Fall with Me

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Chest aching, I pulled away from him and drew in a deep breath that didn’t seem to loosen the pressure wrapping around me. “I’m ready,” I told him.

  That was a lie.

  I think he knew that.

  The ser­vice was held at a funeral home situated in the middle of a cemetery the size of a small town. With its winding roads and tall, graceful oaks that still had all their leaves, it truly was a calm place. Peaceful. Beautiful in a morbid way.

  Mom and Dad were already there, waiting outside, along with Gordon and Thomas. Megan stood next to her husband, her hand resting lightly on her swollen belly. All of them, even Gordon, hugged me, and I wished they wouldn’t. I wished they’d greeted me like they’d greeted Reece, with a handshake or a nod. I could deal with that.

  “Honey,” Mom murmured, kissing my forehead. Tears gathered in her eyes. “There really isn’t anything I can say right now to make this better.”

  “I know,” I whispered, pulling away and squinting up at the cloudless sky. Too pretty of a day for a funeral, I thought. I glanced at my dad, who looked as uncomfortable in dress pants and shirt as Gordon did.

  Dad caught my stare, and I saw the bone-­deep sadness in his otherwise steady gaze. Charlie had been like a third son to him, to both of my parents. I knew this was hurting them, too.

  “Walk with me, baby,” he urged, and I went over to my dad’s side. He draped an arm over my shoulder as he guided me through the double doors.

  Reece stayed close behind me as I tried not to breathe too deeply. I hated the smell of funeral homes. The mixture of floral and something else I really didn’t want to think about.

  I was surprised when I recognized the two ­people signing the guest book. Jax and Calla were here. “Hey,” I said, voice low as I stepped ahead of my father. “Guys, I . . .”

  Calla approached me, smiling sadly. “The rest of the gang couldn’t make it, but I was able to skip class today.”

  “You didn’t have to come,” I told them.

  “We know,” replied Jax. He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

  I was literally moved beyond words. Never knew what that felt like before. Totally got it now. They didn’t know Charlie, never had the pleasure of knowing him, but they were here, for me.

  All of us piled into the large room where the ser­vice was being held, and I sat between my dad and Reece, staring straight ahead. The casket was closed, and Charlie’s parents were sitting up front, their backs straight through the whole shebang. Part of me knew that I should make an attempt to go talk to them, but so much festered inside me. I was never close to them, never comfortable in their sterile and rigid home. I remembered how they treated Charlie, like he was something to be ashamed of.

  That wasn’t fair either, because Charlie knew how they felt.

  When the ser­vice finally drew to a close, tears streaked my mother’s face and my father’s eyes were glassy. I couldn’t cry. My eyes were broken. That frustrated me as I rose from the uncomfortable pew. The burning was there, in my chest and throat, and had been there since the phone call, but it was like something had broken off deep inside me.

  Reece’s hand landed on the small of my back and moved in a slow, comforting circle as we waited our turn to step into the center aisle. The urge to turn and wrap my arms around him was hard to ignore.

  On our way out, I thought I caught a glimpse of Henry slipping out one of the side doors. That pressure thickened in me as I stared at where I thought he’d been. I wasn’t sure how to feel about Henry coming to Charlie’s funeral. A few weeks ago I would’ve been spitting mad, like puking green vomit and head-­spinning level of rage, but now? I almost wanted to laugh—­the hysterical never-­ending kind of laugh. I wanted to sit down in the middle of the funeral home and laugh.

  “Babe, you okay?” Reece asked.

  I nodded slowly, realizing I was probably rocking one hell of a crazy face.

  He took my hand in his and squeezed gently. “We can take a ­couple of minutes if you want.”

  God, he was . . . so good to me.

  “I’m okay,” I said, and I think everyone within a ten-­mile radius knew that wasn’t the case at all, but Reece held my hand tight as we started out of the funeral home.

  The walk out to the gravesite was as quiet as one would expect such a thing to be. Our group stood near the back, and when I saw the hearse arrive, I looked away hastily. My gaze landed on the grave.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, and all I got was the suffocating scent of rich soil. This was really happening. This was it. No more trips on Friday. No more hope that one day Charlie would get better, that he’d look at me and say my name.

  That he’d tell me that all of this wasn’t my fault.

  Oh God. A slight tremble rocked my body, starting in my toes pinched due to the too-­tight black heels, coursing all the way up the tips of my fingers.

  Reece let go of my hand and slipped his arm over my shoulder. He bowed his head, pressing his lips against my temple, and my heart squeezed even more, clenched to the point I wondered if I was having a heart attack.

  Instead of standing at Charlie’s funeral, I saw myself standing at Reece’s. Might’ve sounded crazy, but because of his line of work, it was believable. One day I could be standing right here and saying good-­bye to him.

  I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs.

  Pain sliced through me. I couldn’t do this anymore. I turned to Reece, saying just that.

  “Okay. I’m going to get you out of here,” he said, and I knew he didn’t get it. He couldn’t get it. He turned to my father, speaking too low for me to hear. My dad nodded, and then without saying a word, Reece steered me away from the graveside ser­vice.

  I was walking fast, my hands balled into tight fists by the time we reached his truck. When we were both inside, I stared out the windshield as Reece drove and once we were back at his condo, I wasn’t feeling empty. I was feeling wild, like an animal snared in a trap.

  I knew what I needed to do.

  Being with Reece could easily end up with me being utterly destroyed, beyond the point of repair. For a sweet, brief time I convinced myself that I could deal with that. I could let myself fall for him and it would be worth that risk. Standing there at Charlie’s grave was a brutal wake up call.

  I had to have the strength to walk away.

  Sliding past Reece, I headed straight to his bedroom, where my suitcase and tote were next to the dresser. I took my glasses off, placing them atop the dresser and then pulled my hair up into a quick bun.

  “Roxy?”

  Not turning around, I kicked off my heels. “Yes?”

  “You’re not okay right now.”

  I opened my mouth, and a harsh laugh slipped out. “I’m fine.” I picked up my shoes, placing them in the bottom of my suitcase.

  “Babe, you just walked out of your best friend’s funeral ser­vice,” he countered gently. “You’re not fine.”

  Hands shaking, I grabbed the neat stack of jeans I know my ass didn’t fold. It had to have been Reece. I placed them in the suitcase.

  “What are you doing?” His voice was closer.

  I shook my head as I reached down, unhooking the silver button on my pants. I let them fall to the floor and then I carelessly tossed them in the suitcase. The blouse went next, leaving me in my undies and a black cami.

  “Roxy,” his voice snapped. “Look at me.”

  Against my will, I slowly turned around. Reece had gotten rid of the jacket and his tie. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, flashing golden skin. I dragged my gaze up to his stunning blue eyes. “I’m looking at you.”

  His jaw flexed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m packing my stuff.” My voice shook as I waved toward my suitcase. “Seems pretty obvious, right?”

  “Yeah, it does seem
obvious, but what I don’t get is why are you doing it?”

  Turning from him, I walked over to my shirts and picked them up, dropping the pile into the suitcase. “My place has security. I don’t need to impose on you any longer.”

  “You can stay here as long as you want to, and you damn well know that, Roxy.”

  “I know, but I’m sure you want your space.” Finding my yoga pants under my tote bag, I started to pick them up, but Reece grabbed my arm, spinning me back around. My breath caught.

  His lips were thin as he spoke. “If I wanted my space, I would’ve told you. That’s something else you damn well already know. So don’t play this game with me and put this on me. You’re leaving because of—­”

  I didn’t want to hear him finish the sentence, and I wasn’t sure what happened next other than I lost it. All my control snapped like a band pulled tight. I yanked my arm free and then I planted my hands in his chest, shoving him.

  Caught off guard, he stumbled a step, the backs of his legs bumping into the bed. His brows flew up. “Did you seriously just push me?”

  I couldn’t tell by his tone if he wanted to laugh or push me back, and that pissed me off. I was no longer empty that was for sure. I was brimming to the top—­full of anger, helplessness, and a million other things. So I pushed him again, and this time he sat down. I was breathing heavy as I stared at him.

  “Did that make you feel better?” he asked, voice deceptively even.

  “Maybe it did.”

  Tipping his chin up, he raised his arms. “Babe, if pushing me around gets you to slow the fuck down and think about what you’re actually doing right now, then have at it.”

  My jaw dropped. “You want me to push you?”

  “Not really.”

  I hesitated and then started to turn back for my pants, but his hand shot out and the next thing I knew he’d hauled me into his lap. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re going to tell me why you want to go back to your place. The real reason.”

  “I already told you.” I pulled back, and he yanked me forward. We were chest to chest, my knees on either side of his legs, and he had an iron grip on my wrists. My heart was racing as our gazes locked. “Let me go.”

  “That’s not the real reason.”

  My fingers curled helplessly. “What? Are you also psychic? Did you hit your head on your gun belt?”

  One side of his lips curved up. “No. I’m just not blind. Man, this wasn’t how I imagined today was going to go,” he said. “I know you got a lot going on in your head, but we need to talk it out.”

  “There’s nothing we need to talk about.” His hold loosened enough that I was able to push off his shoulders to stand. Or try to. The moment my hands connected with his shoulders, he muttered a curse and held me tight.

  “That’s such utter bullshit and you know it. There’s one thing I never thought you were, and that’s a coward. But you are acting like one now.”

  “What?” I drew back as far as I could. Leaving him would require every ounce of strength I had. That wasn’t weak.

  “Don’t do this,” he said again. “Stop acting like a coward.”

  “I’m not being a coward! I just don’t want to do this anymore with you. It was fun, but that’s it. I want to go home. I want to move on with my life—­”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you can lie better than this. You’ve wanted me since you were fifteen and now that you have me you aren’t willing to risk getting hurt for me? What kind of shit is that?”

  Whoa. He just called me right on that. “W-­what do you mean getting hurt?”

  “You think I don’t know?” He shook his head. “You are afraid, Roxy. Afraid of getting hurt—­ever since what happened to Charlie. You don’t want to feel that kind of pain again. I get that. But you can’t live your whole life like that, throwing everything away—­throwing this away—­just because you think you are going to get hurt. And it’s not just with me. It’s with everything.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  Reece kept going. “What? You leave today, are you going to go back to dating a string of losers who aren’t worth breathing the same fucking air as you, because when it comes down to it, you really don’t care about them? Your heart isn’t in it, so you’re safe? But with me, it’s different.”

  “You don’t understand,” I whispered, stunned.

  “I don’t understand?” He looked like he wanted to shake me. “Babe, I know what it’s like to be afraid. I watched friends die overseas. I come home and every day I go to work knowing it could be my last. I think about my brother, knowing he faces the same shit I do. I’m afraid of losing you.”

  I gasped. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. You, Roxy. You have a fucking stalker. I’m scared shitless for you.” Now he really looked like he wanted to throttle me. A little. “It goes beyond that. You could get into the car and crash. I’ve seen the way you drive.”

  “Ha,” I muttered.

  “Anything can happen to you at any moment, but you don’t see me running away from what we have—­what we could have. You’ve got to deal with what happened to Charlie. That doesn’t mean you have to deal with that alone.”

  “What do you know about dealing with this?” I snapped.

  He pinned me with a look.

  “You barely talk about the shooting! You have nightmares because of it!” I shouted, throat stinging. “It’s not like you know how to deal either, Mr. Fucking Perfect.”

  “I’m not saying I know how to deal. Fuck, Roxy. You and I both know I had a hell of time handling that and I still do!” he yelled back, and for a second, I thought he might pitch me across the room. I’d kind of deserve that. “I drank myself into a fucking stupor by not dealing with the fact I shot and killed an eighteen-­year-­old kid.”

  I flinched. “Reece, I—­”

  “No. You’re going to hear me out on this. For almost a year, I dealt with what I had to do by drinking instead of talking to someone—­anyone about it. If it weren’t for Jax, I probably would’ve swallowed a goddamn bullet, because let me tell you something, I had to make that choice between life and death enough times in the fucking sandbox to know making that call fucking sucks. I still chose to be a cop knowing I could face that again. Didn’t make it a goddamn bit easier when I had to.”

  This was what he hadn’t shared with me the night on the balcony, how bad the guilt and the anger had really gotten for him. Oh my God, I didn’t want to hear this as terrible as it sounded. I didn’t want to even think of him being in that kind of pain. It slaughtered me.

  “But Jax got me to talk about it. He got me to take the damn counseling the department required I take seriously. And you’re right. I still don’t deal all that well with it, but at least I’m fucking trying. I’m not pushing you away. I’m trying to deal. But you haven’t tried once, not in six years.”

  Unable to stand to hear any of this, I tried again to pull free, but he wasn’t letting me get anywhere.

  “You’re going to college for a degree you don’t want, because you’re too afraid to admit and accept that you like working at Mona’s. Not because you don’t have any drive, but because it gives you time to do what you love—­paint. But you won’t even take that risk. You’ll continue on, just to stay safe. To not take any risks.”

  “Shut up,” I seethed, wishing I never told him about how much I hated taking those classes. It was a good thing he was still holding my wrists, because I probably would’ve smacked him upside the head.

  “Yeah, the truth is a fucking bitch, right?” His eyes glinted. “What I don’t understand is how what happened with Charlie made you so afraid to do anything, but you want to know what I do know?” His eyes flashed blue fire. “I love you, Roxy. Charlie’s death isn’t going to change that. This isn’t going to change that. And I know you feel the same way.”

 
He—­he what?

  He—­he said I feel what?

  Yep, it was time for me to roll on out of here. Using all my strength, I jerked away from him, which got me nowhere.

  “Roxy, stop it,” he commanded.

  Frustration rose sharply but so did something else. We were pressed together in all the places that matter, and despite the fact I was trying to leave him and we were arguing, the longer I sat on him, the more I could feel him hardening underneath me, and my blood was simmering from the contact.

  And he said he loved me.

  I twisted in his lap, which only succeeded in me grinding down on him. The red-­hot sensation licked through me, and I saw the exact moment he felt the same thing I did.

  His features tightened. “Jesus . . .”

  My breath was coming in short pants as I zeroed in on his expressive lips. I was still trying to pull my arms free, and it was probably a good thing he hadn’t let go, because I’d probably fly backwards. I rocked forward, hoping to knock him off balance, and his answering groan set my body on fire.

  I stopped thinking. Or maybe I was thinking so much that I couldn’t grasp and hold any one thought in particular, other than I needed this—­I needed him. Just one more time. It took nothing to reach his mouth, and when our lips met, he jerked back a little.

  “Roxy—­”

  I didn’t want to hear it, especially if he was going to introduce logic into what was happening. Pressing my lips against his, I kissed him harder, and when he didn’t kiss me back, I bit down on his lower lip.

  Reece gasped, and I took advantage, slipping my tongue into his mouth, twisting mine with his as I rocked my hips again, but this time I didn’t stop. I moved in his lap, moaning into the kiss as pleasure spiraled so brightly I thought I saw white behind my eyes.

  He let go of my wrists, dropping his hands to my hips, and I wrapped an arm around his neck, running my fingers along the hair as I slid the other down his throat and further, over his chest and his taut stomach. My fingers reached the top button and I unhooked it with ease.

  “Shit,” he hissed, eyes clouded with need. “We haven’t settled anything—­” He groaned as I palmed him through his trousers. “Fuck, Roxy . . . you’re not playing fair.”