Fall with Me

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “How could I forget?” I glanced at my tea, wishing it had liquor in it. Maybe even some meth at this point. Wait. Could meth be liquid? I’d have to ask Reece. But not right now, because he was eyeballing me as Dad plopped a huge pile of noodles on his plate.

  Everyone sat, but Mom was like a pit bull. “She is still very interested.”

  “Oh,” I murmured, scooping out the biggest meatball I could find. “You make the best meatballs,” I told Gordon. “Have I ever told you that before?”

  Gordon smiled.

  “Interested in what?” Reece asked.

  “Nothing,” was my immediate response.

  Mom shot me a chiding look. “I showed Miss Sponsito several of Roxy’s paintings a ­couple of months back. She’s interested in commissioning pieces. You know,” she said, looking at me. “You’d get paid doing something you love. Fancy idea. But Roxy hasn’t taken them up on it yet.”

  I made a face as I twirled my spaghetti and then almost shrieked as a hand landed on my thigh. Looking at Reece, I raised my brows. He narrowed his eyes. “Why haven’t you done that?”

  Good question. No easy answer. I shrugged. “I haven’t had time. I feel like . . . I need to give her something new, something great.”

  “That’s why you should drop those damn classes,” Dad said, stabbing at his noodles.

  “Dad, I’m trying to get an education. Isn’t that something every parent wants their kid to get?” I asked.

  “Every parent wants their kid to be happy,” he corrected. “And you’re not going to be happy with some graphic design degree.”

  I drew in a deep breath. “I am happy.”

  No one looked like they believed me, and boy, was that kind of hard to swallow. I wanted to shout that I was happy . . . as much as I could be right now. I mean, hello, I had some dude taking pictures of me while I slept, and Henry was out, running around, a total free man, and Charlie . . .

  Charlie wasn’t eating again.

  I was no longer hungry.

  Reece watched me closely, way too intently. “Everything I’ve seen of yours is great.”

  “It’s true.” Megan smiled. “You did that painting for the baby’s room. The one with the teddy bear? Every time I go into the room, I’m blown away by how real it looks.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, uncomfortable. When I glanced at Reece, I could see the wheels churning in his head. I’d rather be talking about the stalker and my undies in the dishwasher.

  But then, because it was my family, the convo turned even more awkward as dinner wrapped up.

  “How’s your father doing?” my dad asked Reece.

  I stiffened as I eyeballed him. My dad was oblivious.

  “He’s doing okay. On Divorce Number Five Hundred,” he said nonchalantly, but I knew his father’s inability to be faithful and not lie was a huge issue for him. Not a hang-­up, though. If it was, he wouldn’t have gotten over the fact I had lied. But still bothered him nonetheless. “Same old same old stuff, basically.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “Well, one of these days, I hope your father finds happiness. Everyone deserves that.”

  Did they? I wasn’t so sure about that, but my parents were seconds away from finding a tree and hugging it. It was when I was helping Mom clean up the table and Reece had disappeared into the den with Dad, my brother, and Megan, that I was completely cornered by her and the expansion of her grandmamma dreams.

  “Are you two stopping by and seeing his mother before you head back?” she asked as she loaded up the dishwasher.

  Wait. Were we? I hadn’t even thought about that. I wasn’t sure I could do Round Two. “I don’t know.”

  She took the plates I handed her after rinsing them off. A moment passed. “What is going on between you two? And don’t tell me you don’t know. Last time we were chatting about your relationship status, he wasn’t in the picture, and now he is.”

  I opened my mouth.

  Mom went on. “And I know your brother was giving you a hard time.” She twisted at the waist, looking me straight in the eye. “But, honey, everyone knows you’ve been in lov—­”

  “We’re dating,” I cut her off before she could finish. “Okay? I guess that’s what we’re doing. It’s nothing serious. Okay? I’m not fifteen anymore.”

  She arched a brow.

  And I wasn’t drawing sketches of him on my wall. I was painting his face now. Ugh. Walking away from Mom, I snatched up the rest of the silverware and separated the pieces into their cubbies.

  “Honey.” Mom touched my arm. “I’m worried about you.”

  Straightening, I leaned against the sink and kept my voice low. “Because of Reece?”

  She smiled, but it was a pang to the chest, because it was so sad. “Yes. Because I know you’ve cared strongly for him for years, and he’s here, with you. That boy is here, and you’re acting like it’s nothing?”

  “Mom—­”

  A hand came up, silencing me. “And you still won’t try this museum thing? Now, on top of it, there’s some man breaking into your apartment? That has nothing to do with the first two things and it has nothing to do with what I’m about to say to you now. It’s time to have a come-­to-­Jesus conversation.”

  Oh no.

  “Just because Charlie is stuck to that bed doesn’t mean you don’t get to live your life to the fullest.”

  I drew back as if she’d slapped me. “What?”

  “Honey, your father and I know you are carrying a lot of guilt and that you—­”

  “Roxy?” Reece came into the kitchen, my father and brother right behind him. By the murderous look on all three of their faces, my heart immediately sank.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “We need to go back to your place,” he said, and as he walked toward me, his eyes never left my face. “Your apartment was broken into.”

  Chapter 21

  On the way back to my apartment I was in a state of suspended disbelief. We’d just been there a few hours ago. How could someone break in by nightfall? Well, it didn’t take a long period of time to do so, but still. I just couldn’t believe it, especially after what had just happened.

  Dad and my brother followed us, and when we arrived, there was a police cruiser in front of the Victorian. So was a familiar mustang—­cherry red.

  “Roxy!” Reece shouted as he coasted into park.

  But I’d already had the truck door open and sprung out of the truck, his curse haunting my steps as I entered the courtyard of the Victorian. I caught a glimpse of Kip standing on the porch, along with James’s fiancée, but I was focused on one person.

  Henry Williams stood there at the steps, talking to an officer. He turned as I approached him, his eyes widening. “Roxy—­

  “It’s you! Isn’t it? You were in my place while I slept and then you come back, and break in?” My hands balled into fists. It suddenly made so much sense to me. What was happening to me had nothing to do with the other girls. Nothing weird started happening until Henry got out of jail. “How are you getting in my place?”

  He shook his head as he backed up, looking between the officer and me. “I swear I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t break into your place. I don’t even know what you’re—­”

  “You’re a sick fuck!” I shouted. “What is wrong with you? Why—­”

  “Whoa.” An arm circled my waist, and the next thing I knew, I was facing the street as my dad and brother passed us. Reece spoke in my ear. “You need to calm down, Roxy. We don’t know if he—­”

  “Who else would do it?” I shouted, wanting to swing my elbow into his stomach again. I couldn’t deal if Reece defended him. To me, it was so obvious. I wiggled around so I was facing Henry again. “Why else would you be here?”

  “I came over to talk to you, but when I knocked on your front door, it
opened and I saw the inside of your place. I called the police.”

  “Oh, that’s such bullshit,” I spat.

  “Roxy,” Reece warned softly.

  “He did call us,” the officer confirmed. “And he claims he didn’t go all the way in. We also spoke to the gentleman on the porch. He didn’t hear anything suspicious, but had left the house for a few hours.”

  It was then when I realized my dad and brother had gone into my place and had returned. Dad came down the steps, his cheeks flushed with anger. “I don’t want her seeing that.”

  Now, of course I had to see it. “Let me go.” When Reece didn’t, I felt that I was seconds from my head spinning right off, Exorcist style. “Let me go, Reece. I mean it.”

  “Listen to me, honey. Let Reece and me handle this,” Dad reasoned with his hands planted on his hips. “Gordon will take you back to our place or to Reece’s, but you really don’t want to see in there. Not right now.”

  “What I want is to be put down and I want to see what happened inside my place,” I said, barely in control. “I am not fifteen years old. I’m a freaking adult. Seriously.”

  Dad looked away, scrunching his fingers through his hair. Then he turned to my brother, who looked just as furious as I felt, and said something too low for me to hear.

  “You’re not going to hit anyone, are you?” Reece asked. “If I let go?”

  Henry cast his gaze to the ground while I sneered. “Only if you don’t let me go.”

  “Be nice,” he ordered right before he loosened his hold.

  I slipped free, stalking around my dad and dodging my brother’s hand as I climbed the steps.

  “You might want to wait,” Kip suggested from where he stood in front of the Silvers’ door. He stepped toward me, but stopped when Reece jogged up the porch steps.

  I stepped inside my apartment and then came to a complete standstill. My eyes had to be messing with me. There was no way this was my place. No way was my apartment full of police taking pics and dusting for prints.

  The TV had been knocked to the floor, the screen shattered in large shards. The coffee table and end stand, both hand painted by me, looked like someone had gone Hulk on them, smashing the secondhand pieces until the legs were broken off. Both the couch and the recliner were flipped upside down. From where I stood, I could see that my small kitchen set was in one piece but also knocked over.

  My heart pounded as anger pumped through me. Hands clenched, I headed down the hall. The bedroom was a mess. The comforter and sheets stripped, piled on the floor. All my bottles of lotion and perfume were scattered.

  Spinning around, I almost knocked into Reece. He reached for me, but I sidestepped him and walked into my studio.

  My heart broke.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, pressing the palm of my hand against my chest as I stared into the room.

  Thank God Reece had taken my easel and canvas earlier, along with my paints, because everything else in the room had been utterly destroyed. All of the paintings I’d done, even the ones of Reece I’d hidden in the closet, were torn into unrecognizable shreds. It was like rage had exploded in the room.

  I shuddered. “My . . . all my stuff.”

  “I’m sorry.” Reece came up behind me, wrapping an arm under my chest and drawing me to his front. His other arm came around, securing me against him. “I wish there was something I could say that could make this better for you.”

  Part of me wanted to pull away and start kicking stuff. “I don’t understand.”

  His embrace tightened and for a few moments, he just held me and that . . . that helped more than I thought it could, but I thought about who was waiting outside. “It has to be Henry.” Anger resurfaced, pushing away the horror and the numbness of seeing my things destroyed. I turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. “It has to be him. Who else?”

  He wet his bottom lip. “Roxy—­”

  “Are you seriously going to defend him? For real? I mean, none of this stuff happened until he conveniently shows up. Then he’s here, innocently knocks on my door and finds it already open? I mean, come on.”

  Reece dropped his arms. “I really don’t think it’s him.”

  Shaking my head, I stepped away. “It’s obvious!”

  “Why would he break into your place and then call the police?” he threw out with an even, patient voice.

  “Because he’s a sociopath?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Babe, the man made some shitty choices when he was a teenager and he paid for them—­he’s still paying for them—­and I don’t appreciate him showing up here unannounced, but that doesn’t make him a sociopath.”

  My mouth dropped opened. “You’re seriously defending him?”

  “No. He’s a jackass. Just not a sociopath.”

  Disbelief thundered through me.

  “He’s not defending what he did six years ago, honey.” Dad appeared in the doorway. “He’s just pointing out that it doesn’t make sense for Henry to do this and then call the police.”

  I threw my hands up. “Did it make sense when he threw the rock and nearly killed Charlie?”

  “Babe, this has nothing to do with Charlie.”

  I was about to spit fire. “How do you know? Maybe he—­”

  “I’ve talked to him,” Reece continued, and effectively shutting me up by doing so. I gaped at him. “I’ve had real long talks with him.”

  “What?” I whispered.

  Reece glanced at my dad and then his gaze settled on me. He stepped closer. Brave man, because I was pretty sure my expression said I was about to cut him. “After the first time he tried to make contact with you, I had a chat with him to make sure he wasn’t going to cause you any trouble.”

  “Good man.” My father clapped him on the shoulder, and I shot him a look. Seriously? “What?” he replied. “Reece was looking out for you.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “By saying this, I’m not forgetting what he’d done to Charlie. Henry hasn’t forgotten that either. That man is carrying around a load of guilt,” Reece said, and the tone of his voice said he had a lot of experience with that. “And he isn’t looking for forgiveness. He’s looking to somehow make amends. Two different things, babe, and breaking into your place, messing with you like this, serves no purpose.”

  For a real long moment, I had no idea how to respond. Caught between fury and shock, I didn’t know what to make of the sense of betrayal coursing through me. All at once I was just . . . done with it all. Exhausted to the marrow, my shoulders slumped.

  I turned away, surveying the damage. “I got to clean this up.”

  A moment passed and Reece touched my shoulder. “We’re going to talk about this later.”

  “Whatever,” I murmured, stepping away and picking up a piece of torn canvas. Holding it close, I sucked in an unsteady breath. The blue was the same color of Reece’s eyes, and I could make out the thin black lines that radiated out from the pupil. I didn’t know what to think as I realized that someone had found my creepy stash of Reece paintings.

  Though, whatever I felt didn’t compare to how violating and scary it was knowing someone had gotten in here again and had done this—­done something so violent and out of control.

  We cleaned up as much as we could, and tomorrow, I’d have to call my insurance company. Luckily, I had renter’s insurance, so it would cover what was damaged and could be replaced.

  A lot of the paintings and secondhand stuff couldn’t be, though, but I knew it could’ve been worse. Nothing had been stolen, and in the end, my place was just a mess.

  Thomas offered to come back over with me tomorrow to finish up, something that Reece announced—­did not ask—­that he would also tag along for. I didn’t protest, because the last thing I wanted was to do it by myself.

  Henry had left by the time I�
�d stepped outside again and that was a good thing. While I’d calmed down and could see a little bit of Reece’s logic, I was still fired up about the fact that he had the balls to come to my place and I wasn’t entirely convinced that it hadn’t been Henry. To me, it made more sense than some random guy stalking me.

  It was late when we got back to Reece’s condo, and I had toyed around with the idea of staying with my parents instead, but if I was going to be honest with myself—­and what fun was that?—­I wanted to stay with Reece.

  “Want something to drink?” Reece asked, dropping the keys on the kitchen counter. They rattled like wind chimes crashing to the floor.

  “Sure.”

  “Tea? Soda? Beer?”

  “Beer. I could use some beer.”

  One side of his lips turned up as he grabbed two Coronas out of the fridge and popped the tops before handing one to me. “Sorry, no lime.”

  “Thanks. I really don’t like lime in my drinks anyway.” Taking a sip, I turned away. Though it was almost midnight, I wasn’t ready to sleep. Exhaling loudly, I walked over to the balcony doors. “Do you mind?”

  He arched his brow. “Babe, make yourself at home.”

  “I always thought that was such a weird thing to say. Why would you want ­people to make themselves at home in your house?” I pulled the curtain back and unlocked the doors. “If ­people did, they’d be running around your place naked.”

  “If it’s you, I wouldn’t mind at all.” He grinned over the neck of his bottle. “Actually, I’d prefer it.”

  “Pervert,” I muttered, and then stepped out into the cool night air.

  Sitting in a chair, I tucked my legs up. A ­couple of minutes passed before Reece joined me. He was barefoot as he kicked his legs up on the railing. I don’t know why, but I thought the combination of jeans and bare feet were sexy.

  There was also a good chance I just found a lot of things sexy.

  We sat there in silence for a ­couple of moments, and I was struck by the similarity between what we were doing and what my parents did almost every night when they thought the kids were in bed.