Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

  She laughs, all warm and husky from sleep. Her hair is a wild nimbus around her face as she turns and smiles up at me from her spot on the pillow. “Hey, I’m just the pet sitter. It’s probably someone looking for Killian?”

  “Whoever it is, they aren’t going to like me.” Dislodging the cat, who yowls his annoyance, I reach for my sweats and haul them on. My dick tents out the front and, with a grimace, I tuck it against the waistband. “I was about to get some.”

  Stella snorts with amusement. “Sure you were, big guy.”

  I grab a shirt as I walk toward the bedroom door, but pause at the threshold to look back. Stella lies twisted in the gray sheet, not bothering to hide her breasts—those perfect, plump tits with nipples now perked up like ripe berries. My dick throbs in protest. I empathize. “Oh, babe, I’ll get some and give it back with interest, and you’ll love it.”

  Her gaze lowers to my hard-on, and she hums low in her throat. Damn, it sounds like a purr. “If you get rid of whoever it is fast enough, we can talk about that whole back-door suggestion.”

  Heat licks up my spine, and I almost crawl back into bed. Gripping the doorframe to keep from doing just that, I give her a long look. “Have I mentioned today how much I love you? Like really, really love you. Enough to get on my knees behind you and …”

  She laughs and chucks a pillow my way. “Men. Hint at offering up some ass and look how willing you are to get on your knees.”

  Grinning, I pull on my shirt. “You already have me on my knees, Stella Button. Giving me some of that fine ass only sweetens the deal.” I blow her a kiss and head to the front door. Truth is, I don’t need anything more than what she’s given me to be completely content.

  Then again, the thought of her peach ass … I shake my head and focus. A peek through the keyhole has me pausing. I don’t know the guy standing on the other side, but he doesn’t look like a stalker fan. More like an accountant. Shorter than me, with dark curly hair and wearing thin gold wire-rimmed glasses, he’s also dressed in a bland gray suit on a Sunday—and he’s clutching a small jewelry box.

  Hell, maybe he’s one of Stella’s clients coming to profess his love for her.

  I open the door with a little more force than necessary. “Can I help you?”

  The man blinks as though he’s forgotten why he’s here, and I notice his eyes are red and puffy.

  “I’m looking for Jax Blackwood. I believe he lives in one of the penthouses but I wasn’t certain which one.”

  The hell?

  “I’m Jax,” I say, glancing at the box in his hand, then back to his face. This is getting weird, and the part of me who has been groomed to be leery of all strangers wants to back away and shut the door. But there’s a sadness to the guy that makes me unsure. Behind me, I hear Stella coming down the stairs, and a feeling of protectiveness hits me so hard, I nearly jolt. My hackles rise, and I brace my feet, put my body between her and the stranger at the door.

  The guy doesn’t seem to notice her, though, and pulls himself straighter. “Oh, good. I’m Leo, Madeline’s son.”

  “Maddy?” I say, as Stella stops at my side. “Is she okay?”

  Every pained line of Leo’s face tells me she’s not.

  Leo swallows thickly. “Mom passed away last week.”

  The room tilts. Stella grips my elbow.

  “I’m …” I clear my throat. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I step back and gesture for him to come in. Leo follows me into the living room and sits at the edge of a chair.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Stella asks him. She’s pale and shaken, but her attention darts to me, assessing how upset I am.

  “No, thank you.”

  She perches on the arm of the couch, her body leaning into mine. Her hand settles at my nape, holding on lightly. I don’t know if the touch is for me or for her, but I appreciate it all the same.

  Leo pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Mom spoke highly of you. She said you would make her dinner from time to time.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes.” But not enough. Jesus, when had I last talked to Maddy? I cringe. It had been the night of the blizzard. Then I’d gotten Stella in my sights, and the last thing I thought of doing was visiting my neighbor. Guilt lands in my gut with a resounding thud. “Your mom was something special.”

  Leo smiles tightly. “Yes, she was.” He sets the box on the coffee table and slides it toward me. “Mom wanted you to have this.”

  “She did?” I eye the box, hesitant to open it. That will mean she’s really gone.

  But Leo is waiting. My fingers tremble as I lift the lid. Inside is a vintage men’s Rolex wristwatch with a cream face and gold casing. The black leather band is worn thin on the sides from years of use, and I know it belonged to Maddy’s husband, Leo’s father. With a heavy breath, I set the box back down. “Thank you, but I can’t take this. It’s too … It belongs in your family.”

  Leo shakes his head, suddenly adamant. “If Mom wanted you to have this, then it belongs with you.” His expression turns fond. “You knew my mother. What she wanted, she got.”

  I laugh, but it’s weak and pained. “She terrified me half the time.”

  All that determined vitality is gone. Just like that.

  “That was Mom for you.” He straightens. “Please take it with my blessing.”

  “How do you know she wanted me to have this?” My hands fist on my thighs. “Did she speak of me before …?” Shit, I’m going to lose it. Maddy was a friend. More importantly, she was there for me in a way few were. I felt safe confiding in her because she was apart from all other aspects of my life. And now she’s gone.

  “No,” Leo says. “She left a note—”

  “A note,” I cut in sharply, something horrible and cold slashing through me. “Did she … Tell me she didn’t …” Jesus, no. She can’t … I stand abruptly, moving away from the table.

  Leo’s confused expression suddenly clears. “No, no. It was a heart attack. She went in her sleep while at our vacation house in Boca.”

  I stop short, relief flooding over me like cool water. “You said a note …”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not explaining well,” he says with a sad smile in Stella’s direction, probably because I look like a madman right now. He straightens in his seat. “Mom was all about lists. She has—had—books filled with them, from house accounts to future plans. Last year, she had a minor heart attack. After that, she started lists, cataloguing what she wanted to leave to whom and why.”

  He digs in his suit pocket and pulls out a folded paper. “I copied this down.” He adjusts his glasses and reads, “Jax gets the ’69 Rolex. He’ll like that number, and he needs to know that the one thing we can’t hold back is time.”

  I flush hard, then a laugh breaks free, bittersweet and aching in my chest. “Oh, hell, I’m going to miss her.”

  “I am too.” Leo’s eyes gloss over before he blinks rapidly and stands. “I have to get going.”

  A weird sense of panic skitters over my skin and creeps into my insides. I want him gone. I want to be alone in the quiet of my bed. The level of pain I feel for the loss of a friend I barely saw staggers me. What if this had been Scottie coming to tell me Killian was gone? Or Stella?

  Undiluted terror sucks at my soul so hard, my head reels. Unless I go first, that day will eventually come. I’ll lose them all. Maddy was right about time—eventually everyone’s time is up. Sweat trickles down my back as my throat closes. I frown, trying to focus. Leo is talking to me, his voice muffled through the buzzing in my ears.

  “If I could trouble you for one more thing—do you know of a Stella who lives in the building? Mom didn’t have a last name or apartment number.”

  Stella jumps in her seat as if pinched. “I’m Stella.”

  “Oh!” He actually blushes, which doesn’t fit his buttoned-up look at all. But how can he not fall under Stella’s spell? She’s a glowing light in the darkest of nights. He reaches out to shake her hand. “How
do you do? Mom left something for you as well.”

  “What?” Shock has her clutching my arm, her eyes round. “But we only had lunch together once.”

  “Well,” Leo says with a wry note, “you must have made a big impression. I actually have it in the hall.” He gets up, and we follow him to the door. Leo returns with a big red handbag that makes Stella gasp. “I thought it might be odd for me to ring the bell while wearing a purse, so …”

  He shrugs with a small laugh and hands the bag to Stella. She takes it with reverence, her hand smoothing over the nubby leather surface.

  “Oh, wow. The Birkin.” Stella licks her lips, her eyes tearing up. “Just wow.”

  “Mom’s notation for this one said every woman should have a fabulous handbag, and that this would clash wonderfully with your hair.” Leo eyes Stella bright curls with something close to confusion. “I’m not sure what she meant by that.”

  Stella smiles, clearly not offended. “But I do. And she was right.” She leans in and gives Leo a hug, which he accepts after faltering for a second. A sigh shudders out of him, as though a simple hug is something he’s been needing, before he pulls himself together and steps back.

  “When is the funeral?” I ask. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to look death in the face and know it’s waiting for everyone I love. But I’ll do it for Maddy.

  Leo’s expression falls and he rubs the back of his and shoots a glance at the door. “By Jewish law, we try to bury our dead within twenty-four hours of death.”

  Right. It’s been a week. A week she’s been dead and buried and I hadn’t a clue or thought for her in all that time. Swallowing back the nausea, I say good-bye to Maddy’s son. I’m not really following the conversation, though, but simply going through the motions until I can be alone.

  As soon as Leo is gone, Stella turns to me and hugs me close.

  “I’m so sad,” she says. “I really liked Mrs. Goldman.”

  Staring into the distance, I rub slow circles over Stella’s back. “I did too.”

  She nods and a little shudder works over her frame. “I’ll miss her so much. But I can’t help thinking that she’s finally with her Jerry.”

  My absent-minded petting halts. “Maddy told you about Jerry?”

  “At that lunch. She loved him so much. I think it really tore her up that he’d gone where she couldn’t follow.”

  Without a doubt, I know Stella is saying this to comfort both me and herself. It is a comfort imagining Maddy with Jerry. Or it would be if my mind stuck on that, but it twists and turns with cold fear. I think of Maddy’s pain. So many years of suffering alone because she lost the one she loved the most. Every time I visited Maddy, I saw the wistfulness in her eyes, noticed the way she turned every conversation back to her beloved husband. How did she do it? How did she go on after her other half had died?

  I feel sick down to my brittle bones and terrified heart. Everything ends. Love dies. In the end, I’ll be alone, and there isn’t a thing I can do to stop it.

  Stella lifts her head to meet my eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  It’s a lie, though. The walls are closing in on me, shadows swarming on the edges of my mind. I know those shadows, this feeling. For years, I’ve tried to repress this fear when it arrives, but I’ve never been able to fully holster it. And for the first time in a long while, I’m scared. Because nothing good ever comes when I lose control.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  John

  I’m freezing. There’s a nasty beast sitting on my chest, digging its claws in deep. Ripping, pushing, relentless. Sweat slides down my skin. Can’t stop shivering. Everything is black and spinning. I want to shout out, but I can’t speak. I can barely breathe. It’s too heavy. Too much.

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The words circle around the drain, swirling and falling. I can’t get them out.

  I don’t want this. I never wanted this.

  Acid burns my throat, coats the back of my tongue with bitter regret.

  I never really wanted this. Not this.

  Loneliness is agony. Sobs well up but there’s no strength in me to set them free.

  And a hand, warm and big on my shoulder. Human. Familiar.

  “Jax! Oh, shit. Jax.” The hand shakes me, arms pull me close. “Fuck, no. John. John!”

  Killian. He’s screaming for me. Screaming at me. I can’t let him down. I can’t hurt him. But it’s so hard to open my eyes. I’m tired of everything being so hard. I’m slipping …

  My eyes snap open with my gasp. Naked and bathed in sweat, I’m in my bed. I suck in several deep breaths, trying to get hold of my panic. Beside me, Stella is warm and soft and sleeping. She looks like peace and happiness. Everything within me yearns to fall back and wrap myself around her. Hold on tight and never let go.

  She’ll know you’re scared and panicking again. What woman wants that in a man? You should be strong for her. She’ll be your new crutch. She can’t fix you.

  Clutching the sides of my head, I try to squeeze the thoughts out. But they keep circling that drain. Always circling. Always there.

  Can’t breathe.

  Maddy is dead.

  One day, Stella will be dead too.

  Bile surges up my throat. Scrambling, I rush to the bathroom and barely make it on time. And it feels as though everything I am is being purged. I’m losing myself again. All that’s left is an empty hole.

  I hate this. I hate finding myself on the floor, a shell of what I was. Or maybe that’s what I really am—a shell that I’m desperately trying to fill up with something good and pure. But it doesn’t work. Not for long. And I’m back to being that empty vessel.

  I haven’t been here, huddled on the bathroom floor, for a while. Not since that dark day. Now I’m back, and I know what caused it.

  Stella.

  Loving Stella.

  I’ll fuck it up eventually. One way or another, she’ll leave. And there will be no coming back from it. She’ll argue that. She’ll want to fix me. But she can’t. I don’t want her to. I don’t want her seeing me as broken.

  God, I need to get away. Go back to how things were. Numb. I need to be numb again.

  * * *

  Stella

  Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. Strange how I know that before I’m fully awake. I feel it in my bones, in the heavy dread that weighs down my insides. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I find myself alone in bed, John’s side rumpled and empty.

  In a weird fog, I pull on his discarded T-shirt and my lounge pants. The room is dim, the drapes still drawn, but the clock says it’s almost noon.

  “John?”

  He isn’t in the bathroom.

  “Babe?” My steps shuffle as I head out of the bedroom and into the hall. The loft is quiet. Too quiet.

  I won’t panic; it won’t help and it feels disloyal to worry. I find him in the music room, huddled between a row of guitars. Wearing a pair of sweats and nothing else, he’s curled in on himself, his back pressed against the wall. He doesn’t look up when I draw near.

  “Baby?” I kneel next to him. “What’s going on?”

  His arm is cold and clammy, and he flinches at my touch. He looks right at me, but his focus is off, like his thoughts have fled elsewhere.

  “John.” I rest my hand on his arm. “Baby, look at me.”

  His eyes finally meet mine. There’s so much pain reflected back at me. Pain and panic.

  “Take a deep breath,” I tell him. John simply stares, panting and wide-eyed, and I stroke his arm. “For me?”

  Slowly, he draws in a breath, then lets it out. He keeps doing it, slowly in and out, as I hold onto his hand.

  “Is there anyone you want me to call?” I ask when his color returns a little.

  “No.” His fingers clench and unclench. “There is no one.”

  God, his hair is damp with sweat. He shivers a little before tensing. There’s a throw on the armchair, and I grab it to wra
p around John’s shoulders. He lets me. Then again, he doesn’t seem to notice what I’m doing.

  “I don’t like this.” The tone of his voice is so hollow, he doesn’t sound like himself.

  “What don’t you like?” I ask softly.

  His gaze slides away.

  “This,” he says through clenched teeth. “I don’t like this … feeling.”

  “What are you feeling?”

  “No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t like feeling.”

  “John.” I stroke his arm. “You’re not making sense. Let me call your doctor—”

  “Don’t touch me.” With a snarl, he shakes off my hand. I can only gape, my heart pounding hard and fast as he glares. “Don’t. Patronize. Me.”

  “I’m not.” My butt hits the ground as he stands and stalks away. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need help,” he snaps, pacing. “I’m not a project.”

  I stand too. “I never said you were. But something is obviously upsetting you, and I want to …”

  “Help?” he cuts in dryly.

  Heat swamps my chest and runs over my cheeks. “What’s wrong with helping? What would you do if you found me curled up on the floor? Ignore it?”

  “But I wouldn’t find you like that.” He runs a hand through his damp hair and then flings his arm wide. “You wouldn’t have a panic attack after having a dream.”

  “I might. Depends on the dream.”

  John doesn’t reply but folds in on himself, his body so tense he trembles.

  “Have you gone to see Dr. Allen lately?”

  He snorts. For a second, I don’t recognize him; he’s too full of anger and disdain—for me.

  “You know damn well I haven’t,” he bites out. “When I’ve spent every minute I have with you.”

  My back snaps straight. “Don’t you dare imply that not going to therapy is somehow my fault. I would never get in the way of that. Ever.”