Fall Back Skyward (Fall Back #1)

by Autumn Grey

She is quiet for a few seconds, and I turn to face her. “Do you know him?”

  She nods. “His mother and your father were inseparable in their teens. They grew up together. Maggie lived a few houses away from ours.”

  Oh wow. This explains the way he was looking at Cole’s mom on the day we arrived. It doesn’t answer why he hates Cole though, a thought that makes my head hurt every time I think about it.

  “What happened? Why did they break up?”

  She shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure. Maggie came to see me before she went off to college. She wanted to talk. She told me that she couldn’t handle Stephen’s ‘obsessive ways’. Her words, not mine. Your father can be quite intense.”

  Don’t I know it.

  She inhales deeply as though she is about to let me in on a secret. “Cole is a good boy. Very hardworking. He reminds me of my Thomas.”

  I stare at her, confused.

  “My son.”

  Wait, what? My father has a brother? How come I’ve never met him? And no one talks about him?

  My grandmother blinks, her eyes filling with tears. “He was my first born child, your father’s older brother. I got very sick when I was pregnant with Thomas, which affected his hearing. He was born deaf. He passed away a few years ago. I don’t talk about it, it’s a very difficult topic for me. I’ve held onto it for so long. Seeing the Holloway boy brought back those memories.

  “Your father and Thomas never got along very well, because of Thomas’s. . .um. . .lifestyle.” She wipes her cheeks and tries to smile, but fails miserably when a sob escapes her lips. “He was gay, something my husband and later on, Stephen, didn’t approve of.”

  My mind is reeling with this information. “Does Mom know?”

  She shakes her head. “I have no idea if Stephen ever told her. Every family has a secret and this was ours, mainly because of the way he died.”

  I scoot around the table, drop on my knees in front of her, and wrap my arms around her. I had a relative, an uncle, who I never even knew existed. Does my father ever have any positive feelings for anyone? This is just. . .insane.

  I pull back and rest my bottom on my heels. “How did he die?”

  She rolls her head back and stares at the ceiling, tears running down the side of her face now. I climb to my feet and rush to the counter where the cash register sits, grab the box of tissues, and hurry back to her. I pluck one out and press it into her hand. She dabs her cheeks and eyes with the tissue, before focusing on me again. I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to talk about it, but the need to know is overpowering.

  “He. . .um. . .he killed himself right after he broke up with his boyfriend.”

  Oh my God.

  I lean forward and pull her into my arms, as my own tears roll down my cheeks, joining her in mourning someone I never had the pleasure of meeting.

  I’m not even sure how this day turned from one filled with swoon-worthy kisses, walking-on-sunshine moments to one of confessions. Seeing Cole must have triggered Grandma’s memories, ripping open barely healed wounds.

  “Have you ever talked to someone about this?” I ask, pulling back and walking around the desk. I lift the chair and set it on the floor next to hers so our knees are touching.

  She nods. “The psychologist at work. It took me a long time to accept the consequences of not standing up for my baby. For Thomas.”

  We continue chatting about the past. Customers come in, buy what they need and leave. I can’t help but think that my family is really messed up.

  Eventually, we get on to the orientation. Grandma explains to me what requires urgent attention, which is arranging the carnations in various buckets in the corner. The owner will pick up their order before closing time. I end up texting Cole to inform him that I need more time. Grandma orders us Chinese for lunch from the restaurant next door. I’m not hungry despite not having breakfast this morning.

  Six hours later, Cole pops in to pick me up and drive me home. I’m not even surprised when my grandmother converses with him in sign language after the introductions are over.

  “Where did your grandmother learn how to sign like that?” he asks, on the way to his car.

  I tell him about Thomas, his father, and how he died. I leave out the part where my father hated his own brother. I need to mull over that information first, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m a little bit scared that Cole will look at me differently. Surely, Dad’s prejudices wouldn’t be clouding his mind, judging Cole, would he?

  As soon as Cole drops me home and he kisses me senseless, we agree to meet at our usual place, and I walk toward my house. There is so much I don’t know about my dad, and the more I discover about him, the more I realize he is practically a stranger. I can’t shake off this uneasiness creeping down my spine.

  TODAY IS MY FIRST DAY of working with my grandma at Lily Rose and I’m running a little late. I swear if someone asks me what my super power is, I’ll tell them, running late.

  I hop out of the Station Wagon, grab my purse and dash through the sliding glass doors at exactly ten o’clock in the morning. I ask the lady at the reception where Albert Hall is, then hurry down the hall. Grandma is already here. The chairs have been arranged in a circle, which I assume, will make interacting easier. I kiss her cheek and she hands me folders, and tells me that they contain songs she uses for the sessions. After placing a folder on each empty chair, she asks me if I would like to practice on the piano, get reacquainted with some of the tunes. I grab a copy of the music sheet and scan it. The first song on the list is “Frosty The Snowman.”

  Ten minutes later, an elderly couple walk in slowly, the man pushing the wheelchair for his wife. More people trickle in until all the seats have been taken.

  I spend the next forty-five minutes singing and playing the piano. I swear it is the most fun I’ve had in a while.

  When the session is over, I excuse myself and head out into the hall, searching for the bathroom. I pause when I see a short, burly man arguing with an elderly woman. Their facial features are similar so I assume she is his mother. He drags a hand down his face in obvious frustration. The older woman’s face is red, her hands shaking in agitation. He turns around again, repeats his name and tells the woman he is her son. She shakes her head and yells, saying she doesn’t have a son. This goes on for a few seconds. One of the day workers steps forward, says something to the man with a stern face, before turning to focus on the frantic woman.

  Curious, I inch closer to the man. “Is everything okay, Sir?”

  He startles and snaps his troubled gaze to mine. His face is flushed and he is swallowing hard, unable to get words out of his mouth. He shakes his head. I excuse myself, grab a plastic cup and fill it with water from the water cooler in the reception area, then head back and give the man the cup. He downs the water and sets the cup on the table.

  “Thanks.”

  I nod and turn to leave.

  “She doesn’t know who I am,” he says, sounding lost. I spin around and face him.

  “She thinks I’m a stranger. She can’t remember her dead husband or me, or my brother.” He rubs his forehead and crushes the cup in his fist.

  I imagine my mother forgetting who I am and pain stabs inside my chest. My heart aches for this man.

  “I’m Eleanor Blake.” I offer my hand in greeting, which he accepts.

  “Eric Taylor.” He pulls back his hand.

  I glance over my shoulder. Grandma is still inside the hall. She probably needs a little longer before she is done with what she is doing. I clear my throat and search the reception area. It’s like the staff have gone MIA.

  God, what do I do? I’ve never seen an adult freak out—other than my mom—so this is quite frightening. I turn back to face Mr. Taylor and notice tears, probably born of frustration, shimmer in the corner of his eyes. I shift on my feet nervously. I can’t just leave him looking like this.

  “Sir, um. . .Mr. Taylor. Would you like to talk about it?”


  He shakes his head again. Then nods, expels a breath and lowers himself on the seat next to him. His body is coiled tight around the shoulders and his hands are balled into fists. He bumps them against each other, his eyes focused on the floor. With one last look over my shoulder, I round the table and sit across from him with my hands folded on my lap. I hope Grandma will be done soon.

  He presses a fist against his mouth. “Why does this happen? Why does this disease steal memories?” He’s looking at me although I have a feeling his focus is not on me at all, but rather stuck in the distant past as he talks about their life. The time when he started noticing her forget the small things, and eventually the bigger things, like his son and her husband. By the time he is done, my heart is breaking for him and his mother, and I understand his frustration and panic. He stops speaking, but continues to stare at the floor. Grandma’s voice drifts toward me. I turn around to see her hugging one of the women who work here, then starting to walk in my direction.

  Thank God. I don’t have answers for Mr. Taylor. I don’t think anyone is in a position to provide the answers he desperately seeks, but since Grandma is more knowledgeable than me, she might be able to help him more than I did. She stops next to me and they start to chat. I realize she and Mr. Taylor know each other and probably have for a long time, since his mom has been visiting the center for a few weeks now.

  By the time we part ways with Mr. Taylor, the look of frustration from before is gone.

  Outside the center, I hug Grandma and promise to talk to her soon before heading for my car while switching on my phone. A message pops up.

  Cole: You done yet?

  I reach my car and stop, smiling.

  Me: Just finished. On the way home.

  Cole: Hurry. I’ve missed you.

  I dig my keys out of my purse, open the car and hop on the driver’s seat, grinning wide.

  I love that Cole never hides his feelings for me.

  “YOU GUYS NEED TO TONE that shit down,” I say without looking at Simon and Megs, opting to speak instead of sign for Megs benefit.

  Simon is an only child. His mom is a lawyer and his dad works in consulting for a public relations firm. Both his parents are hardly ever home, so he spends most of his time in Spinners Cafe, Megs’ house and my place. He and I had plans to shoot some zombies on my Playstation. We did for a while. Then Megs called to ask if she could come over and Simon’s concentration went to hell.

  They have been making out on the two-seater in my room for the past thirty minutes, while I’ve been obsessively hopping between the window and my bed, waiting for Nor to come home from the center. My hand is starting to cramp from checking my phone for her text message so many times.

  I glance up from the latest thriller novel that I bought last week to the couple writhing on the couch to my right and I feel my eyes burn.

  Jesus.

  Simon’s hand is two seconds away from pulling down Megs panties, given the way her skirt is bunched up on her ass.

  I grab the bookmark on the bed and mark the page before shutting the book. “That is it. Get out of my room.”

  Simon’s head pops up above Megs’ chest. He pulls his hands from her body long enough to sign, “Leave the room if we are bothering you.”

  “Get your ass off my couch, Asshole. If I wanted to watch porn, I would watch my own collection.”

  He flips me off, sinks his fingers into Megs’ hair and kisses her neck.

  Where the hell is Nor? I need to get out of this hell. I can’t stop thinking about her. My heart speeds up when I think of her and my hands tremble, dying to touch her.

  My phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket and click on the little envelope on my screen.

  Nor: Just finished. On the way home.

  Hell-fucking-yes.

  Me: Hurry.

  My fingers poise above the screen. Would I look too desperate if I told her I missed her?

  Whatever.

  Me: Hurry. I’ve missed you.

  Nor: Should I come over?

  Me: Yes.

  We’ve been spending more time in my house lately. It’s safer that way.

  I press send and grin at my phone. Shit. I’m completely obsessed with this girl. No wonder Josh can’t seem to stop teasing me.

  I toss my phone on the bed and spend the next few minutes peeling Simon and Megs from my couch and tossing them out of my room.

  It’s fifteen minutes to midday by the time I park my car in my usual spot outside my house. I grab my purse, hop out of the car and run up the path leading to my house. I’m meeting Cole soon, and knowing him, he’ll be striding out his front door and leaping over the fence to get to me. I’ve gotten used to his intensity so I’m always ready for him.

  With one last glance at Cole’s house, I enter mine. More than a feeling by Boston blares from upstairs, shaking the floor boards beneath my feet. The sound of the cello joins Boston, it’s sorrowful, yet alluring melody filling the space. I follow the throbbing beats to Elise’s room before I stop, and duck my head through the door. Elise is sitting on top of her bed, holding a pencil in each hand, playing a pretend drum while rocking her head vigorously back and forth, while Elon’s eyes are closed, a soft smile on her face.

  “Turn down the music, guys.” When they don’t seem like they heard me, I cross the room and turn down the volume. As much as I love to see them like this, we still have to think of our mother.

  “Hey!” Elise yells, her hands frozen mid-play.

  “Too loud. I love you, girls. But if you don’t stop I’ll be forced to take you over my knee.”

  Elise snorts loudly and Elon rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

  “Have you eaten lunch yet? And mom?”

  They nod.

  “Mom said she wanted to get some rest.” Elon says, biting her lip and staring at Elise. “Maybe we should do this tomorrow.”

  Elise shrugs and hops down from the bed. I leave the room, and after taking my cell phone from my purse, I toss it on my bed and go back downstairs. After grabbing a quick bite of the pizza one of my sisters must have ordered, I settle on the bench in front of the Bosendorfer in living room and quick shoot a text to Cole to let him know I’ll be at his house in ten minutes.

  My mom started teaching me how to play the piano at the age of three. We would play frequently, especially when Dad wasn’t home because he hated it and said the sound got on his nerves. Now, I play whenever I get a chance. Music is one of those things that helped me through the tough times.

  I search my mind for a song I know will soothe her, one of her favorites, Yiruma’s River Flows in You.

  Placing my hands over the black and white keys, I close my eyes and let the chords play from my mind to my fingers. I continue playing, completely lost in its high and low soft tones. I hardly notice I’m not alone in the room. That is, until I feel air brush my arm. I open my eyes and blink. Cole is standing across from me, his hands splayed on the black gleaming surface of the piano. My fingers falter, stumbling on the keys and end up sounding like someone banged on them. I let my fingers trail off.

  I glance around wondering how he got inside the house and for just a second, I panic. Cole has never been in here before. His visits are restricted to my bedroom only. What if Dad finds him in here? I jerk back to look at the clock and breath out, relieved. We still have a few hours until he comes home. If he comes home.

  “Elise let me in while she was on her way out. I checked to see if your dad’s car was outside before I snuck in.”

  Wow. I didn’t even hear my sister leave.

  “Are you okay?” he signs and speaks the words. He’s been teaching me a few words when we aren’t making out like crazy. Some of them I learned on YouTube.

  Swallowing my nerves, I nod and go to him. I push on my tiptoes and press my lips against his in a kiss. He sucks in a breath, moaning softly before he pulls back and narrows his eyes at me.

  “What?” I ask, as I drop to the soles of my feet.


  “I’ve spent most of my life learning how to read people. I’ve spent the last few weeks learning to read you. What’s wrong?”

  I remember the way my father yelled at him, glaring at him with so much hate. Then grandma’s story about Thomas and my father’s hate for his own brother.

  “My father doesn’t like you,” I say, carefully watching his face for a reaction.

  “I know,” he says. He doesn’t look bothered at all. “I’m messing around with his daughter. Of course he doesn’t like me. It won’t stop me from liking you or wanting to kiss the shit out of you whenever I think of you. Which is every single fucking second of the day.”

  I shake my head, wondering if I should speak out loud my suspicions that my father not liking him is not caused by a mere irritation over a boy making a pass at his daughter. It’s more than that. I can’t really put a finger on what it is. My dad never liked my boyfriend in Ohio, but at least he was decent about it. Well, as decent as my father can be, which is glaring at a person until they scurry away in fear.

  The scars on my arms prickle and I put my hands on them, running my nails along my skin to lessen the itch. “We have to be careful, okay?”

  Cole’s eyebrows dip, his eyes holding mine, studying me. He lays his hands on mine, halting my progress and then lefts them, replacing them with his. He rubs his palms up and down my arms, in slow, deliberate motions and my mind explodes into a thousand different sensations. “We will be careful.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and then tucks a thumb under my chin. “Chin up, beautiful.

  “I have no idea what I did to piss him off, but when he told me to stay away from you, I intended to heed his warning. I was walking past your window when I realized I couldn’t do it. I could not ignore the pull I felt between us in St. Christopher’s.”

  I shrug off the uneasiness inside my chest. He kisses my forehead, and then turns me around and sits on the bench in front of the piano, pulling me on his lap. He sweeps my hair to the side and places kisses along the length of my neck, and down the side of my arm. I shiver, gasp, fight for air and my heart flips around inside my chest. I press my thighs together, and I swear he knows what he is doing to me, if that chuckle is any indication.