Breaking Gravity (Fall Back Series #2)

by Autumn Grey

  It doesn’t stop me from darting glances at the door, waiting for her to appear. My breath is stuck in my throat like a fucking teenager before his first prom, waiting for his date to climb down the stairs.

  The bell rings, but there’s still no sign of Elon. I glance at Amber. She is staring at the door with a little frown on her forehead. She leans to her right and whispers something to Alex. He shakes his head, his gaze flickering over to me before pulling out his cell phone. For just a second, my chest tightens, wondering if he is aware of my transgressions. His eyes didn’t have any curiosity in them, so I assume he is unaware of my feelings for his friend.

  I stride to the door and grasp the knob, ready to push the door shut when Elon appears in front of me a frazzled mess. I frown, taking in her messy hair and attire. It is as if she grabbed whatever she could find and threw it on before rushing to class.

  “Miss Blake?”

  She freezes mid-step with her head bowed down, her cheeks flushed and her nose red from the chilly morning outside.

  Standing next to her, with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder, is a tall boy I’ve never seen before. He drags his fingers through his messy brown hair, his blue eyes lighting up on Elon like she is his world. He’s too pretty. I want to smash my fist into his perfect features.

  “You’re late,” I bite out the words. She flinches at my harsh tone but quickly recovers her pose.

  Her back snaps straight. She lifts those goddamn beautiful eyes, rimmed with dark circles as if she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. Blood thrums in my veins, the need to comfort her clawing at me. I want to hurt whoever made her cry.

  “I’m sorry for being late,” she apologizes in a flat voice.

  Pretty Boy clears his throat and says, “Sir? I’m sorry—”

  I round on him, glaring, and spit out, “Who are you?”

  His eyes widen, taken aback by the threat in my voice. “Um. . .Nick Holloway.”

  “Do you go to school here?”

  He shakes his head. “ I attend the University—”

  “Then I suggest you leave,” I cut him off, dismissing him with a look. Clearly, I’ve gone mad.

  Pretty Boy sends me a death glare before taking Elon’s shoulders in his huge-ass hands and turns her around. “Call me if you need anything, and I’ll be here as fast as I can.”

  She nods, and he wraps his arms around her. I avert my gaze, my stomach churning with. . .I’m not sure what. I just know I want to do some major damage.

  As soon as he walks away, my attention reverts to Elon. Fire has replaced the gloom in her eyes, chin raised, lips pressed into a stubborn line. Her fingers grip the strap of her cello case as if it’s a lifeline.

  I scowl down at her cute, upturned nose. “Punctuality is a virtue. 8 a.m. is my time. Whatever you do before that is your own business.” I cock my brow at her in question, some kind of sick thrill rushing through me as I watch the flames lick through her cool facade.

  She squares her jaw, narrows her eyes. “Fuck you,” she hisses passionately under her breath, in a low voice that doesn’t travel far, knocking me flat on my ass. Then she steps around me and marches to the third row and takes a seat next to Amber.

  Fuck me sideways. What a little firecracker! I should punish her for her insubordination. Thing is, I can’t find it in me to douse the fire in her eyes.

  I bite back a grin, shut the door, and retrace my steps to the podium, belatedly realizing the little altercation has managed to gain an audience.

  “Open your books to chapter thirteen,” I order the class, effectively breaking the tension and sending hands scrambling to pull textbooks from inside of their bags. I dart a look to Miss Blake and find her talking to Amber in hushed tones. Alex cranes his neck in their direction as he tries to eavesdrop. The conversation stops the second they catch me watching them.

  After instructing the class to read through the chapter before our discussion begins, I take a seat behind my desk, my stubborn brain choosing that moment to analyze what happened.

  I was a dick. My harsh behavior was unnecessary, but seeing Elon with Pretty Boy turned me into the Neanderthal Camille used to accuse me of being, albeit playfully.

  Nothing could explain my actions, other than I was jealous.

  Shit.

  I was fucking jealous.

  Surprised by this revelation, my jaw tightens until I feel my teeth crack. My gaze wanders around the class, drawn in by temptation in the third row. I catch her swiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her bulky, black sweater before Amber pulls her in for a quick hug. I want to be the one holding her, offering her comfort.

  I should have called in sick today and stayed in Willow Hill with my family. After my last class yesterday, I drove straight to the hospital to visit with Josh.

  Unfortunately, his condition has gotten worse, and it’s so hard to watch him suffer. We were just talking, and the next second the monitors attached to his body started beeping wildly, then he flatlined. Within minutes of me being shoved out the door by a nurse and the horde of doctors working hard to save him, the machines stuttered to life, racing to catch up with his heartbeat. I’ve never been so emotionally exhausted in my life. Every time I think about it, telling Nor and her daughters that the man who had taken care of them, the man they loved so much, has passed away, makes me tear up.

  Right after leaving his side, I went to the hospital’s chapel and prayed for God to take him just to stop all the suffering he’s going through. Does that make me a bad person?

  The doctor says he’s not ready to leave us yet. I don’t know what to think. Damn it, every time I close my eyes, Joce and Cora’s identical, scared little faces flash inside my head.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  I should be with my family.

  I start packing my books when I feel someone staring at me. I glance up and meet Professor Rowe’s gaze searching mine, his brows creased in what I assume is worry.

  He summons me with a subtle nod of his chin. I stand up and make my way toward him.

  I hate how weak I feel right now, hate that I can’t control the tears falling down my cheeks. So instead of heading left where the professor patiently waits for me, when my foot hits the last step, I mumble, “Excuse me” and stumble out the door into the hallway and duck into the girls’ bathroom. I lurch inside the first stall near the door and flip the lock shut, turn around and slam down the toilet seat before collapsing on top of it.

  I take in deep breaths, trying to calm down while asking myself if I should leave the school grounds, then call Amber to grab my things and bring them home.

  Crap. My car keys are in my bag.

  I could walk back in class and politely excuse myself, pick up my stuff and leave with my head held high.

  The sound of the restroom door squeaking pulls me away from my thoughts.

  “E? You in there?” Amber’s voice shatters the silence. I straighten from the seat and open the door. “I brought your things. I spoke to Professor Rowe, so you’re excused—Oh, babe!” she exclaims when she sees my blotchy face. Amber props the cello on the wall, then pulls me into her arms. “I’m coming with you.”

  I move out of her arms, shaking my head. “I’ll be fine. I just need a few hours to rest and decompress. I guess yesterday’s experience with Josh affected me more than I thought.”

  She bites her lips studying me, then says, “You sure?”

  “Yes.” I smooth the frown marring her forehead with my finger. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll pick up whatever notes I can get my hands on from today’s classes for you. Here’s your bag and keys.” She slides it along my arm and drops the keys in my outstretched hand.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  She bumps my shoulder and quickly reaches behind and tugs my bun. “That’s what I’m here for. Are you driving to Willow Hill?”

  “I’ll need to check with Nor first.”

  She nods, gives me
another quick hug and leaves the restroom.

  I hurry to the sink and splash water on my face, then grab a few tissues from the dispenser and pat it dry. Picking up my cello from where it rests and stepping into the hall, I’m almost at the practice rooms when I hear someone call my name.

  “Miss Blake?”

  I tense when I realize that deep voice belongs to none other than Professor Rowe.

  What is he doing in here? “Professor Rowe?”

  He strides toward me, watching me intently. He stops in front of me and shoves his hands inside the pockets of his pants.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my breath stuck in my throat.

  “Is everything okay?” His worried gaze searches my face and he curses under his breath, taking a step forward with his hands lifted, as if to cup my face. He catches himself and drops his arms, shoving his curled fists inside his pockets.

  I nod and at the same time say, “Yes.”

  “You’ve been crying.”

  I force a laugh. Isn’t that what happens when your heart bleeds? When you feel like your world is falling apart? “You should be in class teaching.”

  Besides, won’t other people wonder where he went?

  “I’m concerned about your well-being as my student.” Silence. Deep breath. “Don’t worry. Your classmates are occupied having group discussions.”

  It occurs to me I probably look like I spent the night drenched in tears, and I avert my face. “Shit. I’m such a mess. You shouldn’t see me like this.”

  “You think seeing you cry bothers me?”

  “It should.” Some people look pretty when they cry. Me? “Not a pretty sight. There are tears and snot everywhere.”

  He chuckles softly. Then, he scans up and down the empty hallway before reaching down for my hand and dragging me toward practice room number three.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper, trying hard to catch up with his long strides.

  He doesn’t answer me, just opens the door and pulls me deeper into the dark room. I hear the sound of the door closing as my feet scramble to match his pace.

  Moments later, the sound of a switch being flipped on fills my senses right before a door clicks shut and bright light threatens to blind me. My hand flies up to shield my eyes from the harsh light.

  “Jesus. Warn a girl before you blind her,” I mutter in a disgruntled voice. “How were you even able to navigate the way in the dark?”

  “I know these rooms like the back of my hand.” He answers in a matter-of-fact voice.

  When my eyes finally adjust to the light, I see Professor Rowe looming above me. He’s still wearing his impenetrable gaze, but there’s something fighting to break free.

  A flicker of heat.

  Lust.

  I glance around the room filled with music instruments and music stands before looking up at him. Now he’s looking at me again with that unreadable expression that I loathe.

  “What are we doing in here?”

  He ignores my question and asks, “Tell me what happened?”

  He risked being seen and dragged my ass in here to ask me that?

  Wow.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  He nods, crossing his huge arms over his chest—and lets out a wince probably from pain on his right arm—and looks down at me earnestly.

  “Well, my brother-in-law almost died yesterday while I was staring at him helplessly. I wish I could save him. But like you said, this is your time, so I’ll deal with this during my own free time.” I throw the words back at him.

  His gaze softens as he takes a step forward again, crowding me, his wide shoulders blocking my view. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I’m an asshole.”

  He leans his head down a notch, and instead of pulling back, I sway toward him as his lips brush my cheek, skimming my skin, sending a shiver down my spine, and I have to curl my hands into fists around my sweater to stop myself from touching him. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

  I’m shocked by those words, mainly because he is the first man to ever say them to me. My head slants back and I blink up at him, searching for the right words. “I’m fine.”

  He lifts his hand and, without warning, runs his fingers through my hair, pushing the loose tresses behind my ear. He grasps my chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting it up and bringing his face close. So close I can smell his minty breath. His cologne, something like bergamot and the woods.

  My breath hitches, the thudding in my ears deafening.

  “What do you need?” he asks, but there is more force, more passion behind the words this time. More fire and concern in his grey eyes.

  Panicking because of the massive amount of emotions ripping through me, I pull my chin from his grasp. “Why do you care?”

  He scowls down at me but catches himself, and the look is swiftly replaced by an impassive one.

  “Go home. I will speak to your professors to let them know you’re not feeling well.”

  He turns around to leave.

  “But—”

  He stops and looks over his shoulder. “That’s an order, Miss Blake. Go home.”

  Who does he think he is ordering me around? I shake my head and step forward, but his next words stop me.

  “Just go, Elon. All right?” His gentle voice strokes the syllables in my name like a lover’s caress, his eyes soft.

  I feel the anger simmer down a bit, and I nod.

  His fluctuating moods confuse me. One minute he’s warm and gentle, and the next he’s scowling at me—which is kind of hot. It’s like there’s battle tearing him apart, pulling him in different directions.

  I want to be the one who tapers that war inside him.

  That thought shocks me, causing me to take a step back, but there’s no place to go. He’s everywhere: his scent, his dark eyes now smoldering with a feral look that reminds me of a predator, sending my heart into overdrive.

  One. Two. Three sprinting heartbeats.

  “You have a free period, right?” I ask quickly before I have a chance to change my mind.

  He doesn’t answer, because he knows I know his schedule, so my question was rhetorical.

  He’s still staring at me and I can’t read him, and it makes me nervous.

  But I’ve subconsciously made up my mind, and before I can back out, I open my mouth and blurt, “347 Bridget Way. House number 44. Apartment 5. No one is around during the day.” I add the latter in a quiet voice, feeling stupid and second-guessing myself.

  I gave him my number.

  He never called. So why am I giving him my address?

  One dark brow goes up.

  Ohmygod!

  I mentally slap my forehead.

  He probably has a girlfriend, and I keep throwing myself at him—

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” he asks without preamble, a frown on his face.

  I lick my lips, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. It’s almost impossible with him standing so close to me. “You probably have a girlfriend or a wife or whatever.”

  “No girlfriend or wife or whatever,” he murmurs, and suddenly I have wings and I’m soaring at that revelation. “Be careful of what you are asking for, Miss Blake.” His words sound more like a threat than a warning.

  “I’ve been careful my whole life, Professor. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

  He studies me, eyes full of questions. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Who?” I ask, frowning. “Alex?”

  He shakes his head, and I’m wracking my head wondering who he means. The only other person who seemed to bring out the worst in him was—

  “Nick? No. No, he’s my friend. He’s Josh’s brother.”

  “Josh?”

  “My brother-in-law. We’ve been close since my family moved next door to the Holloways—” Shit. “Sorry. I’m rambling. Anyway. He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend, and please make me stop talking befor
e I start rambling again.”

  He laughs softly and dear God, that sound! It’s unexpected, warm, real. Coming from those lips of his, it’s like a promise of dark, sultry nights. I watch it take over his body, his brooding demeanor changing to breathtaking.

  “You’re cute,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Wow, thank you,” I mutter under my breath. “Cute.”

  He rolls his eyes, his lips twitching, and I know he’s suppressing a smile. He lifts my chin with a finger. “Unusually stunning. Quirky.” He brushes the tip of my nose with the tip of his finger, drops his hand and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be drawn to you like this, but I am. The worst thing is I have no fucking clue how to stop feeling this way.”

  His head dips and my breathing stalls in my throat, my eyes falling closed and my head tilted up. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

  But his lips never find mine.

  I open my eyes to find him staring at my mouth, the look in his eyes feral. Yet, he won’t kiss me.

  He draws in a deep breath, his body visibly shaking with the effort of holding back. Nathaniel steps away from me and says, “See you tomorrow.” Then he unlocks the door and leaves.

  I’m smiling wide because dude, he touched me. He’s losing control, and he has no fucking clue how to stop feeling this way.

  I did that to him.

  Cute, unusually stunning, quirky, me.

  I wait until I hear his footsteps fade, then the sound of a door closing before ducking out of the cupboard..

  After switching off the light, I step into the empty hallway, darting a look in the direction of the lecture hall. My heart misses a couple of heartbeats when I see my cello tutor, Professor Masters, talking with Nathaniel. They seem to be having an intense conversation given the deep frown on Professor Rowe’s face and the angry look on Elizabeth’s.

  I spin around and stride toward the exit door without looking back.

  My heart literally screeches to a halt when I find Elizabeth leaning on the doorway of the lecture hall, her arms folded on her chest. There’s no way I can walk into the room without manually uprooting her from her spot and pushing her aside. So I stop in front of her out of respect for her daughter and meet her hate-filled gaze.