Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

  John’s shoulders sag, and he grips the ends of his hair. “I know that. I didn’t mean … No, all right? I forgot. But I really don’t need to be reminded about how I fucked that up too.”

  “I’m not …” I take a breath. Calm. Don’t push. “Are you okay now?” I want to hold him but don’t dare when he’s like this.

  He looks away. “I’m fine.”

  “John—”

  “Fuck it,” he shouts, turning on me with wild eyes. “I’m not fine. I’m fucked up. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”

  I don’t know what to say or do. Horribly, I want to cry, but I can’t. Pride won’t let me. But he sees right through me.

  His jaw bunches and he runs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this.”

  He’s glaring a hole through the floorboards and rolling his shoulders like he’s mentally trying to shrug something off. I’m starting to fear that I’m what he wants gone.

  “Done what?” I ask, not wanting to hear the answer but needing it.

  John lifts his head then. “This.” He waves a hand between us. “Trying for an us.”

  Us. Like we’re something toxic and wrong. It hits me with the force of a swung bat.

  I clutch my middle, recoiling. “John, don’t …”

  He doesn’t listen. “I made a mistake. I should have known better.”

  The room becomes a blur as I blink rapidly, hearing him talk through a haze of rejection.

  “Do you understand?” he asks, past the buzzing in my ears. “Being with you leaves me wide open. Everything feels like more. I have so much more to lose.”

  “You think I don’t understand that?” I rasp. “You think it wasn’t hard for me to let you in? Well, it was. It still is. But I feel more joy too.”

  He winces. “I do too. But I can’t handle the pain, the fear. The thought of losing you, the possibility of answering a knock on the door and finding out it’s you who is dead … No.” He blows out a breath, running his hand through his sweaty hair. “I just got to a point where I can cope with day-to-day life. It might not have been all that fun, but I could deal.”

  A pulse throbs at the base of my throat and pounds in my temples. My fingers shake when I touch that erratic beat along my neck. Oddly, I half expected to find it slick with blood because John’s words keep slicing me open.

  “Don’t do this to us. Don’t push me away.” I wonder if he’s truly listening. He keeps pacing with agitated movement. I know he’s not in the right headspace, but it doesn’t stop the pain. Because, regardless of what he’s feeling, his first instinct is to run from me.

  “I cannot chase you,” I say woodenly. God, the pain keeps growing. The hurt. “I’ve chased down people who were supposed to love me all my life. I can’t do that anymore.” A fist of feeling lodges itself behind my breastbone, and I swallow hard. “I shouldn’t have to.”

  He stops then and looks at me, looks through me. His expression is set and distant. “That’s my point. You shouldn’t have to deal with this, with me.”

  “I don’t know how to make you see how wrong you are,” I whisper.

  “Because I’m not wrong.” He presses the tips of his fingers against his eyes and takes a deep breath that lifts his chest. I can only watch as he settles down into his conviction and holds on tight. When he looks at me again, all traces of the man who said he loved me is gone. “It’s better this way. You deserve someone who can take care of you, and I need to be alone.”

  Alone. Seems we’re both destined to be.

  “So you think it’s safer to cut me loose now?” Anger rises, thrusting my words out. “Then you can just go back to dealing? Is that it?” I won’t cry. No. I won’t cry.

  John turns his back to me. “I’m sorry, Stella. In time, you’ll thank me.”

  I snort, bitter and so hurt, it’s choking me. But I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say to a man who has made up his mind and can’t see a better way.

  I want to fight him, though. Even now, when he’s kicked my feet out from under me and left me bleeding on the inside, I want to fight for him, for us. But I can’t be the only person in the ring. And it doesn’t matter, because he’s already gone.

  The door quietly shutting is a lash over my skin. I flinch and sink to my knees as the silence settles in.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  But I can’t. My chest has collapsed into my heart. Everything hurts.

  Breathe!

  My chest hitches, as a sob breaks free. No. I won’t let it go. I won’t cry.

  Pressing my fist into my sternum, I rise. It takes work, but I pull in one breath, then another. Slowly, so very slowly, the pain turns into numbness. I can feel it spreading through my body, heavy and solid.

  Stevens lets out a plaintive meow, his silky body sliding around my shins. I don’t have the strength to lean down and pet him. Not yet.

  The apartment is so silent, my ears ring. I should move, do … something. But what? I don’t know how to begin again. Dully, I look around, trying to find something that might give me a hint on how to start. Every inch of this place is beautiful, perfect. Not a single piece of it is mine. I don’t belong here.

  John doesn’t want me.

  Another sob bursts to the surface, and I thump hard on my chest. Enough.

  But I can’t stop thinking about him. Despite all my pain, there had been agony in his eyes. The fact that I can no longer comfort him kills me. He might not want me, but I can’t turn my love for him off so easily. He is hurting and he needs someone.

  My hand shakes as I pour myself a glass of water and gulp it down. Then I pick up my phone and make the call.

  When I hear the deep “Hello?” on the other end of the line, I almost hang up. But I grit my teeth and talk.

  “Hey, this is Stella. Your pet sitter.”

  There’s a beat of silence, then Killian James talks. “Hey, Stella. Is everything all right?”

  Tears prickle behind my lids, and I blink them back. “Your pets are fine. This is about John—Jax.”

  “Jax? Did something happen?” The strain in his voice is clear. “Is he hurt?”

  “No. I’m sorry I scared you.” I clear my throat. “No, I’m calling because I want to talk to you about John.”

  I can practically feel him recoiling through the line.

  “I’ve heard you two have been hanging out,” he says, slightly strained, and definitely guarded. “I don’t know what you have to say, but I’m not comfortable talking about—”

  “And I’m not comfortable calling you,” I cut in. “But that’s just too bad, because this isn’t about your feelings or mine. As far as I can tell, you are the closest thing John has to a brother.”

  “I am,” Killian says tightly.

  “Then get your ass home and be here for him.”

  Killian makes a strangled noise in his throat. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “We broke up,” I blurt out, then wince. Because that’s not what I want to say.

  From the way Killian sounds, he clearly thinks I’m calling to whine. “Er … Okay, I think I should stop you right there—”

  “This isn’t about me. I’m not trying to gain any points here. It’s over. But John needs a friend now. No,” I amend, “he needs you. Out of all the guys, he needs you here.”

  Killian is silent for a beat. “You two broke up but you’re worried about him?”

  My smile is bitter, but he can’t see it. “I realize I probably sound slightly crazed right now.”

  Killian grunts.

  “John has been walking on eggshells around you guys. For two years. And that’s not okay. So, please, just come home.” I take a ragged breath. “Come home so I can leave knowing he’s … okay.”

  I can feel the building pressure behind my eyes. Another few minutes and I won’t be able to hold it all in.

  When Killian finally speaks, his voice is unbearably soft. “Why did you guys break up?”

&n
bsp; The room before me blurs. I bite the inside of my lip so hard it hurts. “Because I wasn’t what he needed.”

  “Somehow,” Killian says, “I doubt that, Stella.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Stella

  I want to go flying. I want to go so badly, a small, childlike whine leaks from my lips. In the cozy cockpit of my plane that smells of metal and heat and AV gas, I will be safe, free. I am competent up there in the thin blue sky and wispy clouds. No one can hurt me up there. Only myself. Because flying while this emotional is just asking to die. Besides, Hank would take one look at me and know I’m done in. He’s want to know why, and my pride cannot manage anymore battering.

  So I’m instead I’m waiting for the cab I called, dying a little inside with each passing minute. A massive white SUV with tinted windows pulls up in front of me. I recognize Bruce driving, and for a painful, tight moment, I think it must be John in the back of the car. He’s come to apologize, to tell me he was wrong. But even as the thought begins to crystallize, I shatter it. I’m not going to hope.

  The back door opens, and the tiny shards of hope I hadn’t crushed turn to dust. Brenna smiles at me, the expression a bit strained but obviously trying not to be.

  “Come on. Get in,” she says, waving me over.

  “Is this an abduction?” I’m surprised I can even talk past the lump in my throat.

  “Yes,” Brenna says, “of the friendly kind.”

  Since I can’t very well take off down the road and keep my floundering dignity, I walk over to the SUV. “I can’t leave my stuff.”

  “Bruce is taking care of it.”

  “What—” I glance back to see Bruce picking up my bags and striding over to the trunk. “You don’t have to do that. I have a cab coming.”

  “Already done,” Bruce says with a wink and closes the back.

  “Get in the car, Stella.” Brenna grins at me. “Don’t make me drag you in here.”

  “Okay. But, fair warning, I bite.”

  Brenna laughs. “A little mean. I like it.”

  She scoots back and I get in, shutting the door behind me. Once inside, I find Sophie there as well, sans baby Felix. She gives me a cheery smile as the car pulls out into traffic.

  “So,” I say with false bravado, “is this some sort of cult indoctrination?”

  “Oh, for sure.” Sophie reaches over to the built-in bar in front of us. “The cult of caring about super-hot but boneheaded and sometimes clueless men. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

  I snort, but secretly, I want to cry. I won’t, though. I refuse to.

  “You want an iced tea? Or maybe fruit juice?”

  Honestly, I’d expected her to pull out some champagne, diva style. Then again, Sophie is breastfeeding and nowhere close to being a diva. I sigh and try to let go of the cagey feeling tightening my chest. “An iced tea would be good.”

  She hands me a bottle of cold tea, then grabs a pink lemonade. Brenna, on the other hand, reaches over and pulls out a beer. I laugh at the side eye she gives Sophie.

  “Or we have beer,” Sophie says with a sheepish smile. “I kind of have my alcohol blinders on these days.”

  “Tea is fine,” I assure her, taking a long sip. “So, what’s up with the curbside abduction?”

  “I’m taking you home with me,” Brenna says.

  God, a pity pickup. I should have known. Even though my insides are shaking, I force a light tone. “You’re hot and all, but unfortunately, I don’t swing that way.”

  Sophie snorts.

  But Brenna simply eyes me. “That’s too bad. You’ve got the whole good girl just waiting to be corrupted vibe going on.”

  “It’s a front. I was always corrupted.” And then John broke me by making me believe in forever.

  Brenna laughs, but I have the feeling she knows very well that I’m just trying to make it through each minute. “You asked Killian to come home, and now you’re out of one. Where are you staying now?”

  Initially, I’d considered going to Hank and Corinne. I’d quickly squashed the idea. I can’t do it. Not again. Call it stupid pride; I don’t care. The idea of telling them that John left me and I have no place to go makes me sick to my stomach. If I’m going to be alone in this world, I have to keep walking on my own two feet.

  My fingers tremble as I trace through the condensation beading over the tea bottle, I turn my attention to the traffic we’re crawling through. “Short-term rental. It’s all good.”

  Sophie blows a half-hearted raspberry. “A black-light, Pollock-inspired jizz fest? Stella, no.”

  Brenna half turns in her seat. “I’m not going to force you, but I have a great place with a lot of room. And I want you to stay with me.”

  “Why?” It comes out way too warbled. “You’re John’s friend, his family, really. You don’t need me hanging around like a pall.”

  “Jax is my friend,” she agrees. “And I love him like a brother. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be your friend too.”

  “I was kind of hoping I’d just go somewhere and lick my wounds in private.”

  Sophie touches my knee, her brown eyes wide and pained. “I know what it’s like to feel alone and heartbroken. It blows. But the worst part is not having a shoulder to cry on. Please let us do that. Brenna is right—we like you. It doesn’t have to be about Jax.”

  Except it will be. Right now, he’s all I can think about, and it blows. “It would be better for both of us if I just got out of his life completely.”

  They’re both silent for a moment, and the sounds of car horns and the general buzz of the city seeps in. I turn away from the window and stare blindly down at my hands. I can’t even enjoy my city; I see him everywhere in it now.

  “Do you really believe that?” Brenna asks softly.

  My laugh is bitter. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  She licks her lips and leans closer. “Jax is going through a rough spot right now. I’m not going to make excuses or try to figure out what he’s thinking. What I do know is that he’s never gotten attached to a woman. He’s never tried before you.”

  “I know that.” My fingers clench around the slippery bottle. “I know he tried with me. And it didn’t work …” My voice cracks, and I look away. “Some things don’t work out, no matter how much you want them to.”

  Neither of them says anything, and I’m grateful. We’re heading uptown, turning onto Park Avenue, where pretty strips of green grass divide the streets and nannies stroll their charges along sunny sidewalks.

  “Stay with me,” Brenna finally says in a gently coaxing voice. “We’ll hang out. We’ll never mention He Who Also Must Not Be Named. We’ll just relax and you can regroup, figure out what you want to do.”

  “I don’t know …” I trail off because it does sound nice. I’ve never had true girlfriends. I’ve wanted them, wanted someone to just talk to and let off steam. I filled that void with clients and casual acquaintances. Talking to Mrs. Goldman had been easier; she wasn’t my age, wasn’t looking for close friendship. But now that two nice, funny women are offering something real, I find it hard to give in.

  I’ve held myself back for so long, I don’t know how to trust. The only person I truly gave that trust to was John, and look where that ended up? A lump rises in my throat. I don’t want to be broken and afraid to let go anymore. I don’t want to feel alone.

  Sophie eyes me with caution, clearly worrying I’ll bolt. “Don’t worry about running into Jax. He’s planning to leave the country anyway …” Her words die an awkward death when Brenna outright hisses at her.

  I want to laugh. Laugh until I cry. Because of course he’s leaving. He has that luxury. But my shoulders slump as I rest my head against the seat back. I can’t hate him. John is who he is. He needs his space to get his shit together. And, frankly, so do I.

  My smile is probably bitter, but I don’t really care. “All right,” I say to Brenna. “I’ll stay with you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Joh
n

  “Mr. Blackwood, I can’t tell you how much this means to have you speak today.” Beverly, the woman in charge of the suicide prevention outreach program, gives me a warm smile that I both welcome and shy away from.

  I’ve just hosted a casual hour-long talk with fellow survivors, and I am worn out but good, unbelievably good. I did the talk to help erase the stigma of silence, and to show people that they aren’t alone, that even a guy like me, supposedly sitting on the top of the world, has the same hopes and fears. I did it to help others, but in a weird way found that it helped me too. I’m tired, but lighter.

  “Please call me Jax. And it was my pleasure.”

  Jules accompanied me today, and she arranges another similar meeting for next month while I sign autographs and pose for pictures. I do those things gladly, because it’s clear it gives people joy to be around me. Weird for me personally, but I’ve learned to embrace it.

  That was something she taught me.

  Truth is, I’m not certain I’d even be here if it weren’t for the way she pushed me outside of my box and showed me another way to view the world, to get my head out of my ass and let go.

  Like that, the pain returns. The pain of depression is one thing. Depression is inertia, self-doubt. This is another torture; it is loss and regret. I’m off-kilter, cold along the edges of my arms and back. This is a twitchy need to keep moving, to do something—anything—or I’ll start to scream.

  I bottle that up too and get into the back of the Town Car that will take me home.

  The band used to have a motto: no regrets. We’d channel Edith Piaf and regret nothing. We were also kids who had nothing to lose by trying. Funny how the more you care about things, the harder it is to shrug off regrets.

  I’m living in a sea of that heavy emotion right now. Dove right in the minute I finished flipping out on Stella and heard the door shut as I left her.

  I pushed that regret down, because, you know, I’m supposed to live in the moment and never look back. I let her go, made plans to get the hell out town. My bags are packed; my London home is being aired for my arrival. The perfect escape, and I feel like I’m dying.