When He Falls

by Michelle Jo Quinn

  Could Zach be the solution to my problems?

  I reached for my phone, but the buzzing had ceased. Zach didn't leave a voicemail message, but he sent me a text asking if it would be all right if we were to stay in for the night and watch a movie at the apartment where he stayed. He'd confessed he'd had an exhausting day but was keen to see me, if I wanted to...

  That was the thing with Zach. I always had a choice. I could always say no. June had never given me a choice. Ever since we became a couple, June had always made the decision for us. It had always been June and Maggie, or June and his girlfriend, or June and his fiancée. And lately, June and the girl he broke up with. No, he hadn't just broken up with me. He'd cheated on me, spat on the promises we had made to each other, and he hadn't even had the guts to apologize. He and Delaney had never asked for forgiveness.

  My response to Zach was an immediate 'yes.'

  It was time I took over my life. I couldn't let anyone decide for me. I couldn't wait for miracles to happen.

  The movie was almost over. I had seen it too many times that I could recite the dialogue verbatim. I mouthed them off as I watched my favorite rom-com. It was exactly what I needed to forget about the result of the test. I had to move on. I needed to move on.

  Lost in all these thoughts of not being pregnant, I belatedly heard a quiet snore coming out of Zach who sat on the floor.

  I pushed myself up to sitting and checked. His head lolled back on my feet, with his mouth slightly open and his eyes were firmly shut. He had done the same when we were kids. I looked closer.

  There was a faint scar above his left eyebrow that could only be seen up close. I hovered a finger over it, remembering where it had come from. But there were other scars, much worse than this—the invisible, unseen, yet very real nonetheless.

  My gut twisted, as I replayed in my head the night he'd received that scar.

  We arrived on our street from a nearby park while the sun was setting. We rode our bikes all afternoon. Once we came closer to his house, we could both hear it—the yelling, the screaming.

  Zach stopped short, producing a screech from his bicycle tires. I stared at him, trying to figure out what he would do. What could he do? He was eleven years old, thin and wiry. And his father was bigger, stronger, more powerful and terrifying.

  Another yell rang through the quiet streets. I looked around. No one was even glancing out their windows anymore. It was just another regular night in the neighborhood. Our house next door to his sat dark and silent. My mother would be at work until later that night. Nica was probably studying at the library or had a babysitting gig.

  Zach dropped his bike as another shout exploded, and this time, it was followed by a blood-curdling scream. He didn't say a word. He didn't look back. He just ran into his house and faced whatever demon was in there.

  I was terrified, unsure of what to do. I gripped the pink handlebars like they were lifesavers, while I listened to increased shouting and screaming. My body wracked with fear. What could I, a nine-year old girl, do? How could I help my friend?

  I was about to run into my house, when Zach's front door burst open. His father, tall and brute and scary, strode quickly out the door, got into his car, and drove away. My eyes shot at the open door. The screaming had stopped. It was too quiet. And that scared me more.

  I left my bike right beside Zach's and ran into the house.

  A child should never witness such disaster.

  Things were strewn around the house. The living room was turned upside down, like a hurricane went through it. There were shattered plates and glasses all around the hallway and into the entrance of the light-blue kitchen. I followed the broken pieces into the kitchen and received the shock of my life.

  Even ten years later, it was as clear as daylight.

  Mrs. Faustino sat on the linoleum floor, her face bloodied, swollen and bruised, and she was cradling an unconscious boy. Zach. She was murmuring something to him, her body trembling as he held his head on her lap.

  I walked closer, tears welling up in my eyes. What had his father done?

  "Zach?" My voice sounded so small, even for a child. I wrung my fingers together.

  "Call for help, Maggie. Call 911." Zach's mother's voice was hoarse. She looked up to me and repeated her request. Her eyes were swollen, as were both her cheeks, and blood seeped out of a cut on her lip.

  My eyes drifted down to Zach. There was blood all over the left side of his face and down to his white shirt. It seemed to be coming from his head. Was he breathing? I couldn't tell. His mother's arms were wrapped around his frail body.

  I stepped back until I hit the edge of a counter, and then twirled around and picked up the phone, doing what was asked of me.

  Within minutes, people drifted into the house, taking Zach and his mother away onto stretchers.

  A cop with a thick orange beard spoke to me, and all I could say was that I was his best friend. My mother and sister came just then. They spoke to the police and then took me home.

  That night, in the quiet of my room, I thought of my best friend. Was he dying in a hospital room? What could I do to erase the memory of all that blood? And all that pain? And fear?

  I soaked my pillow with my tears and eventually fell asleep, hugging the teddy bear my mother had given me two birthdays ago.

  For two whole days, I didn't see Zach or his mom. His father hadn't returned either. I locked myself in my bedroom and sat by the window, making sure that if Zach ever appeared again, I would be able to see him clearly, and I would run out the door and give him the tightest hug I could ever give. I tried to ask my mom for information, and had gotten replies that meant either she didn't know, or she didn't want to tell me. Neither one was good. All I could do was wait. Wait for my best friend to come back to me.

  That second night when he didn't return, I fell asleep tired and nearly hopeless. In the middle of the night, I roused to a tapping on my window. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Had Zach's father seen me that afternoon and was now going after me to finish what he had started, just like he'd done to Zach?

  The tapping continued. And I realized there was a beat, a rhythm to it. A secret message. A code.

  "Zach." I jumped out of my bed and pulled open my window.

  Zach stepped into my bedroom like a thief in the night. Not even bothering to hide my excitement, I wrapped him in a tight hug. I was ecstatic that he was okay, that he was alive and still breathing.

  "Watch it, my ribs hurt." Zach held onto both my arms.

  My hands flew up. "Oh my god, I'm sorry!"

  "Shhhh. You have to be quiet. You don't want to wake up your mom," he told me, placing a finger over my lips.

  I reached for him again but with a loosened grip, and we continued to stand in the dark, by my window.

  "I was so scared, Zach. I thought you died." Tears rolled down my cheeks.

  Zach ran his fingers through my tangled hair. "I'm okay. I had to stay in the hospital. They were worried that I have a concussion."

  "What's that?" I asked with my face against his chest, trying to calm myself with the steady beating of his heart.

  I felt him shrug. "I don't know, but I don't think I have it if they let us go." Zach's chest rose and fell as he took deep breaths in and let them out. "I can't stay long. My mom is still awake. I just wanted you to know that I'm okay. And I want to thank you."

  My eyes had adjusted to the dimness of my room when I trailed my eyes up to his. And that was when I saw the bandage over his forehead, where he had bled. I raised a hand to touch it.

  "I got thirteen stitches. Now I'm gonna look bad ass with a cool scar."

  I scowled, ghosting a finger over it. "That's not funny."

  "I know." He wanted to say more. It felt like he did, but hesitated. "I have to go."

  I nodded, and gave him a light squeeze before he moved back to crawl out the window. "Wait! See you later at the park?"

  Zach paused, a hand on the window frame and a foo
t out of it. Slowly, he returned to where I was, and he took my hands in his. He pressed his lips together and smiled. "I'll see you later." He tightened his grip on my hands, pulling me forward to him.

  And in the dark, when moments ago I feared I had lost my best friend, Zach leaned in and pressed his lips on mine.

  It was my first kiss.

  Zach released my hands and crawled out of my window, leaving me shaken but giddy. I snuggled back in my bed with a silly smile on my face, bound to make my jaw hurt the next day. I had a restful, dreamy sleep.

  But that was the last time Zach snuck into my bedroom. And the last time I saw my best friend.

  I studied him now, remembering that night and wondered how much he remembered? How often did he think of those years? Of that particular night?

  Leaning closer still, I regarded his face. Apart from the scar over his brow and a slight crookedness of his nose, his face was near perfect. How was this possible considering what he did day in and day out?

  As he rested his eyes, his long and thick lashes kissed the tops of his cheeks. His head tilted an inch my way, and a soft snore escaped his parted lips. The butterflies returned as I admired the peacefulness in his features.

  Had he forgiven his father for those terrible years? Was that how he had found peace and serenity?

  "Are you trying to kiss me?" His voice, gravelly, hushed and low, surprised me. I straightened right away. His eyes fluttered open, and the beginning of a smile tickled his lips. "It's okay if you want to."

  For a moment, I couldn't find my voice. I cleared my throat, and avoided his gaze. "I wasn't going to kiss you. I was just..." Could I tell him that I was thinking of his ugly past? "...making sure you can breathe properly. Your head was tilted back, and you were snoring." I lifted my chin, challenging him to defy me.

  Zach grinned as he pushed off the floor and sat on the couch. He pulled my feet up and placed them on his lap. "I don't blame you for wanting to kiss me. I'm hot, and I have irresistible lips."

  I rolled my eyes, and leaned back on the cushions behind me, adding a scoff at his remark. "I didn't realize I'm with Mr. Humble of the Year."

  Zach pulled gently on my big toes. "Humble and good-looking." He glanced at me, with that inherent crooked grin. "I'm also a very good kisser."

  A laugh and an unladylike-like snort gurgled out of me. But then he bent his body over me, placing his flexed knees astride my legs and supporting his torso with an arm on the back of the couch. His face was inches away from mine. His breath warmed my cheeks and lips.

  Zach searched my face, starting with my eyes, then nose, and mouth. He followed each gaze with a touch of a finger, grazing lightly at the corner of one eye, over the tip of my nose, then over the middle of my parted lips.

  His touch electrified me. I wanted more.

  With a breath held in, I stayed still, while he lowered his face, keeping his crosshairs at my lips. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and then he ran them over mine. I exhaled a heated, shuddering breath out before he swooped in and kissed me.

  Ten years and he still tasted just as sweet. But between that first kiss and this, the sensation had not only changed. It had intensified.

  His puckered lips were soft against mine, like slightly melted marshmallows.

  Minutely, he pulled back but only to stare at my eyes again. Ferocity, hunger, and desire pooled in the depths of his eyes.

  With a trembling finger, I touched my lips. They felt like they'd been stung. Then I moved my fingers over his lips, wondering how much more could he give?

  My other hand reached behind his head on its own accord, brushing over the short hair. Zach trapped my face between his hands, again he swooped in for another kiss, and I let my heart open to the possibility of more.

  His weight over my body pressed on me, with the muscular planes of his chest against the softness of my breasts. The heat and hardness between his hips rubbed against the apex of my thighs. Zach tucked his hands underneath my head and tugged lightly at my hair. The movement and the thrilling sensation forced me to tilt my head, and arch my back, pushing my front to meet his. No breath was spared between the two of us.

  Then he wasn't just kissing my lips anymore. He tasted and nibbled and licked the column of my neck, along my collarbones, and down to the tops of my heaving chest.

  I didn't want to stop. Desire coursed through me, shocking my dormant system, waking every neuron in my body.

  But I had been down this road before—forced by the promise of pleasure to give in, even when I wasn't ready. And it had caused me heartache on top of heartache.

  Zach's hands left my hair, traveled down my back, tickled the skin along my waist and trailed under my shirt. It wouldn't take a genius to guess that he wanted me. The signs said it all.

  "Stop. Wait, Zach," I forced out, wheezing under him.

  His hands ceased their roving along my bra. Instantly, he looked up at me, with clarity in his eyes, which surprised me.

  "Yeah. Okay." He nodded. "Of course." Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

  He supported himself by bracketing his arms along my sides. Zach offered me an apologetic smile, but he didn't move away from me.

  "I'm not ready," I explained, although, for me, it didn't sound true. He nodded again. "I've recently been dumped, and it still hurts... a bit."

  "No need to explain. I understand," he said quickly and released a heavy sigh. It hit my face and tickled my sensitive skin. "Just give me a minute, and I'll be able to get up."

  Because I wasn’t sure what else to do or say, I giggled. Zach quirked a brow, but his face brightened, and he laughed with me. He tucked his head in the crook of my neck, and I copied his action. And we both continued to laugh the awkwardness away.

  Once he had composed himself, Zach peeled off me and sat up on the couch, propping my legs on his lap again. My feet hit his hardness, and I tried not to flinch.

  Guys like Zach had experience. They also had expectations. The former, I was lacking, and the latter, I was inept.

  "The movie's over," he noticed, waving a hand in front of him.

  I turned my head to the tv. "Looks like it." I watched the credits roll for a few seconds.

  Zach exhaled, heavily and loudly. "Why don't you set up the next movie while I take a quick, ice cold shower?"

  My mouth gaped at him, and I retracted my feet off his lap. "Yeah, sure."

  Despite the uncomfortable situation I'd put him through, he smiled sweetly at me, and I blushed. He muttered to himself while he stood and sauntered toward the bathroom. His hand massaged the back of his neck, and I could almost see the ripples of tension on his shoulders underneath his shirt.

  Once I heard the shower running, I asked myself questions: would it be so bad if I took that step with Zach? What would it mean if that happened? How would he compare to June?

  Thoughts of June and our first and only time together gripped at my chest. This wasn't the reason why I'd decided to come here tonight. I sat up in order to breathe better. Allowing myself to think of June hurt more and helped less. Much less. What happened to making my own decision? To taking over my own life?

  I had to force June out of my mind. Surely, he had wiped away our past once he'd married Delaney. I could do the same. Zach could help me in more ways than one.

  Listening to the gush of the shower, and knowing Zach was in there, naked, and trying to contain his own desires, I forced myself to get up and take the next step to another possible life-altering decision.

  Chapter Nine

  Zach

  No amount of cold shower would ever be enough to get me out of my situation. An iceberg could fall on me, and I'd continue to be hard as a rock. And Maggie was the reason.

  Maggie Stewart. Undercover vixen.

  I shouldn't have made a move. I should have stopped before I began.

  If I tried not to think of how smooth and pliant she'd felt underneath me, maybe I could survive the night. But that kiss... And her touches...
And the little moans she'd produced I bet she hadn't even realized she'd made. The feel of her. All of her. All that was Maggie.

  I turned the water colder, letting it freeze my thoughts, or numb my body, whatever came first. Instinct relayed that something else had happened to her that she wasn't telling me. It wasn't just because she'd recently broken up with some asshat, an idiot who was dumb enough to let go of possibly the most perfect woman alive. But her hesitance revealed something else to me; there was more to that story. And as long as she was keeping it, she would not be ready for the relationship I wished we could have.

  Through the years, I'd constantly thought of one person—Maggie. Ten years was a long time to pine for someone. I had almost given up two years ago, until I accidentally found the article of her sister's wedding. The whole story of her sister and her husband was something close to the fairy tales Ma had believed in, wished she'd had but had never received. Not even close. I didn't know what drew me to it. Maggie had changed through the years but those eyes...those blue eyes which conveyed more than she would ever admit to saying, they called out to me. When I'd realized who I'd been staring at, I just had to see her again...

  Call it fate. Call it kismet. Call it whatever the hell you want. It is what it is.

  Something had brought her back into my life. I couldn't waste it by foolishly rushing her because I was horny.

  I shut the water off. My heart had finally slowed down. And my other situation...well, that was going to take a while. At least it had come down to half-staff. I would have to ignore it as much as I possibly could. I toweled off in front of the bathroom mirror and noticed a small mark on my shoulder. Was it a scratch? Had Maggie done this? A grin spread on my face.

  "Vixen," I muttered to the reflection staring at me.

  Ever since she had returned in my life, I'd been lighter, happier, like there was more sunshine than cloudiness in my days and the stars had brightened at nights. I could get used to this—the utter happiness. The joy that had been absent in my life for so long.