After I Fall: A FALLING NOVEL

by Jessica Scott

  I lower the glass. "Believe it or not, everything doesn’t revolve around you, Davis."

  His eyes flash dangerously and he sets his own glass down a little too hard. “That’s where you’re wrong. This was always about you humiliating me. Do you know how weak it makes me look that you were fucking around at a pathetic bar?”

  I can feel the rage building in my chest once again. I swallow three ice chips to try and dislodge it from my lungs. I need to think clearly here. "Maybe it’s time you look in the mirror. You were going to run that article, deliberately framed in a way that ruined Eli’s life. It made him look complicit in the murder of civilians."

  He smirks. "You’re taking this too personally. I just wanted to get you away from him. Back where you belong."

  It's difficult to explain the emotions pressing on my lungs right now. Fear. Panic. Adrenaline as I step to the edge of the precipice that leads to the rest of my life.

  “Well it looks like you lose. This relationship is not going to work.”

  His eyes flicker in surprise. Which is actively shocking. “I’m sorry?”

  He honestly didn’t see this coming? “We’ll do it quietly. Let the excitement from this op-ed die down. You’ll issue a statement saying we’ve grown apart, on a Friday afternoon in the middle of the summer. Maybe during Shark Week so no one will notice.”

  “Is this still about the bruises?” He sinks back into his chair. “You’re overreacting. That kind of thing happens all the time.”

  “You accused me of cheating because one of my father’s friends sent me a dick pic. I think I have a right to be upset,” I say mildly. It’s amazing how little I care about this conversation. I just want it to be over. To be away from him.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Does that help?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  His words, his attitude just reinforce how much I don't matter to him. How I never will. His apology is a means to an end. Nothing genuine. Nothing sincere.

  How did I ever want attention from this man? It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. And that’s what’s irritating him.

  I’m letting him go. He has no control here. No power.

  And it’s finally dawning on him.

  It’s a powerful feeling.

  I set my napkin down on my plate. “There’s really nothing more to say. We’re done, Davis.”

  He shrugs and tries to look like he doesn’t care. But he does. "I guess so. You have my secretary's number if you need to get in touch. I’ll expect you to return the ring."

  I smile at him and I am sure my expression is positively blinding. “I’ve already sold it and donated the money to charity.” I push my chair back from the table. "Thank you for this little talk."

  I leave quickly. I need to get away from the tight pressure in my chest. As though there’s some part of me, deep down, that had held on to the hope that someday he would look at me and see me, really see me and tell me that I mattered.

  But I don't. And I don't think I ever did. To him, at least.

  The only person in this world that I ever really mattered to died when my mom died.

  I'm not sure where I'm going. But I'm not staying here one second longer.

  I'm free.

  So why does it feel like my soul is lost, with nowhere to go?

  Chapter 30

  Eli

  * * *

  There's a storm on the horizon. The kind of storm that sends people scurrying for cover and weathermen sending out emergency alerts.

  It's the kind of storm one should not be out walking in. But there I am, standing in front of Parker's building, trying to find the courage to walk up the stairs and knock on her door.

  I've never really thought of myself as a coward before, but there you have it.

  I have no idea what I'm going to say. What I can say that will make things right.

  I rub my hand over my face and push out a deep breath. "Okay, I can do this."

  "You know, it's never really a good sign to stand around talking to yourself."

  I didn't hear her approach but now she's all I can see as she walks toward me along the brick sidewalk, and does it with fucking grace and style in her three-inch heels.

  "Desperate times and all that." God, I sound like I'm about to cry. I offer a half-assed smile instead. “It turns out I have a publicist I didn’t know about.”

  She tips her head but doesn’t smile. “I read the article Ryan wrote. He did a good job.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve never been so glad one of my employees has been asked for a blowjob in all my life.”

  She laughs quietly. “Yeah, well, we got lucky he wasn’t actually a sexually harassing scumbag.” She clears her throat. “I mean, your publicist is lucky.”

  I take a single step closer. “How did you…?”

  She doesn’t back away but she doesn’t move in, either. There is a chasm between us, a gulf that I created.

  “You should know that Davis was never going to run the article,” she says softly. “He was using it to threaten me. To get me to run home.” She swallows. “I might have. But he threatened you. And Kelsey and Deacon. And I…I couldn’t let him do that. Couldn’t let him hurt you because of me.” She rubs her hands over her arms. The pressure in the atmosphere is dropping rapidly. “I took a risk. I was terrified but I figured if Ryan wouldn’t help then we really had nothing to lose.”

  I want to pull her close, to protect her from the rain, from everything.

  But I don’t have the right to touch her. I failed her. When she needed me most, I stumbled and let her fall all by herself.

  "I was coming to see you." It's then that I notice: she looks…lost. Everything I was going to say…none of that matters now. "What happened?"

  "You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore, Eli." There is utter sadness in those words. “I know I’m not one of yours.”

  She moves to step past me.

  I stand there, rooted to the spot, the realization that she is once more walking away hammering inside my brain.

  I don’t think. I grab her then, turning her toward me, my hands rough on her shoulders.

  "I never pretended." It's everything I can do not to rail at her. “Everything between us was always real."

  She slips her hands between our bodies, pushing against my chest. "Don't. Okay? I can't take any more right now." She smiles sadly and I let her go.

  Because I have to give her what she wants.

  Even if it’s not what she needs.

  "What happened?"

  Her lips press together in a flat, humorless line. "I'm free. I broke things off with Davis. No more political parties. No more fundraisers." She looks away. "My father is pissed. I don't think I'm even expected home for the holidays anymore." Her voice cracks a little. And shatters my heart.

  "I thought that's what you wanted."

  "I thought so, too." Her bottom lip quivers and she bites down on it hard enough that I wince in sympathy. "It hurts. Knowing that you don't really matter after all."

  I move into her space and gather her closer, drawing her near until her cheek is pressed to my heart, her body molded to mine.

  She doesn't resist. She stays still for a moment, then she sinks into me.

  It is a moment of perfect pleasure. Not sexual. Not erotic. Just the pure sensation of touching another person. Of full, deep, human connection.

  I half expect her to ask me to leave, and I will, if she asks. I won't force her. That's what started this whole shitshow to begin with. No one was willing to listen to what she wanted.

  Instead, I cup her face, because I can't not touch her. "You matter, Parker," I whisper. "You matter so fucking much it hurts."

  "It hurts."

  The rejection in those two little words slices through any defenses. I rest my cheek on her head and squeeze my eyes closed, ashamed of how I hurt her. Of how I created this mess. "From the minute I met you, I wanted you. I wanted to know what made you tick."
I brush my lips across hers. "But I couldn't let myself get close." I lower my forehead to hers. “I was afraid of what I felt for you. Of how alive I felt around you.” My eyes are wet. “It’s hard for me to trust people.”

  “Everyone around you trusts you.”

  “They’re supposed to depend on me. Not the other way around.” Her hands are warm on my chest, right over my heart, that’s beating just for her. “I didn’t know how to trust you. I didn’t want to. And when you walked away after the article, I thought I was right to not trust you.” I breathe in sharply, trying to yank everything back in and failing miserably. “I’m here to grovel. To beg for your forgiveness." I brush my lips against hers once more. "I've been lost without you. There's this Parker-shaped hole in my life that whiskey won't fill."

  She smiles sadly. "You've tried?"

  "I’ve tried.” I pull her close. "Then my liver went on strike and decided I had to do whatever it took to get you to come back." I cup her face again. "I’m so fucking sorry. For everything. For not trusting you. For hurting you. For not being man enough to love you the way you deserve to be loved."

  Her arms finally slide around my waist. "Well, seeing how I wanted to be loved up against a brick wall in an alley the night we met, I'd say you’re definitely more than the right man."

  I laugh and pull her close, needing the contact, the reassurance that this is real. That I'm standing there holding her and she's making jokes and my life isn't coming crashing down around me.

  "Can we start again?"

  "What, you want me to get drunk and walk into your bar and ask you to fuck me in the alley? I think that ship has sailed." She threads her arms around my neck. "But my apartment is just up those stairs. I'll warn you, I've been a little messy lately. There may be unmentionables on the floor."

  Still laughing, I kiss her deeply, lifting her and carrying her inside.

  It's as close to forgiveness as I'll come in this lifetime.

  Epilogue

  Parker

  * * *

  “Is it always this busy on Tuesdays?”

  Kelsey grins at me and hands me an empty bottle. “Since your marketing plan is working like fucking genius, we’re twice as busy as normal. Be a dear. I need another Laphroaig.”

  “That’s the second one tonight.”

  “Tell that to the alcoholic business school party over there. They’re stress-testing their black card tonight.”

  I grin. “That takes a lot of money.”

  “You should see their tab,” she tells me. “Go. I need that bottle.”

  I’ve been at The Pint for almost six months now. It’s been a lifetime since the article ran in the New York Times about the commander of a company accused of war crimes.

  It had remarkably less legs than we feared. It didn’t even make the most-read articles for a day.

  I walk through the stacked cases of whiskey, looking for the Laphroaig for Kelsey.

  I know the moment I am not alone. I can feel him, standing behind me, his body dark and warm, his breath hot on my neck.

  It has become somewhat of a game, how long he can go with keeping his hands off me.

  “You know this skirt drives me crazy.” His words are rough on my skin, and I am already slick and aching for his touch.

  I make a noise in my throat and shift, spreading my legs a little, bracing my hands on the shelf in front of me.

  “It’s amazing how little self-control you have these days.” I arch my back, grinding my hips against his. He is rigid beneath his pants, more than ready.

  He slips his hand over my belly, down, lower, until he cups my sex, squeezing gently. “Pot, meet kettle.” He pinches me gently through the thin material of my skirt.

  It takes him another moment to realize what’s missing. “Holy shit. You’re not wearing any panties.”

  I drop my head back to his shoulder, still rubbing my ass against his cock. “Hello, Captain Obvious.”

  “Are you serious? Right now?” He’s still stroking me, inching the skirt up higher with each little movement. Then he touches me, his fingers coated in my wetness. “Jesus, you’re wet.”

  “Please.” I’m just this side of begging. “I want this. I want you. Right now.” I’ve been learning what I like. What feels good with him.

  I’m still in awe at the sheer pleasure his touch strikes inside me. I still brace each time but it’s less now and each time, he fills me with the sweetest pleasure. Never pain.

  He is a patient lover.

  I want to test that patience. I want him unrestrained. Wild. I want all of him. I reach behind me, releasing his cock from his pants. Even at this angle, just touching him makes me ache to have him inside me.

  He strokes me again, his fingers sliding through my flesh. I urge him closer, arching until he is there, just there.

  He drops his head to my shoulder, fighting, restraining his motions. Inching inside me in a thousand small pulses.

  I push back, urging him deeper, taking him fully inside me in a single movement. I suck in a breath as he is there, pushed up against me, filling me—tight, and sweet and hard inside me.

  “Did…does it…”

  “No. It…just move. Please. Jesus, I need you.”

  He slips from my body and every nerve is on fire as he fills me once more.

  “It’s good. So good.”

  His arms are tight around me, holding me where he needs me, holding me against him as he fills me, again and again up against the bottles of expensive whiskey. Higher and higher my body clenches, needing the motion, the speed of him pushing into me. Harder, faster, until I shatter, flying apart and trying to muffle the sound against my own forearm.

  His cheek is pressed to mine, his fingers still stroking me gently, like a master tuning an instrument that plays only for him. “I could get used to this,” he whispers against my ear.

  I smile, purring with satisfaction and the echoes of pleasure that are humming through my body. “I certainly hope so.”

  He is still deep inside me as he takes my left hand and presses something cold onto my ring finger.

  My breath is locked in my throat. “Eli.”

  “Shh.” He nips my ear as he slips the ring further onto my finger. “I’m asking. Not telling. Not demanding.” He threads his fingers with mine. “I want to be able to touch you for the rest of my life. I want to go to sleep, no matter where I am in the world, and know that you’re there. That you’re mine.”

  I pull our joined hands to my heart. “This angle makes it a little difficult for jumping into your arms.”

  He slips from my body and turns me, lifting me until our bodies are close again and I can feel him hard against me once more. “Is that a yes?”

  I twine my arms around his neck. “Yeah. That’s a yes.”

  “Then I can die happy.”

  “Please don’t. I really didn’t plan on that ‘rest of my life’ thing coming to fruition tonight.”

  He pulls me close and laughs.

  And everything in my world is perfect.

  Keep reading for an uncorrected first look at CATCH MY FALL, coming 2017.

  CATCHY MY FALL

  Deacon

  * * *

  “Can I touch it?”

  Sweet baby Jesus, the things I do for my job. The girl leaning across the bar is about one deep breath away from bursting out of her top and every red-blooded man in the joint is hoping for just that.

  She leans over a little further and runs her finger over the chain tattooed into my skin around my neck. Not a thick chain like a collar or hand cuffs. No, the chain is a thin line of silver balls, pieced together to represent the real chain I no longer wear.

  The dog tag tattoo was the first thing I did when I joined the Army and it was the stuff that NCOs laugh at privates for doing. I damn sure laughed at my joes when they did stupid shit like I did once upon a time.

  She smells like oranges and sunshine and a little too much Patron. I lean closer, in part to do my servi
ce to mankind and keep her from actually falling out of that top. Eli tends to frown on public nudity. The cops don’t really like getting called for those kinds of things.

  They like bar fights even less and naked chicks tend to spark the caveman in even the most civilized of hipster college dude.

  So it’s part of my duty description to help Ms. Patron keep her clothes on.

  Her finger is soft and smooth against my skin as she traces the small chain. Over the ridge of my collarbone until it disappears into the white t-shirt I’ve worn to work tonight.

  The trace of her skin over mine is addictive. I want to lean closer to let her press her lips to my skin and see what else she’d like to do with that perfectly painted mouth.

  It’s no sacrifice to stand perfectly still while her fingers trace over my skin. Her touch is a connection, pure human connection linking me from the alcohol-induced haze to the world of sensual touch.

  It’s not an easy thing to break the contact but I do. Because what I need will not be satisfied in a simple touch. “Another drink?”

  She leans back and traces the same finger over her bottom lip. Christ she’s going to make me ask her for her number.

  “I’m trying to behave,” she whispers. “But yeah, I think another shot would be just the thing.”

  “You misbehave often?” Because I can’t quite help myself.

  “A little too often, to be honest.”

  “Why do you sound like that’s a bad thing? Everyone’s allowed to misbehave. Isn’t that the fun of being an adult?”

  She knocks back the shot and smiles at me, licking her lip. “I’m trying to pretend I’m not an adult tonight.”

  “Well, I’m not into daddy fetishes.” I grin and wink at her, taking the sting of rejection out of my words. She wants to keep drinking, she can but I have to see to other customers.

  It’s Ranger Panty night. Which I’m honestly not sure how I feel about half the bar population running around in those shorts made infamous by the Rangers at Fort Benning.