept her praise when I was feeling this way. I shook my head as if it could toss Richard Ramsey right out of my psyche. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just forget him.”

  Mama blew a huff of air from her nose. “Oh, I’d say it does.”

  “He left me. That’s that.”

  She stretched out her hand for me, palm up, like she could reach me from there. “Oh, Violeta…there is a very fine line between love and hate. Between condemnation and forgiveness. Between cherishing the memory of a beauty that has faded and hating that it existed in the first place.”

  I huffed like a petulant child. “I do kind of hate that it existed in the first place.”

  “But would you take it back?” she pressed. “What does your heart say?”

  Mama had always taught me to listen with my heart.

  I bit down on my bottom lip, wavered, memories rushing too fast.

  His face and those hands and the songs he’d left written on me.

  “I don’t know.” That was about as honest as I could be.

  Desperate to change the subject, I pointed at her tray. “You should eat before your food gets cold.”

  She picked up her fork and pushed her food around, not taking a bite.

  “Mama,” I begged.

  This time, her smile was sad, the look in her tranquil eyes telling.

  Knees weak, I moved her way and knelt at the edge of her bed, unable to remain standing. “Mama,” I said again, gathering up her hand in a fist and pressing her knuckles to my lips.

  “It’s okay.” She shifted to set that frail hand on my cheek, taking my fingers with her.

  I pressed her hand closer.

  Desperate to keep her near.

  She stared at me, her scratchy voice barely breaking the surface, “It’s a good life, Violet. A good, good life. Miss me, but do not despair.”

  Her thumb stroked my cheekbone, my mama shaking as she murmured, “I am missing only one thing. There is only one thing that I would change.”

  Grief lashed through her expression, and I saw it for what it was.

  She glanced at the empty doorway, at the sound of Daisy bounding back upstairs.

  She looked back at me, the truth of her loss flooding out. “Find her, Violet. If there is any way, find her. Bring her home to me. I want to see her one last time.”

  Anguish squeezed my heart in a fist, completely crushing it when Daisy appeared at the door and came racing in with the tape dispenser lifted over her head. “Got it!”

  She ran around me and grabbed the picture, oblivious to the torture that raged inside me.

  The fear.

  The worry.

  I pushed to my feet and pressed a soft kiss to my mama’s temple. “I’ll try, Mama. I will try.”

  Knowing her last request might very well be my end.

  * * *

  Peals of laughter floated through my open bedroom window, a soft breeze blowing through and billowing the sheer drapes.

  Fall descending on
the hot air.

  I glanced out at my father who pushed Daisy on the swing, the child squealing and begging him to push her higher.

  Little daredevil.

  Affection pulsed through my veins at the same second as my heart trembled in a quiver of dread. Fear glided over my flesh in a sticky flash.

  My mouth went dry as I turned back to my laptop that was set on the small white desk under the window. I set my fingers over the keys, and a rush of dizziness canted through my mind.

  I was unable to type. Unable to focus. Unable to see.

  God, I was terrified.

  Terrified of the unknown.

  Of what was to come.

  Of what I could possibly find.

  Of what this might cost.

  When she’d first gone, I’d searched for what had felt like forever, desperate to find someone who didn’t want to be found. Unable to process the selfishness while I’d reeled with the grief.

  I glanced back out the window. Daisy pumped her legs, her sweet face stretched in a brilliant smile as she tipped her head back toward the sky. “Look at me, Papa! Look at me! I’m flyin’.”

  Emotion clogged my throat, and I squeezed my eyes closed as I forced myself to type the name into the search.

  Liliana Marin.

  Nausea swept through me when I peeled my eyes back open and I read what the screen had populated. As the same results from all those years ago showed.

  Mentions from college where she’d attended in Charlotte.

  The restaurant she’d worked at here in town.

  The last was a missing person’s report that had been written in the paper.

  Then nothing. Her Facebook account inactive. Her phone disconnected.

  My older sister gone without a trace.

  Daisy’s precious voice flooded my room. “Higher, Papa. Higher! I flies so high in the sky. Just like a bird. I’m not even scared. Not even a little bit.”

  I swallowed hard as I turned back to the computer, typed in a search for a local private investigator, and then inputted the number on my cell.

  I clutched it in my hand.

  Warring.

  Wavering.

  Then I pressed send.

  And I realized I’d never been so scared in all my life.

  Six

  Richard

  I kissed her like mad in the hallway at the back of the swanky restaurant where we’d just eaten in Hollywood.

  I didn’t care we were basically right out in the open.

  I had my hands on that face as I devoured her mouth. “I love you, Violet.”

  She grinned beneath that kiss, those lips slipping into one of those smiles I wanted to be responsible for every day of my life. “I think I’m plenty aware of that.”

  I pressed her farther against the wall, my jean-covered cock rubbing at the floral dress that had been driving me nuts all night. “I think you might need a reminder.”

  She rumbled a seductive laugh. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

  I groaned. “Don’t make me go.”

  Violet giggled. “This is the whole reason we’re here. Go. Enjoy. They want to take you out. Show you what this life is goin’ to be like.” She leaned up and whispered in my ear, “Superstar. Just wait…everyone in the world is gonna know your name.”

  I edged back and stared down at her.

  Violets and grace and the good.

  “Every dream I have is one I want to give to you.”

  She smiled in sheer adoration. “Together.”

  “Together.”

  “Wakey, wakey, asshole.”

  I jolted awake with the shock of the obnoxious voice ripping me from my dream, and my head jerked from my pillow. I squinted through the bleary light, doin’ my best to process the earthquake that shook me awake.

  The fucker was jumping on my bed near my feet.

  In his boots.

  Rhys Manning.

  Our bassist.

  My best friend for my entire life.

  Ex-best friend if he kept pulling stunts like this.

  “What the hell?” I threw my pillow at him.

  Rhys caught it against his chest. He busted up laughing like he actually thought this shit was funny. “Get up, sunshine. We’ve got important things to do. Day’s almost half done.”

  With a moan, I slumped back onto my mattress. “You couldn’t call or text like a normal human being?”

  Rhys jumped off the side of the bed, house quaking as he hit the floor. “Uh, I’ve texted ten times and called three. And if you lump me in with normal humans, you and I are gonna have a problem. How dare you compare me to a mere mortal when I am a god amongst men. Do you even know me?”

  I scrubbed my face.

  It was too early for this shit.

  “Go away.”

  He ripped my hands back. “Nope. We have a mission from my mama.”

  Distress banged through the fucking hangover staging an assault in my head. “I think I’m just fine right here.”

  Last night was a disaster.

  A travesty.

  A motherfucking joke.

  All of it on me.

  “Dude, my mama is making her special homemade chicken pot pie…and she needs a chicken, so we’re going to the store. That or she’s going to have our asses out at the barn plucking one out of the coop. Your pick, man.”

  Ugh.

  No. Just no. I might have been born in the country, ridden a horse or two, but that’s where I drew the line.

  Tossing off the covers, I sat up on the side of the bed. “Fine.”

  A spike of pain pierced my brain. I moaned and rammed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

  Shit.

  Good fuckin’ luck with the whole drowning my problems bit. Only thing taking a swim in a bottle of bourbon had done was double the misery. The gaping hole in the darkest part of me ached and moaned. A blade struck right through my brain, the piercing stab of it a reminder of what I was in the middle of.

  Of what I could feel coming closer.

  Rhys laughed and patted me on the head. “Aww…did someone have too much to drink last night? Makes me wonder where you disappeared to without sayin’ a word. Sketch, baby.”

  I smacked his hand away. “Fuck off, man.”

  He laughed harder. “Touchy.”

  “I’ll show you touchy,” I warned.

  This time he cackled. “You’re adorable, Richard. Truly adorable. Keep up with those dreams about taking a stallion like me out. Now get some damn clothes on and let’s roll. My mama is downstairs with yours, hatching a plan. Word of warning: favorite topic right now is that surprise guest who showed up last night.”

  He lifted his brows.

  Busted.

  Fuck.

  No doubt, every busybody in the state knew Violet had shown. Which undoubtedly meant every single one of those gossip-hounds were currently spreading the word that I’d followed her out. In a town like this, I might as well have set fire to Town Hall.

  I really did have to get out of here. Last thing I needed was to face my mother after the stunt I’d pulled last night.

  If I’d thought my life was a bad dream, it’d just become a nightmare.

  “Fine. I’m coming.”

  “Meet me downstairs in five.”

  When he slipped out, I tossed the covers off and groaned as I got out of bed.

  No matter which way I cut it, this was gonna suck.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were blazing down the road in Rhys’ ridiculously over-the-top car at warp speed.

  A brand-new GT500.

  Lime green and black, of course.

  “Would you slow down, asshole?”

  “Not a chance, brother!” Rhys drummed on the steering wheel as he shouted out the open window, his dark blond hair blowing all over the place. “Freest I’ve felt in forever. Home sweet home, baby!”

  Rhys blew out a whistle as he dragged his face from the window and faced forward. “Woo wee, is it ever good to
be back. Ready for a little R & R. Remind my bones where they came from before I let the limelight go to my head. A country boy could get used to all that glitz and glam.”

  Dude actually tapped his temple.

  I cut him a raised brow. “I’m pretty sure something got to your head, and it doesn’t have a thing to do with the limelight.”

  Rhys busted up and reached over the console in my direction. Asshole patted me on the cheek, action just as condescending as the tone of his voice. “Aww, come on, Richey-Poo, don’t be jealous I got double the Gram followers after our big show on the ACB Awards. I know it stings, brother, but there are some of us who are just meant to go down in the history books. Some of us who were meant to love all the ladies. Some of us who are meant to go down in a blaze of glory.”

  He let his left arm drift out the window, riding on the wind, his grin going double-smug. “No need to get bitter over it. I’m happy to give you a ride on my coattails, and I won’t even take credit for it.”

  I scoffed. “You wish, dude. And would you watch the damn road?”

  Rhys was as ridiculous as they came. Loud and obnoxious and wore his heart on his sleeve. He was this thick, brawny, tattooed boy with dust on his boots and country in his soul. He never hesitated to say whatever he was thinking and was glad to throw in a little extra BS, too.

  We’d grown up next door to each other, best of friends, two of us nothing but reckless dreams and nonstop trouble. Pretty much drove our poor mamas out of their minds with worry.

  I guessed they hadn’t been too far off base.

  “You know the only reason all those women follow you is because they want to see pictures of you without your shirt?” I goaded him.

  After every show, the doucher ripped his shirt from his body and tossed the sweaty, drenched mess out into the crowd. The women who caught it had started a tradition of taking a picture of themselves wearing it with nothing else under and posting it with the hashtag #IGotWetWithRhys.

  Dude was a walking STD.

  His expression turned wry. “You’re saying that like it’s an issue.”

  “Hey, man, all I’m saying is we know who’s got talent around here, and it’s not you,” I teased.

  He smacked his hand over his heart. “How dare you! The blasphemy. Stab a boy in the heart, why don’t you? I’ll just be over here bleeding to death.”