Five Ways to Fall

by K. A. Tucker

  “Are you going to survive a week without me or do you need to keep one of my shirts to tide you over?” he murmurs, his mouth pressed up again my hair. I hear the smile in his voice.

  I turn my face away as another burst of heat touches my cheeks. “Maybe just one.”

  He groans, his arms tightening around me. “So you can use it for some weird exorcism-voodoo shit when I piss you off? Hell no! I’ll end up with a nasty rash, won’t I? Oh, wait. You called me a rash, didn’t you?”

  I find myself giggling against him as movement in the blinds at the front window catches my eye. Great. Jack. I’ll have that to deal with when I go inside.

  Ben must have seen it too. “What’re you going to tell Jack?”

  “I don’t know.” I pull away and tilt my head back to meet Ben’s eyes. “What should I tell him?”

  His chest presses against mine with his deep breath. With another quick glance back at the window, he leads me ahead of his car and into the cover of the garage doors, set far enough out that no window has a view. He looks down at me, roaming my features and settling on my mouth. “That we’re good friends.” And then, so contrary to his words, and in a manner so different from the Ben that has kissed me in the past, he dips down and settles a soft, lingering kiss on my mouth, his thumbs rubbing against my cheeks. “I’ve gotta head out now. It’s a long drive back and I’m beat,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice crackling with its low cadence. I feel his lips curve against mine. “I didn’t sleep well with all that babbling you were doing last night.”

  “What?” I feel my brow furrow. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

  There’s just enough light from the corner of the house that I see his dimples. “You do. I just didn’t have a chance to make fun of you for it earlier.”

  Curiosity overcomes my embarrassment. “What did I say?”

  He pauses, as if deciding whether to tell me. And then he shrugs. “Hard to tell, with that ass of yours going all night, too. What did you eat, because . . . Jeez!”

  “What!” I shriek, pulling away from him to smack his broad chest hard as he bursts out in laughter. “I do not fart in my sleep!” I hiss. This may be worse than the puke and the crawling.

  “I was the one pressed right up against you all night. I think I’d know.”

  “Oh my God.” I close my eyes as I wince. Of all the guys to do that in front of—if it’s even true; Jared never said anything—it had to be a guy like Ben? Who will torment me! Does this kind of stuff happen to other women, too? Or is it just me? I shift away from him and start moving backward. “Well, you’d better get going. It’s a long drive.”

  Two strong hands shoot out to grab onto me and pull me back until my back is pressing against the garage door. “Don’t worry. I still think you’re hot.” With an infuriating smile, he dips down and levels me with one of his overpowering kisses, this one much more familiar and “Ben,” buckling my knees as he crushes his body against mine. My eyes finally open to deep dimples as he lifts a hand and kisses my knuckles. “Okay, seriously, I need to go or I’m liable to take you on the hood of Jack’s truck.” Slipping a hand on the small of my back, he leads me toward the walkway as he heads back to his car. “Do you think you can stay out of trouble this week?”

  “Depends. What kind of trouble?”

  He rests an arm on his open door as he smirks at me, explaining in a wry tone, “The kind that involves douchebag ex-husbands.”

  I open my mouth to speak but I stall on the words as I process this. Is he referring to catfights with Caroline and violent outbursts? Or was that his way of saying he doesn’t want me messing around with anyone? I settle on, “Depends. Do you think you can stay away from Twinkies?”

  He winks. “I knew you were jealous.” And then he climbs into his car without giving me a proper answer. I watch him pull away, feeling irritated and suddenly empty.

  With a deep breath, I walk inside.

  Jack and Mason are still in the kitchen, Jack carving a sizeable piece of meatloaf and loading it onto a plate. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yeah, Wilma wouldn’t let us leave until we ate,” I explain, reaching into the fridge for the jug of chocolate milk. I screw the top off and am about to lift it to my lips to chug it back when I catch Mason staring at me, his mouth open and trying really hard not to scold me. My arms drops. I reach out and get a glass, making a point of watching him with a “See? I can be considerate!” glare.

  “Well, the woman sure can cook,” Jack muses, opening the microwave to slide his plate in. “I’m not even hungry and I have to eat this.”

  I pat his belly affectionately. “Be careful. Wouldn’t want to get too plump for Ms. Sexton.”

  Mason starts snickering from his seat on the bar stool.

  “Mason . . .” The kitchen fills with loud beeps as Jack punches instructions into the microwave. “Why don’t you go to your room and talk to that lovely girlfriend of yours.”

  Mason’s laughter cuts off short. “You’re sending me to my room? I’m twenty-five years old!”

  “Yes, that’s right, you are. And yet you got caught lying to your father this weekend.” Jack stands in front of the microwave, a small smile on his face.

  “Good luck, Reese,” Mason mutters, grabbing whatever magazine he was reading and his glass of chocolate milk.

  “So . . .” Jack takes a moment rifling through the forks in the cutlery drawer, as if there’s a “good fork” versus a “bad fork” in there. It’s a matching set. “How is Ben’s mother taking it?”

  “Hard to tell. She kept herself really busy today. Ben thinks she’s going to have a hard time once the dust settles.”

  Jack pulls the heated plate of food out of the microwave and heads toward the breakfast bar. “I can’t imagine losing her husband like that is easy.”

  “It was bad, but it could have been worse.” I’d imagine a bottle of pills and some puke is definitely easier to deal with than a shotgun or a rope. If Wilma had walked in on that . . . My stomach tightens with the thought. She’s such a sweet woman and she deserves to be happy.

  She’s also a fascinating woman. Perhaps it’s because of the vast difference between her and Annabelle. All I knew growing up was a woman who kept trading up for power and prestige. Wilma is completely opposite, standing by a wretched man for thirty-three years, holding onto the few years of bliss she remembers. Did either of these women make good choices?

  “How is Ben taking it? Should he be driving back alone?” Jack asks.

  I think back to what I just left in the driveway. Ben being . . . Ben. “I think he’s okay,” I say tentatively, adding, “He didn’t have the closest relationship with his father.”

  Jack nods as he sits down. “And what about his relationship with you? How close is that?” He shovels a mouthful of meatloaf in and chews slowly, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “We’re good friends,” I parrot Ben’s earlier words. It’s not a lie. We have formed a close friendship. It may not be entirely platonic. Or not platonic at all but, as long as Jack doesn’t ask for specifics, it’s a solid answer. Plus, if I admit to nothing, then I’m not putting Jack in an awkward position, where he’s forced to do anything about it at work.

  My logic is sound.

  I watch Jack process that as he swallows and fills his mouth again. I always know when Jack is thinking because his eyes remain downcast and trained on a specific spot. Finally, he places his fork down. “I think you two both have very bright futures, and I’d hate for something to jeopardize that.”

  “Nothing’s going to,” I promise, though inside I know I’m not as confident as I sound. What’s going to happen when Ben sleeps with someone else? Curls up in bed with her? Makes her laugh and feel special?

  The very thought of it has me clenching my teeth.

  Jack makes a soft grunt, as if he can read my mind, see my doubts.

  I finish my glass of milk and rinse it out. “I’m heading to bed, Jack. It’s been a long day.�
��

  “Okay. A package arrived for you yesterday, from Annabelle. I left it in your room.”

  “Great.” What could that be?

  “Reese?” Jack calls out after me as I pass him.

  I slow reluctantly. I can convince myself of whatever logic I want; deceiving Jack still feels wrong. “Yeah?”

  “You understand why I’m worried, right?”

  “Because I’m an emotional mess who may accidently repaint the interior of Warner in a fit of rage?”

  A crooked smirk touches his lips as he pauses. “Ben seems like a good guy, but . . . I don’t want you ending up bitter like Annabelle.” I bite the inside of my mouth to keep quiet, recalling his own son’s similar words only days ago. “Just . . .” Jack picks up the glass of red wine he has barely touched since I arrived home. “Keep it out of the office, Reese. I don’t want anyone asking questions. It’ll look like I’m favoring you.” He takes a sip. “More than I already do.”

  I offer him a tiny, imperceptible nod as I take off up the stairs and to the privacy of my room, to find the giant white box resting on my bed. Tossing my knapsack to the floor, I peel off the tape securing the top. A pile of amethyst-colored satin nestled among tissue paper stares back at me. Unfolding the note card on top, I read:

  For this Saturday’s charity ball. I hope you haven’t gained weight.

  I sigh. This event must be really important for her image for her to be going to all the trouble of getting her daughter there. I pick the box up and toss it into the corner without even pulling the dress out.

  Because I’m not going.

  It’s eleven by the time I’m crawling into bed when my cell phone rings. My stomach does a flip when I see Ben’s name appear.

  Oh God, I’m so screwed.

  I answer with his line. “You missed me that much already?”

  “How’d it go with Jack?” he says over the rumble of his Volkswagen engine.

  That’s why he called. He’s worried about his job. Of course he is. “Okay. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Really?” The doubt in his voice is unmistakable.

  “Yeah. As long as you don’t tell everyone at work that you’re in love with me, you’ll be fine.”

  He bursts out laughing. I bite my lip against the urge to ask why that’s so funny.

  There’s a long moment of silence, where I expect him to say goodbye and secretly dread it.

  And then I hear him ask, “Sing something to me.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long drive and I’m fallin’ asleep. Sing me something before I crash.”

  I try to keep the surge of warmth from exploding in my voice as I mutter, “Fine,” and drop into my beanbag chair. Setting my phone down and putting it on speaker, I pick up my guitar and begin picking at the strings haphazardly. “Any requests?”

  “How about . . . ‘Achy Breaky Heart’? ‘Ice Ice Baby’?”

  I roll my eyes. “None. Okay, then.” I settle in as I keep picking until a familiar tune surfaces and I find the words to “The Freshmen,” by The Verve Pipe, flowing out of my mouth.

  It feels good to do this now. Not for show, not for revenge. Just for me.

  And for Ben.

  “You still awake?” I ask as the last note to that song fades.

  “You bet, darlin’. Sing me another.” I feel my lips curl up in a warm smile as I pick another song.

  By the time Ben pulls into the driveway at Wilma’s almost two hours later, my voice is getting raspy and my ass is numb. “It’s late. You’d better get some rest,” he says.

  “Does it feel different now, being there?”

  There’s a long pause. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t figured out how I feel about all this.” Much softer, I hear him add, “About a lot of things.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.” I immediately bite my tongue. Was that too obvious?

  “Good night, Reese.”

  “Good night, Ben.” I hit the “end” button before I’m tempted to say something I’ll regret.

  Chapter 30

  BEN

  “This feels different,” I admit to myself as I lie in bed, my head nestled within my arms, staring up at the ceiling of Elsie’s room.

  And it has nothing to do with my dad being gone.

  I wish Reese were lying next to me. I’m trying to tell myself that it’s because I just sat in the car for two hours listening to her sexy voice. I was grinning like an idiot the entire time.

  And then, when I caught Mama in here tonight with her hands on the pillows, about to change the sheets, I hollered at her to stop. She patted my chest with a little smile and left quietly, leaving me to bury my face in Reese’s pillow to inhale the scent of strawberries and cream.

  And now, here I am, thinking about kissing Reese tonight before I left her, and how much I didn’t want to leave her.

  To be honest, I was expecting the novelty of Reese to wear off after Friday night; that finally getting her into my bed would have satisfied this intense urge that’s been driving me crazy for weeks. I mean, I’m a guy who likes the chase. That’s always been the case. But it’s not the case with Reese.

  Quite the opposite, actually.

  Now, I just want to hold onto her to keep her from getting away. And leaving her tonight, thinking about her possibly hooking up with that douchebag ex of hers, had my teeth grinding against each other. I know that part of it is her giving him the time of day after how much he hurt her. But most of it’s not, because when I think about her hooking up with anyone else, I feel the exact same tight ball forming in my stomach.

  Yeah, things have definitely changed. I’m just not sure what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.

  “How’d you sleep, darling?” Mama asks from her seat on the back porch, one of Grandma’s knit blankets wrapped around her as she sips at her tea.

  I lean in to lay a kiss on her head. “Out like a light, as usual. You know that.” Once my body shuts down, it takes a lot to wake me up. I was teasing Reese yesterday. If she was talking or doing anything else in her sleep, I have no fucking clue.

  Mama smiles. “You always were my best sleeper. Such a happy, easy baby.”

  I set my cup of coffee down on the small end table—another piece made by my father; the house is like a Joshua Morris museum—and settle myself into a chair. “When’s everyone getting here?”

  “Elsie should be here this afternoon. Rob and Jake will be here Wednesday with their families. Josh, not until late Thursday. He can’t afford to lose time with work.” My oldest brother—my father’s namesake and arguably a chip off the old block—works as a crane operator in Chicago. At least he’s admitted that he has a drinking problem and is trying to get help. The medical bills, coupled with child support and alimony, mean he’s struggling to make ends meet in a shitty studio apartment in one of Chicago’s less desirable areas.

  “It’s gonna to be a full house.”

  “I know.” Mama smiles sadly. “It’s been a long time since I could say that.” She holds out a plate of cake. “Here, have some of this. We have twenty more waiting inside.”

  “Neighbors have been good to us.” I gladly reach out and grab a piece, stuffing it into my mouth.

  “It’s delicious, isn’t it?”

  I moan in response. I never turn down sweets, though I probably should. If I ever stop working out, I’ll end up with a gut like Jack’s in no time.

  “Hayley made it.”

  “Who’s Hayley?” Crumbs fly out of my mouth.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mama scolds. “Lorna’s daughter. She’s coming by to help pick. Yesterday’s harvest went over to the packing place this morning. They’ll be on the road by this afternoon.”

  At least that’s taken care of. I still can’t believe Reese was out there that long, filling those crates. I could kiss her for it. Hell, I could kiss her for anything, but that’s as good an excuse as any.

  There’s a pause. “There’s alw
ays room here for one more.”

  I shoot her a confused look.

  “Reese, son,” she clarifies with an exasperated sigh. “Why don’t you invite her to come up and stay with us.”

  “Well, for one thing, because she works full time. Plus, why would she want to hang out here for an entire week while we get ready for a funeral?”

  She takes a small sip of her tea. “Something tells me she would.”

  Of course. Which brings me to what I haven’t had a chance to say earlier. “Mama, you’ve gotta stop telling people that Reese is my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, did that slip out accidentally?” She makes a show of dusting crumbs off her hand, her eyes averted.

  “Just once or twice,” I mock softly, leaning back into my chair to stretch my feet out. “We’re just friends. I don’t need things to get confusing by putting labels on it.”

  “You think the label’s going to change what’s going on?” I catch her lips curl into a smile, as if she knows some secret, but she hides it behind another sip. What the hell did those two women talk about out there yesterday? It was a sly move on Mama’s part. One minute she’s in the kitchen. Then I head to the can and she’s gone when I come out.

  “How was dropping her off last night? Did your boss say anything about you two?”

  “He offered his condolences and told me that family comes first.”

  “Hmm . . . sounds like a good man,” she murmurs.

  “Yeah, he is.” And I’m starting to feel guilty for what I’m doing with his stepdaughter, especially after our talk. He must have figured it out by now.

  “Well, I’ve booked the funeral for Friday. Pastor Phillips said he can do it. I don’t want to bother with a visitation. I don’t expect many people . . .” Her voice drifts off and her gaze becomes distant.

  “Not for him, anyway.” As soon as I see her flinch at my words, I regret it. I’ve been really careful not to talk like that, not to let any of my feelings come out. It only hurts her.