Breaking Gravity (Fall Back Series #2)

by Autumn Grey

  “I was just checking. You’ve always been a determined fucker. What about your job? Cello Girl could be expelled if this comes out.”

  “She has just one year left to finish. We could keep this on the down low until she finishes. Or,” I add.

  “Or what?”

  “I could quit.”

  He’s quiet for what feels like years. Finally he asks, “Are you really sure about this?”

  I grip the nape of my neck while studying the empty hall. “I have to go.”

  “Great chat, honeybunch,” he says cheerfully.

  “Fuck you,” I say, my lips already forming in a reluctant smile despite the soreness wracking through me. After disconnecting the call, I scroll through the photos in my gallery and tap the screen when I find the one I’m looking for. The picture of us lying in bed at the bed and breakfast a few weeks ago.

  Christ. She’s beautiful. This is the only thing that has kept me going since that day. When I woke up from the recurring nightmare—Camille shot and dying in my arms—I cringed at the thought of Elon seeing me like that. Weak. Trapped in my own existence. My feelings for Elon were developing into something that scared me. Something I never thought I’d feel again after Camille.

  What if I let her in and I lost her?

  And so I ran, scared like a coward. But the more distance I put between Elon and me, the more I’m pulled into her. It’s like we were always meant to be, and I am fighting a losing war.

  I chuckle to myself and shake my head.

  She’s stealing pieces of my soul, replacing them with hers, awakening parts of me I was certain had died when I lost Camille. I never thought I would know what it felt like to be wanted again, but Elon seems to have taken my heart captive, and I’m her willing victim.

  It was obvious from the start, but I was blinded by my own fear and guilt. I didn’t stand a chance.

  Professor Kraft isn’t in his office yet. I pour water in a plastic cup from the water cooler, down another pill, then settle down in one of the chairs at the reception area as instructed by the receptionist and wait.

  THE STAFF MEETING TOOK LONGER than I thought it would. Two hours later, I stumble inside my office and collapse on my chair. The pain escalated throughout the meeting, and by the time I walked out of Professor Kraft’s office, I could barely move my right arm.

  I loosen my tie and then contemplate calling Bennett to come and get me. The sound of the outer door opening and closing interrupts my train of thought. I gather whatever energy I have left and straighten on my seat while schooling my expression to impassive.

  “Professor Rowe?” Elon’s sweet voice calls out, sending relief coursing through me.

  She peeks around the door before she steps in looking apprehensive. Her gaze roams my face, and her expression instantly shifts to concern as she hurries toward me.

  I round the desk, taking in the pained look on Nate’s face, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead and locked jaw.

  “Do me a favor,” he says, panting. “Grab my phone from my bag and call Bennett. He’ll take it from there.”

  I shake my head. “I’m on my lunch break. Come on. I’m taking you home.” I toss whatever I can find and he’d probably need inside his bag before snapping it shut. “Didn’t the medication help?”

  He grunts. I assume from his response the medication didn’t work.

  I grab my bag from behind my desk and turn to face him. “Maybe we should go to the hospital. They could give you something stronger for the pain.”

  He jerks his head adamantly in what I assume is a negative. “They won’t be able do anything for me.”

  I feel his body tense next to mine as soon as we step into the empty hall. He scans our surroundings, and then I see his features relax. He stops to adjust his weight from his right, leaning more to his left side.

  “I’m going to go ahead first and bring the car to the back of the building,” I whisper, looking up and down the hall, then holding out my hand, palm up. “Keys?”

  He pulls them from his left pants pocket without a word and drops them in my hand. I spin around and hurry down the hall. Moments later, I walk toward the lot allocated for staff, find his car and jump in. He’s waiting on the other side of the building when I pull up. He quickly gets in the car, eyes clenching shut in pain as he settles into the seat.

  Right before I drive away, I feel eyes watching me. Us. Upon taking a quick inventory of our surroundings, I don’t see anything or anyone suspicious.

  Ten minutes later, Nate and I walk inside his building. His face is paler than before, and his eyes are bloodshot. Veins pop out on his neck.

  As soon as we get to his room, I toss our bags on the loveseat, then order him to sit down while he instructs me on what he needs. I rush to the bathroom and open the cabinet above the sink and gasp.

  The space is filled with yellow and white bottles of medication. I catch words like Oxycodone, Lyrica, Vicodin and other names I can’t even pronounce. Then there’s his trusted little bag on the top shelf where he keeps his weed. I grab the bottle of Oxy and a bottle of water from the fridge in the kitchen. Then I rush back to the room. He’s already lying on his back, breathing heavily. He demands two pills, which I notice is higher than the prescribed dose. He tosses them in his mouth and downs them with the water from the bottle.

  He frowns. “You could have left me there writhing in my pain, especially after the way I’ve behaved toward you, but you didn’t.”

  I’m not sure if that’s meant to be a question, so I shrug and say, “I could have, but I didn’t want to. I don’t like to see you suffer.”

  He relaxes his frowned eyebrows and clears his throat. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.”

  He sighs, yawning. “I do. You are so good to me,” he murmurs, his eyes falling shut at the same time he holds out his left hand in my direction. “Come here.”

  I crawl up on the bed and cautiously curl my body next to his. He sighs as his arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me tighter into his warmth.

  “Stay with me.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, curling my fingers around his shirt, trying to get my emotions for this man under control. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m going to take care of you.”

  His arm tightens around me. He releases a long breath, his body relaxing on exhale.

  I wait until his breathing has evened out before slipping out of bed and pulling the sheets to his chest. I sweep the hair off his damp forehead, so soft I could run my fingers through it the whole day.

  I chew my bottom lip as I study his face, the chiseled jaw and stubborn chin. He looks so peaceful in sleep, his face free of scowl and frown lines.

  Standing up from the bed, I move to remove his shoes and socks and put them on the floor next to the dark brown dresser. Then, I straighten and glance around, searching for something to pass my time when I notice a silver photo frame lying face down at the corner of the dresser. Curious, I inch my hand forward, looking over my shoulder to where Nate is still sleeping soundly on the bed. Then I pick up the metal frame and turn it around.

  Astounding blue eyes shining with pure love meet mine. Blonde hair styled into loose curls, falling around a heart-shaped face. A smile so beautiful it would make angels weep aimed at the person holding a camera.

  Camille.

  She was gorgeous.

  Jealousy coils in my belly. How would it feel to be loved so fiercely, the way Nate loved Camille? Before my mind can wander any farther, I set the frame back down and drop my head on top of the dresser in shame.

  Gosh, what kind of person am I? How can I feel jealous of a woman who’s long since gone? A woman whose death still haunts the man I’m beginning to feel all sorts of crazy feelings for.

  I take deep breaths to pull myself together, then push off the dresser before I start loathing myself.

  The sound of a phone ringing offers me reprieve. I spin around and follow that sound to Nate’
s bag. As I dig out the phone, I notice Izzy’s name flashing on the screen. The ringing stops before it picks up again seconds later. All I can do is stare at the display, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth.

  If I answer the call, she’ll want to know who I am. I don’t think telling her I’m his student would bode well for him. And I don’t think Nate has told her about us. He would have clued me in if he had.

  What if it’s an emergency? I remember Nate mentioned that his sister was expecting soon. I spend the next two minutes arguing with myself before concluding that Bennett would definitely call if something happened.

  Right?

  Right.

  The ringing stops. When it doesn’t start again, I sigh in relief. I set the phone on top of the dresser and turn to face the beautiful man on the bed. Despite the insistent sound from his phone, he slept through it all. The medication must have knocked him out properly.

  I rotate on my heel, taking in Nate’s bedroom: the massive bed built from the same wood as the dresser, deep grey sheets that remind me of his eyes when he’s aroused, warm brown wooden floorboards. Weak sunlight filtering in through wide windows flanked by light grey curtains, which also remind me of his eyes. The room is masculine and welcoming.

  I didn’t get a chance to check it out the last time I was here since we were too busy screwing each other’s brains out. A shiver trails up my spine, spreading across my scalp just thinking about Nate and me on the same bed he’s lying on. God, this man turned my world on its head and then proceeded to make me feel wanted and adored.

  Too anxious to explore my growing feelings for Nate, I walk to the windows overlooking the St. John’s River and take in the beauty of the skyline before me. I stand there just enjoying the sight and try hard not to think too much about whatever this is between Nate and me.

  I BLINK AWAKE TO A dark room illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window. I lazily roll to my side and switch on the lamp on my nightstand, then swing my legs to the edge of the bed. I run my fingers through my hair as the memories of the past few hours trickle through my head.

  Elon.

  My sweet girl.

  Is she still here or has she left already?

  Disappointment slices through me at the thought of her gone. After the past few weeks of awkward silence, I miss feeling her soft skin beneath my fingers. There’s no chance in hell I can go on pretending she means squat to me. I miss the way she looks at me, I miss her quirky sense of humor, I miss burying myself inside her and finally feeling like I’m home, where I belong.

  Home.

  Where I belong.

  I need to talk to her.

  I stand from the bed and scan the room in search of my bag where I left my phone. I stop when I see the petite body curled up on the couch, dressed in one of my white T-shirts. She must have changed into it while I was sleeping.

  My gaze slides down the curve of her hip, catching a glimpse of lilac panties with lacy edges.

  All this beauty, this perfection in front of me.

  She’s still here, like she said she would be.

  By the time I’m standing in front of the couch, my fingers itch to touch her, my mouth watering at the mere thought of kissing and tasting her. My cock is straining in my pants, wanting inside her badly.

  From the corner of my eyes, I glimpse the frame lying face down on top of the dresser. I’d moved it from my nightstand several weeks ago to ease the ache, the guilt that had become a constant companion.

  The past few years, I felt like I’d been treading in deep waters, afraid to look down because I’d lose my balance and sink, never come up for air again.

  I’m tired of feeling empty, feeling like it’s wrong to want someone else. Tired of wanting Elon and denying myself what she’s offering.

  I still blame myself for not saving Camille, and I hope one day I’ll find it in myself to forgive and let go. But right now, Elon gives me what I need. It’s terrifying and freeing and addictive.

  As scary as it is, I’m willing to go all in.

  I’m about to drop to my knees and give Elon something to wake up to when the sound of the doorbell ringing fills the air. I straighten and glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand.

  7:30 p.m. Have I been sleeping that long? I must have gone completely under after taking the medication.

  The bell rings again five seconds later. Irritation flares through me at the interruption.

  I gently sweep the tresses of her hair off her forehead with my fingers before kissing the freckles scattered on her nose. Then I stride out of the room, closing the door behind me, turning on lights along the way while heading to the living room.

  As soon as I open the door, Izzy waddles in with my mom in tow, arguing about some shit. It’s like they didn’t see me standing at the door, but my thoughts are proved wrong when Mom abruptly stops talking and wields her blue eyes so similar to Izzy’s at me.

  “Why didn’t you pick up the phone?” Mom asks in a worried voice.

  I blink, attempting to wrap my head around the fact that two of my favorite women are in here, while the girl I was about to devour, my student, is in the other room. Who am I kidding, make that three of my favorite women.

  Fuck. This is not good.

  “What are you two doing here?” I glance between Mom and Izzy, who is now making her way to the living room. She tosses her bag on the coffee table, then grabs the arm of the couch and lowers herself onto it. Mom rounds the couch and stops in front of me, her brows furrowed in concern, before she opens her bag and pulls out a round Tupperware container.

  “I made you chicken soup. Bennett told Izzy you weren’t feeling well.” She hands it to me, then feels my forehead with her palm as if checking for fever. “Are you feeling better, honey?”

  Fucking Bennett.

  “I’m good. You didn’t have to come—”

  “We called several times. We got worried, and Mom drove us here to check if you were okay,” Izzy says, patting the space on the couch for me to sit.

  I set the container on the table then cross my arms over my chest, subtly checking the hall that leads to my room, hoping Elon is still asleep, before turning my attention to my mother and sister. I can’t ask them to leave without raising suspicion, so I ask, “Shouldn’t you be resting, Izzy?”

  She waves her hand. “I’m fine. Baby’s fine,” she sighs and leans back on the couch. “I was going crazy inside that house, so I asked Mom if I could tag along. Ben’s mom dropped by to watch Kaylie and Matthew.”

  Shit! Usually I don’t mind when they drop by unannounced, but today—

  The sound of a door softly opening and closing has Izzy and Mom cutting their eyes to where I’m standing, body tense, mind scrambling to find a viable explanation when their heads turn simultaneously toward the hall, following the sound of feet padding softly on the tiles.

  “Nate?” Elon calls out in that I’ve-just-woken-up husky voice that makes my toes curl.

  She appears at the mouth of the hall, still wearing my shirt. Relief washes through me when I notice she’s wearing a pair of my boxer shorts.

  She squints against the light, running her fingers through her messy hair.

  I swallow hard at the vision wobbling sleepily toward us. Another emotion different from the lust coursing through my veins hits me hard in the gut, stealing my breath.

  I love seeing her in my clothes.

  I love her chaotic hair.

  I fucking love having her in my home. Somehow I sleep better when she’s in my space.

  I can’t fucking breathe.

  Her body stills suddenly. Her face pales and eyes widen as she takes in the scene before her.

  I know that look. It’s the same look I saw when I mentioned that Elizabeth suspected something was going on between Elon and me. There’s no way I’m letting her run.

  “Um. . .sorry—” she starts to say with her hand gripping the front of her shirt.

  “Elon,” I command in a gent
le, yet firm voice.

  Her gaze swings to where I’m standing, and she wets her lips.

  With my eyes locked on hers, I hold out my left hand to her and dip my chin slightly. “Come here.”

  I wait, watching indecision play across her face. Then her fingers drop from my T-shirt. She walks toward me with her head high, eyes never leaving me, and takes my hand.

  Finally, my lungs deflate as air rushes past my lips. When she’s secured snugly next to me, I turn to face Izzy and my mom. They’re wearing identical facial expressions: wide eyes, jaw dropped.

  Mom speaks up first, breaking the charged silence.

  “Nate?” she questions in a hopeful, confused whisper.

  I squeeze Elon’s shoulders, and I feel her body relax further into mine.

  “Mom, Izzy. This is Elon.” Then I turn to the woman at my side. “Elon, meet my sister, Izzy and my mom, Grace.”

  My girl shifts and moves from under my arm and bravely walks over and holds out her hand to Mom, then Izzy, before making her way back to me.

  “I think I need to go and change,” she whispers when my mom and Izzy exchange glances, still speechless.

  “Okay,” I murmur.

  Elon hurries back to my room without looking back. Mom’s narrowed stare follows her until she’s out of sight before cutting to me.

  “She looks awfully familiar,” she mutters to herself.

  Shit. Is there a chance she has seen Elon and me together before?

  Mom shakes her head as if to disperse that thought and asks, “Is she. . .” She trails off, her face filled with hope.

  “I’ll be damned,” Izzy exclaims, grinning wide. “The girl at Reed’s Lounge? I’d know that red hair and those freckles anywhere. Tell. Us. Everything. Does Bennett know?” She wiggles on the couch to get comfortable, then puts her hands on her belly. “Oh my God. I haven’t been this excited in a long time.”

  “Stop looming and sit down, Nathaniel,” Mom orders softly.

  I continue looming, waiting for Elon to return to my side.

  Mom sighs when I don’t do as she asks, then folds her hands on her lap. “Who is she?”