The Falling of Love (The Falling Series Book 1)

by Marisa Oldham

  The Falling

  Of

  Love

  Marisa Oldham

  This edition published by Indie World Publishing & Author Services via Amazon KDP

  Text © Marisa Oldham 2012, 2014

  ASIN #B00CHYP9ZI

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

  www.indieworldpub.com

  Cover Art by: Marisa Oldham Photography

  To learn more about author Marisa Oldham,

  please visit her website at www.marisaoldham.com

  Indie World Publishing & Author Services

  P.O. Box 819

  Dewey, AZ 86327

  This work of fiction contains adult situations that may not be suitable for children under eighteen years of age. Recommended for mature audiences only.

  Dedication

  For Carraine and Lulah, my beautiful sisters who inspire me on a daily basis with their beauty and kind hearts.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  About Marisa Oldham

  One Last Thing…

  Prologue

  Tears fall from her eyes. Saltiness stings her mouth as they drip down her cheeks and slide into her lips. She runs her fingers through his soaking wet hair.

  “Babe, do you want to go to the ER?”

  He looks up at her his face pale and his eyes a burning red. With foul breath, he grumbles out a harsh, “No!”

  She holds his hair back as once again he vomits violently. It is all she can do to keep from throwing up. She loves him. This is what you do for someone you love, right? She looks around the bathroom, trying to avoid watching the hell he is going through and the smell that comes along with it. She wonders to herself, What am I going to do? How did we get to this dark place?

  Chapter 1

  It is a typical autumn day, and as usual, seventeen-year-old Grace's mind wanders while she sits in math class. Her thoughts drift, as swirls and shapes form to create an elaborate drawing in her mind. She wishes she was anywhere else but school. She would rather be sitting lakeside feeling a cool breeze brush across her skin, smelling the fresh forest air, and painting the towering redwood trees that line the banks of the tranquil, sparkling lake water.

  She hates this class with every fiber of her being. She has never been one to enjoy anything that has to do with numbers. Her main interests are art, fashion, music, and history. Grace does not seem to lose focus in those courses as she does in math. As she doodles in her notebook, instead of paying any attention to her instructor, her mind continues to wander. She scribbles down short poems and doodles swirls with her name as the focal point.

  Clinks and clanks of jewelry interrupt her peaceful reverie. She lifts her head to see where all the clatter is coming from.

  “Class, we have a new student.”

  When her gaze falls on the new boy, it is as if the waves that beat against the cliffs of Ocean View have made their way up the jagged rocks, rolled through her high school’s quad, into her classroom, and crashed straight into her, taking her breath away. Everything seems to begin to move in slow motion.

  “What is your name, son?” the instructor questions.

  Standing at the front of the class is the most gorgeous boy she has ever laid her eyes on. While other students laugh and tease him under their breath, Grace is instantly mesmerized by him. He’s beautiful.

  “Ian,” says the boy rudely.

  Her stomach sinks at the sound of his deep voice. She even makes a tiny gasp, but no one notices except her. His long, dark, red hair flows past his shoulders to a point she cannot see. It is parted down the middle with a slight feathering on each side of his face. Her eyes roam over his lean body. The rock t-shirt he is wearing is so worn that she has to squint to read what band it is. Led Zeppelin, she thinks, as a smile forms on her face.

  Ian looks around the classroom and runs his pale hand through his hair, his bracelets clanking during the process. He seems nervous and defensive as he takes in the glares of Grace’s classmates.

  Grace continues scanning his tall frame. The rips in his tattered jeans give little glimpses of his equally pale legs.

  “Well, Ian, welcome to Lincoln High School. It looks like the only seat available is the one next to Miss Hathaway.”

  The instructor gestures to Grace. “Miss Hathaway, raise your hand please.”

  Her stomach drops as she timidly raises her hand to let Ian know that she is indeed Miss Hathaway.

  Ian’s wrists are covered in bracelets, and his neck is adorned with a pair of silver necklaces. Upon his fingertips, he has large rings. One of them is a skull. As Ian struts over to the desk next to Grace, one of the boys in class snickers.

  “Ah hmm, lowlife,” he coughs under his breath.

  Ian glances at the boy, scowls at him, and flips him the middle finger. The instructor is too busy fussing with his paperwork on his desk to notice. Grace finds this highly amusing and giggles. Ian glances at her and gives her one of those “if looks could kill” expressions.

  As he walks toward her, her chest becomes heavy, and she cannot control her rapid breathing. Her body grows weaker with every step he takes. She cannot recall if she has ever in her life felt this way about a boy so soon, or ever for that matter.

  Ian takes the seat next to her, and loud clatters from his bracelets hitting the desk ring through the silent classroom. The class erupts in laughter. Most boys in Ocean View do not wear jewelry or have long hair.

  Living in a small town like Ocean View, Oregon, Grace has not seen many boys like Ian. It is as if he stepped out of the pages of Rolling Stone.

  A conservative community, the small, unknown town is located on the Oregon coast. A diner sits off to the side of the highway that leads into town. The fact that it is the only freestanding building for miles, and only one beat up, old pickup truck, and an old station wagon, are the only cars in the parking lot is the first clue that Ocean View is a secluded community. A shorter stretch of highway nestled in the tall pines leads to a clearing that reveals the quaint downtown area.

  Each side of the narrow street is lined with buildings from the nineteen-twenties. A marque hangs out over the sidewalk, barely clinging onto the old theater house. Grace loves to walk down the quiet main street of this little close-knit town, peeking into the modest shops that she has loved to frequent since she was a child.

  Ocean
View is the kind of town where people do not lock their doors at night and parents never worry about their children staying out once the sun sets.

  At the end of one of the streets sits a gazebo in the middle of a park with rich, green grass. Sometimes Grace comes here at night to look out onto the vast ocean that lies beyond. She loves to capture an image in her mind of the moon high above the sea and then paint what she saw the next day.

  Most of the locals complain about the weather. On average, Ocean View is cold, rains about two hundred days out of the year, and it snows in the winter. Grace loves the weather in Ocean View, and she loves the small town atmosphere. Although she enjoys it, she often dreams of leaving home and traveling to places such as Paris, France or Venice, Italy.

  Her daydreams consist of becoming a professional artist or pursuing a career in modeling. The world of fashion is fascinating, and she desperately wants to be a part of it. There is something so evocative about models and how they can portray a slew of emotions in one photograph. Grace admires that. She longs to be able to do that herself.

  Without trying to appear obvious, Grace slowly turns her head toward Ian to get a better look at him. Ian shoots her a dirty look, and her heart sinks. Grace gives him a nervous but sweet smile and turns back to her drawings. She gets the feeling that Ian is not the friendliest person she has ever encountered.

  The bell rings and Grace gathers her books. She grabs her backpack and pushes her things inside of it when suddenly she drops her books, right on Ian’s feet.

  “Oh shoot! I’m sorry,” she says, shyly.

  Grace bends to pick them up, but so does Ian. The collision between the two almost knocks her off her feet.

  Ian grabs her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Looking up at him with big green eyes, her heart pounding from his returning gaze, she whispers, “Umm yeah, I think so. I’m sorry.”

  Ian laughs. “Nice to meet you, Sorry. I’m Ian,” he says, as he slips her books from his hands to hers.

  The two of them laugh.

  “I better get to my next class.” Grace smiles, feeling shy.

  Ian nods and makes his way to the door. Grace cannot stop staring at him as he leaves the class. He isn't like other boys in Ocean View, and though she should find him strange, their exchange leaves her feeling something new. Calling her “Sorry” seemed more like flirting than playful teasing, and the idea that he might like her excites her.

  Later that day in English class, Grace once again daydreams. She glances out the classroom window into the campus yard and sees Ian standing next to the towering oak tree that sits in the middle of the senior quad. She is more than a little curious about him. He’s so different than anyone else here, she thinks as her concentration on him does not falter.

  Ian casually leans up against the old oak tree, his legs crossed, and he lights a cigarette. Gross. He gives a quick whip of his long auburn hair and looks around the campus as if he is judging it. Grace laughs because he does not seem pleased with his surroundings.

  Sitting in the cafeteria at lunch, Grace attempts to listen to her sister Michelle go on and on about the skanky cheerleaders she had a run-in with during first period. Michelle is a little rough around the edges. Most people just call her a bitch and misunderstand her. Grace appreciates her sister’s strong personality. People often comment on how much her sarcastic and outspoken personality contrasts with Grace’s sweet and modest demeanor. Michelle is a no-beating-around-the-bush type. Grace, being the captain of the varsity cheer squad, completely agrees that Michelle has every right to refer to her teammates as skanky cheerleaders.

  Grace's thoughts keep going back to her collision with Ian. In her mind, she replays their head-butting scene, and the sight of him leaning against the old oak tree smoking his cigarette.

  “Umm hello! Where the hell are you, Grace?” asks Michelle.

  “I’m right here,” Grace whispers.

  “No, you’re not. What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Grace's cheeks grow warm, and she cannot help smiling.

  “Oh boy, so you’re not going to tell me. Fine. I shall carry on with my plot for revenge.” Michelle continues with her story.

  Ian walks into the cafeteria and immediately sees the girl from his math class. Damn, she’s hot! His gaze lingers on her, and he studies her pale, flawless skin. He yearns to run his fingers through her long, blonde hair. He closes his eyes for a moment, the clattering sounds of the cafeteria not stifling his fantasy. When they banged heads earlier, he got a whiff of the warm scent of vanilla shampoo. He imagines nuzzling her neck with that sweet, soft fragrance cradling his senses. She is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. He shakes these thoughts off, not wanting to have feelings for a girl he just met. Especially one from this school he has already grown to hate.

  He tries to find a table where no one is sitting. Of course, in such a small cafeteria there isn’t one. He looks to his left then to his right and realizes there is no friendly place to sit, except perhaps with the pretty girl from math.

  Just because she smiled at me doesn’t mean that she’s not just as fucked up as all the rest of the people at this God forsaken school, he thinks. It’s either sit outside or sit next to her.

  Ian looks out the window and realizes it is beginning to rain. Well, there goes that idea. On to plan B.

  Clanking his way over to the table, he stands there looking down at the girl and her friend, holding his tray full of food, waiting for some sort of reaction from her. She barely lifts her head to acknowledge him.

  The other girl looks up at him, confused. “Who are you?” she asks, sharply.

  He sits down at the table next to the girl from math. “I’m the new guy, Ian. This is Sorry, and we had a little accident earlier today in math class. Can I sit here?”

  “Sure, why not. Not like any of these other shitheads would let you sit with them,” says the girl, as she glances around the cafeteria. “Welcome to Lincoln High, the home of jockstrap wearing ass wipes, and annoying perky breasted, fake chicks,” she says, returning her gaze to Ian. “I'm Michelle, and this is Grace.”

  Ian turns and smiles at Grace. The perfect name for a beautiful girl. Having just met her, though, he turns to teasing instead of a compliment. “You didn't seem so graceful earlier today.”

  Grace frowns, not getting the joke. He quickly reassures her that he doesn't mean the comment.

  Michelle doesn't appear to notice their exchange, and launches into a monologue about how horrible Ocean View is. As she rambles on, Ian can't help but stare at Grace. She silently stirs her mashed potatoes, and Ian can tell she's also tuned Michelle out. He wonders if she is thinking about him.

  Grace is annoyed, not just by her younger sister's commentary, but by Ian's comment about her name. She is sure he doesn’t find her attractive, not by the way he talked about their bumping heads in math class as being ungraceful. Yet she feels his eyes on her while she's playing with her food, and she can't understand why he keeps looking at her.

  “So, Ian,” Michelle asks, “where are you from? How old are you? Why did you move here?”

  Ian chuckles and clears his throat. “Well, I moved here from the East coast, Massachusetts. I'm almost eighteen, and I came here because my parents forced me to. My dad just got a new job at the mill.”

  “You don’t have an accent,” Michelle says, while she stares at him curiously.

  “Nah. I lived in Colorado for a long time. Thank God I didn’t pick up on it.”

  As Grace listens to Michelle make fun of the East Coast accent with her own horrible version of one, she remains silent, feeling shy and nervous because Ian is sitting so close to her. Every so often, she risks a glance in his direction. Focusing on his soft lips, she notices the luscious shape of them and it makes her giddy. She is content just to listen to the sound of his voice as he answers more of Michelle’s questions.

  Michelle does not look satisfied by his answers and begins her speedy questioning once more
. “So do you have sisters and brothers? Do you have any other family here? How long have you been in town?”

  Grace gives Michelle a slow it down look. Michelle picks up her soda and sips as she intently looks at Ian for his answers.

  “No, we don’t have any other family here. We moved into our new house last weekend. My sister Bailey is thirteen, and she goes to that junior high across the street. My brother Brandon is sick with the flu, but when he gets better he’ll go here.” Ian looks Michelle over and says, “He’s about your age.”

  “Is he cute?” she asks, quickly.

  Ian laughs. “I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me when you meet him.”

  Ian nudges Grace with his elbow. “So, Sorry, how’s your head?” He turns to look at Grace and stares into her eyes, which causes her stomach to drop.

  Her heart skips a beat as she looks up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Well, my head has a knot the size of my fist on it. You must be very hard-headed.” He laughs.

  Michelle snorts out a loud laugh. “You have no idea.”

  “She’s shy too, huh?”

  “Umm, that’s putting it lightly.”

  “How old are you girls?” Ian asks, turning his eyes to Grace.

  “She’s seventeen and I’m sixteen.” Michelle answers before Grace can open her mouth.

  “How long have you girls been friends?”

  Michelle looks at Ian as if he is stupid and says, “Duh, since my birth.”

  Ian's confused eyes dart back and forth between the two girls.

  “We’re the Hathaway girls,” Michelle says, matter-of-factly.

  “Missy, he’s new. Like he has any idea who anyone here is. Michelle is my little sister,” explains Grace.

  “I would've never guessed that,” he says, as he shakes his head. “You can totally tell that me and my sibs are related. We all have this damn ginger hair and pale skin.”