If We Fall: A What If Novel

by Nina Lane

  “I could…” I swallow hard. “I could never regret you.”

  A thousand other things, yes. But Josie…never.

  Her green eyes dim. My insides clench. The last thing I want to do is hurt her. But as easy as it is to lie to myself, lying to Josie is a knife in my gut.

  “I don’t regret this.” I push her hair away from her damp forehead. “I don’t regret you. I never will. I also won’t tell you I’ve changed, that I’m a better man than what you’ve heard, that I’m worthy of you. No.”

  I hold up a hand to stop her inevitable protest. Years ago, I’d fought to be worthy of loving and being loved by Josie Mays. For one incredible year, I’d succeeded. I’d not only felt worthy, I’d proven it with my hard work, academic success, the career and grad school opportunities that were opening up to me. I’d started doing that to get away from my father, and I’d worked even harder at it all to create a future for me and Josie.

  Yeah, I’d been worthy.

  Before.

  “I can’t give you anything.” I rest my hand on her nape, willing her to believe me. “I have a shitload of money, and if you need—”

  “You’re seriously offering me money after I just gave you a blowjob?” Bitterness edges her voice, and she disengages herself from me. “Nice.”

  Irritation scrapes my chest. “No, that’s not what I—”

  “I know what you meant.” She slips the T-shirt over her head and strides to the kitchen. “It’s the opposite of what happened eleven years ago. Back then, you used your lack of money as an excuse for why you couldn’t be with me…when all I wanted was you. And now you’re trying to convince me that money is all you have to offer. I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now.”

  “You should.” I pull my jeans on, hitching them over my hips. “Some things haven’t changed. You hook up with me again, and you’ll get dragged into the shit that surrounds Cole Danforth and Invicta Spirits.”

  “And you think that concerns me one bit?” She pours the coffee with a sharp movement. It sloshes over the side of the mug. “If the past ten years have taught me anything, it’s that life is too fucking short and precious to worry about what other people think of my decisions.”

  My shoulders tense. Josie sets the mug down and presses her fingers to her temples. Her body heaves with a sigh.

  “For God’s sake, Cole. First we’re fighting about the mural, then right when we come to terms with that, we start fighting about us. I didn’t come back here to be angry all the time. I don’t want to be. Can’t we just be friends again?”

  She lifts her gaze to mine. Ah, she used to look at me like that all the time. Any second now, she’ll give me her warm, bright smile and kiss me goodbye before grabbing her portfolio of enchanted forest art and hurrying off to her drawing class...

  I flex my hands and struggle to maintain some small piece of my guard to block her out. But whatever is left crumbles like sawdust.

  “We can…” Something sticks in my throat. “We can be friends.”

  “Good.” A relieved smile crosses her face, the lines on her forehead easing. “I would really like that.”

  I can’t stop myself from approaching her. Curling a lock of her dark hair around my finger, I kiss her between the eyes. Her cherry taste lingers in my mouth. I want more.

  No matter how selfish and greedy it makes me, I crave this woman like a drug. I tell myself I have no choice. She’s going to stay whether I want her to or not.

  I’ll keep her close. Now more than ever, it’s the only way to protect her.

  Chapter 11

  Josie

  * * *

  If Cole dominated my thoughts before we had sex, now he consumes them. He leaves for New York the following day to attend an Invicta whiskey launch event, which gives me some time to deal with the swift intensity of what’s happening between us.

  Hot sex and tentative friendship. Given how awful things have been, I will happily take both. Not only am I still tingling two days after our night together, but my heart is comforted by the brief glimpses of my Cole that appeared through his guard. I saw the boy I once loved in the way he touched my face and stroked my hair, even in the slouched lines of his body as he sat by the window.

  And while I’m under no illusions about reviving what we once had, knowing he’s still there—even buried deep—cements my belief that returning to Castille was the right thing to do.

  For all my pent-up resentment toward him, all the times I’ve blamed him for not even giving us a chance to heal together, I couldn’t have withstood the reality of that golden, sun-soaked boy having been so completely crushed beneath the weight of unbearable loss.

  In his absence, I hasten to get the mural preparations underway. I’ve gotten behind schedule and have a great deal of catching up to do.

  “What changed his mind?” Vanessa asks one evening as we start to get Teddy’s old room organized for the nursery.

  “Not sure.” I shrug, keeping my voice nonchalant. Since I’m still coming to terms with this turn of events, I’m not about to divulge it to anyone else. Especially my sister. “I guess he finally realized it was the right thing to do.”

  If Allegra King and the festival committee wonder about Cole’s change of heart regarding the mural, they all have the grace not to ask questions. Instead they spring into action over the next few days to get the wall prepped and primed.

  Using a grid system, I plan to transfer my drawings to the wall a section at a time, completing the entire image as a sketch before painting. Based on my accelerated timeline, I’ll be finished with the mural several days before the Bicentennial Festival.

  After organizing my supplies, I sketch out the mural in acrylic paint, enjoying the meditative process of starting a new piece. It’s what I used to love most about art, being able to lose myself in design and color.

  As I draw the foreground ocean, people pause to watch me work, to chat, and to ask questions. This is all enormously gratifying. I’m accustomed to working in the solitude of my studio, so interacting with people and talking to them about my art while it’s still in progress is both unusual and welcome.

  “I like to paint too,” says a child’s voice one afternoon.

  I turn to find a brown-haired little boy of about eight and his mother standing nearby. My heart bumps. He looks a bit like Teddy did at that age.

  “What do you like to paint?” I ask.

  “Mostly dinosaurs. Sometimes airplanes.” He squints at the mural. “You should put an airplane in there somewhere.”

  “Good idea. Maybe I will.” Though I haven’t finished the outline, I take a paintbrush from my case and gesture to the ocean floor. “Do you want to add something to it?”

  He glances at his mother, who lifts her eyebrows with surprise.

  “Are you sure?” she asks me.

  “Of course. What color would you like?” I indicate the paint buckets lined up on a dropcloth beside the wall. “These are the ones we’re using for the ocean.”

  The boy squats to study each color before dipping the brush into a dark green. He then carefully paints the outline of a sea-plant.

  I glance at his mother. “Would you like to paint one too?”

  “Oh no.” She gives me a self-deprecating smile and waves her hand. “I’m terrible at art.”

  “No one is terrible at art.” I take a clean paintbrush from my case and hold it out. “And this part of the design is already outlined, so all you have to do is fill in whatever you want.”

  “Come on, Mom.” The boy crouches to paint another plant.

  With a hesitant shrug, his mother starts painting an outline on a pufferfish. Several other people stop to watch. I hand out three more paintbrushes and step back to let two teenaged girls and an older man help paint the ocean scene. Their enjoyment in doing something as simple as coloring in a seashell is a pleasure I hadn’t expected. Over the years, I’ve almost forgotten that art can be fun.

  When the aftern
oon light starts to dim, I pack up the paint supplies and return to Vanessa’s house to continue working on the nursery. The ocean scene on the nursery walls is a more personal, private mural project. One I’m doing for my nephew, and in some ways for my little brother.

  “I’m making spaghetti for dinner, if you’d like to stay.” Vanessa stops in the doorway and admires the bright blue walls. “That looks great so far.”

  “I’ll give it another coat tomorrow.” I climb off the ladder and wipe my hands on a paint rag. “I’m borrowing a projector from the library, so I can project the scene on to the wall before painting it.”

  “You’re so talented.” She leans her shoulder against the doorjamb, resting one hand underneath her belly. “Mom would have been really proud of you.”

  My heart tightens. “Thanks.”

  “And I’m glad you came back. It means a lot, having you here.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” I place the lid on the paint can. “I have a show in Los Angeles starting on August fifteenth that I need to get to, but if my nephew hasn’t made an appearance by then, I’ll come back. I really want to be here for the birth.”

  “I’ll tell him to work around your schedule.” She smiles and pats her belly. Warmth passes between us.

  “Dinner should be ready by the time you’re done.” She starts back down the stairs when the doorbell rings.

  A moment later, Nathan Peterson’s voice comes from the foyer. Carrying my paintbrushes, I walk downstairs and lift my eyebrows at the sight of him in cargo shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Nathan, what a nice surprise,” I remark.

  “Hi, Josie.” Faint confusion furrows his brow, and he points to the toolbox he’s carrying. “Uh, you asked me to drop by and help put the crib together.”

  Vanessa throws me a suspicious frown.

  “Did I?” I shake my head and laugh. “Sorry, I forgot. But now that you’re here, the timing is perfect. I told the delivery guys to leave the crib in the nursery, so we won’t have to move it later.”

  “I can go ahead and get started, then.” Nathan pauses and glances uncertainly at Vanessa. “I mean, if it’s okay with you?”

  “Yes, it’s fine.” She waves toward the stairs. “Thank you, Nathan.”

  He heads upstairs, and I attempt to divert past my sister to the basement. She grabs my arm and pulls me to a halt.

  “Josie, you are not playing matchmaker,” she hisses. “I have enough on my mind without needing to add dating to the mix.”

  “Actually, I think dating is exactly what you need,” I counter. “But you don’t have to date Nathan if you don’t want to. What’s wrong with just having him as a friend? I think you could use one.”

  “And what about you?” she retorts. “Last time I checked, you weren’t exactly tearing up the rug with a big group of besties.”

  My heart stutters. She’s right. I have a lot of acquaintances, but I haven’t had too many close friends over the past decade. People tend to shy away from me after learning about my family, and even if they do stick around, I’ve often been too spacey or exhausted to commit to their invitations to parties, movies, and dinner. And though Cole and I have agreed to be “friends,” that’s not nearly the same as having a girlfriend or two just to hang out with.

  Like my high-school friends. Lucy, Harper, and Emma. They’d rallied around me after the accident but seeing them had been a gut-wrenching reminder of all I’d lost. Though we’d kept in touch occasionally via email after I moved to California, we’d all gotten involved with our own lives and drifted apart.

  “I’m sorry.” Vanessa loosens her grip on my arm.

  “Don’t be. You’re right. I can’t remember the last time I had lunch with a friend. Well, except for you the other day.”

  Her expression softens. “I know you’re worried about me, but I worry about you too. I’ve seen your art, and after what you told me…I hate that you’re still so hurt.”

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” I extend my hand, more determined than ever that both of us will learn how to enjoy life again. “I’ll get out there and make a friend if you ask Nathan to have coffee with you.”

  She bites her lip. “Josie, I don’t—”

  “Coffee, Vanessa,” I reiterate. “You don’t have to propose marriage.”

  “But you could give it a shot,” Nathan calls from upstairs.

  Vanessa’s eyes widen. A bubble of laughter bursts from my throat.

  My sister pinches my arm and gives me a “now look what you did” glare.

  “I made it even easier for you.” I nudge her toward the stairs. “Go on.”

  “I’m never going to forgive you for this.” Her skin reddening, she starts up the stairs. “You’re still such a pain. And you still dress like a thrift-shop rag doll.”

  Tossing her hair, she disappears into the nursery. I hurry to clean the paintbrushes and leave the house, unable to stop smiling.

  Chapter 12

  Cole

  * * *

  Multicolored lights flash over the New York nightclub. Half-dressed dancers gyrate to the thump of a heavy bass. Energy charges the air, fueled by the free-flow of Invicta’s Mischief Whiskey. Celebrities, athletes, socialites, and influencers maneuver between the dance floor, the bar, and the VIP areas cordoned off by white silk curtains.

  The Mischief Whiskey logo shines from the spotlights. A fifteen-foot cubic structure on the opposite side of the room provides a 4D virtual reality experience tour of Invicta Spirits’ newly opened distillery in Scotland.

  It’s crazed, frenetic, and too fucking much. Especially now, when the only place I want to be is with Josie. Anywhere.

  Anywhere but here. Though I’d considered asking her to come with me to the launch party, I couldn’t stand the thought of her in this mess. Hated the idea of her seeing what a pretentious bastard I’ve become. Even if I let myself imagine some tiny possibility that we could ever be together again, I’d never leave Invicta. It’s the only thing that’s kept me focused on the future instead of the past.

  And no way could I ever drag Josie into it. She belongs in her mother’s cottage, in the woods, with her paints and easel. Not…here.

  Or with me.

  “Colton!” An elegant blonde in a skintight red dress peers into the private alcove where I’ve been sitting most of the night. Holding court. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  She slides into the booth beside me. The cloying smell of her perfume hits my nose.

  “You host the most amazing parties.” She sidles closer. Her skin is hot, her smile framed by lips red as blood. She rests her hand on my thigh. “And the whiskey is so delicious. The mixologist made me a cocktail with Mischief and chocolate bitters, and oh my God, it went right to my blood. I might need another.”

  She giggles and glides her hand closer to my groin.

  A reporter for one of the buzz websites approaches, face flushed and eyes bright. “Mr. Danforth, I’ve never seen anything like that virtual reality cube. Can you tell me what prompted you to use it to launch Mischief?”

  “I’ve always kept Invicta Spirits on the cutting edge of technology, both in marketing and production.” I make an effort to put some enthusiasm into my voice. “Augmented reality is a fantastic tool to connect with consumers and allow them to fully experience the story of our company.”

  “Awesome, thanks.” He puts that quote into his phone and asks a few more questions before heading back toward the bar, where the mixologists have been making cocktails nonstop.

  “Are you leaving soon?” The blonde settles her hand directly on my dick, which fails to respond in any way whatsoever. “Want to give me a ride? Or I could give you one.”

  Subtle.

  I grab her wrist, tightening my fingers unnecessarily hard.

  Her eyes widen. “Wow, sorry.”

  Loosening my grip, I take a breath. Josie’s voice echoes in my head.

  All I wanted was you.

  Eleven years a
go, she hadn’t cared about my lack of money. Now, she doesn’t care about how much I have. Nothing about Invicta—not the company’s prestige and success, the expansion, the products, the parties—matters to Josie. All that girl ever cared about was me.

  “I gotta go.” I edge out of the booth. “Get yourself another drink.”

  Disappointment flares in the blonde’s eyes. “But…”

  I signal to my manager that I’m leaving. He nods, swiftly making his way toward the front of the club. Pulling on my suit jacket, I maneuver through the glittering crowd, pausing only to briefly shake hands, respond to a compliment, deflect female attention.

  Outside, the night air is a welcome relief. The crowd of onlookers and paparazzi straining at the security barriers is not. They’re all holding Invicta swag—hats, bandannas, LED lights. Gerald, who prefers to spend these events working rather than having a good time, is standing near the entrance. He catches my eye and nods to the onlookers.

  Tension lines my jaw, but I make my way over to shake a few hands and thank people for their interest in Invicta’s latest product. When the valet pulls up with my Porsche, I make insincere apologies and get the hell out of there.

  I ease into the Manhattan traffic and return to the penthouse at the SoHo Grand. An exterior landscaped terrace overlooks the city. Loosening my tie, I head outside.

  Better. The city is all lights and glitter, but up here it’s quiet. The lights illuminate a dizzying drop to the street below.

  I lean my elbows on the railing and pull out my cell to call Josie. Her phone goes to voicemail. My spine tightens. It’s not yet midnight. I call again. No answer.

  Unease scrapes my chest. What if she’s stuck again in the dark? Though she has plenty of flashlights now, she still has to climb the hill to the cottage. And if she panics…

  Idiot. She’s fine. You’re the obsessed fucker who’s never been able to get her out of your head.

  Not that it matters. She’ll be gone in a little over a month. You might never see her again. So you go ahead and store up those thoughts like a fucking dragon hoarding gold because once she’s gone, that’s it. Done.