Falling (Fading Series)

by Blair, E. K.

  Copyright © 2013 by E. K. Blair

  Cover Design by E.K. Blair

  Editing by Lisa Christman, Adept Edits

  Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  https://www.facebook.com/FictionalFormats

  Photography by Andrei Vishnyakov

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-578-13351-5

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  chapter thirty-one

  chapter thirty-two

  chapter thirty-three

  chapter thirty-four

  chapter thirty-five

  chapter thirty-six

  chapter thirty-seven

  chapter thirty-eight

  chapter thirty-nine

  chapter forty

  chapter forty-one

  chapter forty-two

  chapter forty-three

  chapter forty-four

  chapter forty-five

  chapter forty-six

  chapter forty-seven

  chapter forty-eight

  chapter forty-nine

  chapter fifty

  chapter fifty-one

  epilogue

  acknowledgements

  For my husband

  No fall could ever compare to the one I had with you.

  Two pills. Two fuckin’ blue pills. I swore I’d stop this shit, but I can’t stand the pain that still radiates in the back of my head where he shattered his beer bottle the other night. I hate that I’m just like him—dependent on this shit. Fuck it.

  Tossing them into my mouth, I pour the cheap tequila down my throat and relish the burn that singes in my chest. My body falls lifelessly back onto the bed while the muffled music pounds through the walls.

  “Give me some,” Rene says. Or is it Rachel? Who the hell cares? She pulls the bottle out of my hand and takes a draw of the amber liquid.

  Handing it back to me, all I see is a hazy shadow as I feel her crawl on top of me. This chick leeched herself to me when I walked into this party earlier. I knew she’d be an easy lay, and when she shoves her hand down my pants and grabs my dick, she proves me right.

  I don’t even try to focus as my body starts to weigh down from the effects of the pills. I love this feeling. Numb. Heavy. Warm. Hazy. It takes me over, and I don’t even realize that this girl is now fucking me until I look up. Closing my eyes, I begin to drift. Drift from the hell that consumes me. It’s Saturday night. The night he stays out late drinking just to come home and impale everything he hates about his life into me.

  Waking up, head still heavy, vision clearer, I sit on the edge of the bed. I look over my shoulder and see some redhead, naked, sleeping. Who is she? I don’t remember what happened, but I know we screwed because my pants are flung across the room, and I see the used condom on the floor.

  My watch says it’s after one in the morning, and I need to get home. Pulling on my pants, I stumble slightly as I make my way through the house filled with people I barely know, drinking, dancing, making out.

  When I start my car, I know I shouldn’t be driving, but I also know that I need to go because my dad normally drags his drunk-ass in around this time. I hate knowing that my mom will be there alone with him.

  Pulling up to the dark grey, two-story house I have always lived in, I can’t help but think about how the impeccably manicured structure is simply a mask for the madness that lives within. My stomach clenches when I see his truck in the driveway. I shut the car off and rush inside, but I know I’m too late when I hear my mother crying. Bolting through the house and into the kitchen, I get there just in time to see my dad swinging his arm around and smashing a coffee mug into the side of her head. Turning to face me, her face is void as she falls to the floor, blood everywhere.

  “What are you looking at, you piece of shit?” he spits at me, and I fuckin’ lose it.

  My body roils with vengeance when I charge at him, and we tumble, crashing to the floor. Rage takes over as I begin to pound my fists into his face relentlessly. Over and over. Skin splitting. Blood gushing. The sounds of my mom screaming and the grunts I force out with every blow to his face are a distant echo in my head.

  He thrashes beneath me, but I don’t stop. I know I’m gonna kill him, and I hope I do. My teeth snap shut when he drives his palm into my jaw, causing me to bite my tongue. He continues to fight his way out from under me, flailing his arms, and dumping shit everywhere when he yanks one of the kitchen drawers out of its tracks.

  My mouth fills with blood, and just when I spit it into his face, I fall over onto the floor.

  “Fuck!” I scream through gritted teeth as I grab my side. I hear the clatter of metal falling to the ground and watch my father’s black boots stumbling away from me.

  Cold shivers prick at my body, and my vision fades as my breathing becomes more and more shallow. My mother’s warm arms scoop my shoulders onto her lap as she cries, and I let my head fall to the side. When I see the bloody butcher’s knife, I lift my shaking hand that’s clutched to my side and raise it in front of my face. All I see is red.

  I wake up the next morning, body sore and twenty-seven stitches in my side, along my ribs, where that son of a bitch stabbed me last night. Sitting up, I flinch against the stinging flesh. My mom is still asleep. I made her stay in my bed last night in case my father came back home, which he didn’t.

  I quietly make my way downstairs and feel the guilt from everything that happened last night flood through my veins. If I’d never gone out, my mother probably wouldn’t be sleeping in my bed with a concussion and stitches in her head.

  I’ve been so selfish lately and getting too fucked up on ecstasy and alcohol to protect my mom. The drinking, the drugs, the rage that fired through me last night—I’m him. He’s a part of me. He runs through my blood. I hate him. I don’t want to be him, but I am.

  Having him consume me like this makes me sick to my stomach, and I swear to God, I will do everything I can to avoid what I fear is destined to be my future. I’ve gotta stop the fuckin’ pills. I’ve gotta . . .

  A loud knocking on the do
or pulls me out of my thoughts, and when I make my way to the front of the house and open the door, two cops are standing there, staring at me with a look I can’t quite make out.

  Taking off his hat, one cop asks, “Is this the home of Richard Campbell?”

  “Hey, boss. That clown you call your friend is asking for you.”

  “I’m finishing up,” I tell Max as I sign off on a few orders. “How long has he been here?”

  Standing in the doorway to my office, he answers, “Not long. Half an hour or so.”

  I don’t say anything as I finish up my paperwork and toss my pen on the desk, leaning back in my chair with a deep sigh.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Tired,” I say as I look up at my friend. Max has worked for me for a few years now. He serves as security ever since business picked up at the bar after I bought it out from its previous owner. He’s a good guy and extremely loyal, which makes him a commodity I can’t afford to lose. Beneath his shaved head and insane build that intimidates most people that walk through the doors here, he’s got a big heart.

  “Call it a night, man. It’s late, and you’ve been up here all day.”

  “Yeah.” I push back from my desk and stand up, making my way out of the office. When I pass Max, I clap his back, saying, “I’m gonna go talk to Gav then head out.”

  Max follows as we walk down the stairs and into the bar that I’ve owned since I graduated from the University of Washington. This place has become a second home to me. It’s where I spend most of my time.

  Bumping shoulders through the crowd of people, I spot my old college buddy, Gavin, tossing back a bottle of beer.

  “Ryan, dude? Where the hell have you been?”

  “Working.”

  “Mel!” he shouts over to one of the bar girls. “Get this old man a beer.”

  “No, Mel. I’m good,” I tell her, and she just shakes her head at Gavin, knowing what a partier he is.

  “What’s up with you tonight?”

  “Tired, man.”

  “You not staying?”

  Before I can answer, a tall blonde catches my eye as she starts making her way through the crowd and up to the bar. She steps next to me and leans over the bar top to get Mel’s attention, and when I eye her, Gavin mumbles, “Yeah, you’re staying,” all too knowingly.

  “Ryan, right?” the blonde asks as she turns to look at me, and when I nod my head, she introduces herself with a slow, “I’m Gina,” trying to sound sexy, but it’s lost on me ‘cause I couldn’t give a shit what her name is. Girls like her are an almost daily occurrence.

  “Have we met before or something?” I ask since she already knows who I am.

  “Not officially. I’ve seen you around though.” She grins at me as she says this, but her fake tits are too distracting for me to focus on her face. It’s when she giggles that I snap my attention up. “You own this place, right?”

  I nod my head again. One thing about me, I’m not much of a talker. I’m a pretty quiet guy for the most part, but with chicks especially, I don’t talk. There’s no need to. I don’t care to delay the inevitable. I’m a straight shooter, and being as tired as I am, I cut the shit and say, “Wanna get to know me better in my office?”

  Her smile grows, and I take her hand, leading her to the back stairs. I spot Gavin trying to nail his own bait, and he gives me a cocky grin when he sees me pass by.

  We walk into my office, and I close the door, pinning her up against it, clasping her wrists in my hand above her head while I run my other hand up her skirt and between her legs. Letting go of her wrists, she works with my pants, anxious to get them off.

  I fumble in my back pocket, and when I retrieve the condom, I quickly rip it open with my teeth, spitting out the shredded foil as she tugs my pants down. I waste no time. Closing my eyes, I shove her panties to the side and take her against the door.

  I never care to look too much at the girls I bang. Honestly, I don’t want to connect in any way.

  This is me—disconnecting.

  Screwing chicks as they come along. I don’t talk. I don’t watch. My escape lasts for as long as it takes for me to get off, then I move on. I’ve been this way my whole life, from a fifteen-year-old freshman in high school to a now twenty-eight-year-old man. I’m emotionally messed up, and I don’t even try to hide it.

  Clinging herself to me, legs wrapped around my waist, I bury my head in her neck, and the thick perfume she’s wearing makes me screw her harder, wanting to finish up so I can go home and wash this shit off of me.

  Pouring another cup of coffee, trying to wake up before heading out to the gym, my phone starts to ring. I know it’s my mom before I even look. She always calls first thing Sunday morning—predictable.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, honey. How’re you doing?”

  Taking my coffee, I walk over and plop down on my couch as I say, “Good. Nothing new.”

  “What time do you think you’ll be here tomorrow?” she asks.

  “Around two,” I tell her. My mom still lives in Oregon at the same beach house that I grew up in down on Cannon Beach. After high school, I moved here, to Seattle, to go to college, but I still go back home often to visit. “Tori’s gonna come too. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Is that cool?”

  “Of course. Is she bringing the kids?”

  Taking a sip of my coffee, I laugh and say, “No. She’s going crazy. That’s why I invited her to hang with me for a few days. She’s desperate to escape. She said that Connor has been a nightmare lately, throwing crazy temper tantrums. So she’s going to leave the kids home with Trevor.”

  “Oh, dear. Four is such a rough age. I remember when you were four. You were always embarrassing me. You hated wearing pants, so it didn’t matter where we were, you would just strip down bottomless in public for all to see.” She starts laughing, and I can’t help joining in with her when she continues through her chuckles, “I would be so embarrassed, but when I tried getting you to pull up your underwear, you just screamed and drew even more attention.”

  “I don’t remember that,” I laugh.

  “Well, I do. Eventually, I had to tell you that it was against the law and the police were gonna come get you and throw you in jail if you did it again.”

  “Great parenting, Mom!” I say as I shake my head in pure humor. I love hearing these funny stories of my past since most of my memories are ones I wish I could forget.

  “Well…” she squeaks out. “I didn’t know what else to say, so I went with scare tactics.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No,” she says with a soft giggle. “Well, it’ll be great to see the both of you.”

  “You too. I’m gonna go hit the gym, but I’ll call you when I’m on my way tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay, dear. Drive safe, and I love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom”

  I go upstairs to change before I head out to the gym to meet up with Max. We’ve always worked out at the same gym; that’s how we first met. Making sure everything is locked up, I hop into my jeep and make the short drive to the Athletic Club. Max’s car is already in the parking lot when I pull up.

  “Hey, boss,” Max shouts through the empty gym. Nobody is ever here on Sunday mornings, so we make it a point to get together at this time.

  “What’s up?” I say as I walk over to him. “You been here long?”

  “Nah.”

  We head towards the indoor track to do a quick run before lifting.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you, but I’m going out of town for a few days, so Michael will be at the bar all week.”

  “Going to see your mom?”

  “Yeah. Mostly plan on surfing with my cousin,” I say as we make our laps.

  “Well, when you get back, I need your help.”

  “With what?”

  “Traci is moving in, so I need you to help me with her furniture.”

  Looking over at him, I question, “She’s moving in?”

>   Laughing at me, he says, “Ryan, don’t act so surprised. We’re almost thirty. Don’t you think you should slow it down a bit yourself? Find a girl?”

  “Nope. You know I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing. Never have. I like being alone.”

  “No one likes being alone.”

  “I like being alone,” I repeat, but it’s a lie. Truth is, I’ve always been too scared to have a girlfriend. Too scared to allow myself to even have feelings towards someone else. Too scared of putting myself in a situation only to discover the person I believe lives inside of me. A person just like my father.

  “Whatever you say,” he teases as we continue our run. “My buddy, Chase, was wondering if we needed his help when classes start up in a few weeks.”

  “Working the door?”

  “Yeah. He’s a good kid. He’s in school full-time but said he’s free to work evenings.”

  Rounding another lap, I tell him, “Yeah. That’ll work. Have him call Michael.” Michael has been managing the bar for the most part lately. Knowing that the bar is in good hands and is running smoothly has allowed me more freedom with my schedule, and the income has been nothing but generous.

  After a long workout with Max, I decide to stop by the office and take care of a few things before heading out of town.

  “Hey, Mel,” I say as I make my way past the bar to the stairs, and she gives me a flirty wink laced with mockery. Shaking my head at her, I go up to Michael’s office.

  “Hey, I thought you were out of town,” he says from behind his desk. Michael started working here at the beginning of the summer. He’s in his mid-thirties with a wife and kids. Dependent on the paycheck I write him, he’s proven to be dependable.

  “Tomorrow.” Taking a seat in one of the chairs, I tell him, “Max has a friend that’s gonna be calling you about a job. Check him out, and if he doesn’t work, I need you to find someone who does. We need another guy to work the door. Summer has been a little slow, but shit always kicks up when classes at the university start.”