Zenith Falling (Zenith Trilogy, #1)

by Leanne Davis

  A week after her ordeal, her face appeared much less swollen, and her achiness had eased, too, only recurring in brief bouts. The bruises were well defined, but much less shocking. She sat on the couch, a blanket around her, as she seemed perpetually cold. She mostly wore sweatpants, workout pants, t-shirts and sweatshirts. Nick continued to wear suits, slacks, ties and jackets. They couldn’t be more opposite if they lived at the North and South poles.

  Each time he looked at her, his heart tugged. Broke. Ached. She seemed like his entire world, everything he thought about, and worried about. But there was little he could do for her. He came home one evening to find her sitting up for once, since usually, she was lying down. She turned her head at the sound of his entrance.

  “Erica called. She said she would be late.”

  Nick nodded. They had become an odd threesome. His girlfriend, his what? Employee? Friend? Little sister? What the hell was she to him now? He remained possessive of her, in his mind, in a way he’d never been with anyone. Not even Erica. It bothered him, scared him, and worried him, so he kept it to himself.

  Erica was there too each day. Erica came from a family of old wealth, and literally, high society. At age thirty, she was already a successful, busy doctor. Yet she and Joelle managed to form a very odd, and surprising to both of them, very close friendship. They were already closer than Nick could have ever imagined. They got along better than any of his sisters.

  Nick usually avoided Joelle when he was at his house. He made her nervous, so he spent most of his time in his home office evenings, unless Erica was there. Then he sat in a chair as far from Joelle and Erica as he could find. But tonight, Nick and Joelle were all alone. She was sitting up and seemed less catatonic. She also seemed less afraid of him.

  He hung his coat in the closet, came over, glanced at the TV, then sat down at the opposite end of the couch. After five minutes, he looked at her.

  “You do realize you watch about the most pointless shows ever shown on TV, don’t you? I mean they’re not even shows, they’re just pure trash.”

  Joelle met his gaze. For once not shying at seeing him looking at her. “I know.”

  He laughed out loud, unaware she already knew how bad her taste in shows was. “You like these?”

  “I do. They are so stupid on these reality shows, they make the rest of us not seem so stupid, and troubled.”

  “So watching their stupidity helps lift your ego?”

  “Exactly. You should try it sometime.”

  He glanced at the show briefly and didn’t even know the name. Didn’t want to know. But he was glad it seemed to draw Joelle out of her own issues, and melancholy. He was a little bit grateful it made her look slightly less tragic just then.

  He sat back and watched some more, not really listening, or watching. He was thinking how glad he was now of having Joelle’s companionship, and missing the former ease of it. They hadn’t been at ease with each other since she first arrived there. Not like they were in the past. Things with them came and went. Sometimes, they understood each other like no one else, and at others, they could barely stand to make eye contact with one another. But since her assault, confusion, tension, and awkwardness seemed to preclude any chance for conversation.

  She kicked her legs straight out, and she was so short, they didn’t even take up half the couch. He saw her foot, poking out of her loose-fitting gray sweats. She had a tattoo at her ankle that ran up her calf. He slid her pant leg up to follow the green vine until it terminated into a red rose bud. It had to be four inches long. He ran his hand over it, surprising even himself when he touched her. She jumped, startled, and met his gaze. They stared at each other as if suspended in time, which imbued it with more drama than should have been evoked from just a light caress of her tattoo.

  “Do these hurt?”

  “What? Tattoos? No, not after they’re on.”

  “I mean getting them.”

  “Yes.”

  He was touching her calf. His hand could easily span the distance from her ankle to her knee. He absent-mindedly rubbed at the red color as if to see if it would smudge.

  “How many do you have?”

  “More than you’d like, I’d guess.”

  “Which is?”

  “A grand total of five.”

  He considered that, since he only knew of two, and immediately wondered where and what the other three were. “Why? Why do you get them if they hurt?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not something you’d understand. Getting a tattoo.”

  “I get wanting one. Kind of a thrill, I suppose. But why more than one?”

  “I don’t know. I grew to like them. It kind of becomes a thing. A way of expression. It fit me for awhile.”

  “So, do you like all of Rob’s tattoos?” He looked away. Why did he ask that?

  “I did. I mean, I do like them. I was, I am, attracted to him. When he was sober, he was the most charming, fun, teasing, intelligent man I’d ever met.”

  “You need to get out more.”

  Her gaze brushed over him. “He wasn’t always like what you saw. I wasn’t completely stupid when I married him. He was good to me and meant everything to me. Everything that makes him Rob, the man I married, is distorted by his addictions.”

  Nick hated it. Her persistent attraction to Rob. Or knowing that she liked the freaking wallpaper of tattoos the man sported all over his body. Or that she was covered in big tattoos herself, and nearly branded with Rob’s initials. They, Nick and Joelle, were about as alike to each other as a cat is to a dog.

  He was conservative, and what he considered normal, groomed, well dressed, and well spoken. She was pierced and tattooed, and she wore her hair in a weird, unflattering manner (at least, to his eyes, and those of the people he called friends). She wore harsh, dark makeup to give her a theatrical air. Her clothes were the sort of look on a woman that he did not find attractive. Yet, from the start, he found Joelle just that: attractive like no one else he knew. Even if she was married, too young, too vulnerable, and just too weird for him.

  He also hated that she was still attracted to Rob Williams. Hated it because that precluded her from being attracted to a man like himself. He and Rob were about as different as two men could be in every way: physically, how they dressed, how they looked, and wore their hair. Even the way they walked and talked. If she thought Rob was sexually attractive, there was no way she’d ever look at Nick and see anything but a corporate suit. A big brother. Hell, for all he knew, she saw him as a temporary fatherly type. He was twelve years older than she, and at Joelle’s age of twenty-three, being vulnerable, screwed up, and confused, she embodied everything that wasn’t right for him.

  He swore. He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t want Joelle returning to Rob. He wanted her to leave the bastard who was doing such a good job of ruining her life once and for all.

  “Thing is, Nick, right now, none of it looks so good to me anymore.”

  He eyed her sharply. What didn’t look so good to her? Rob? Tattoos? Her life? What?

  “What does then?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t seem to know anything right now. Hardly even know my own name.”

  “You will, Joelle.”

  “And you? Are all of your girlfriends like Erica? Long, blonde, beautiful, successful?”

  He realized they were. “Yes.”

  “How come you don’t marry her? You couldn’t do any better than her.”

  He shrugged.

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. Always avoided that.”

  “Why?”

  “I was always too busy. I spent more time working than dating. I wasn’t so good at calling, if I got busy. I didn’t want to give up my time.”

  “But Erica? Isn’t she different?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’d be an idiot not to know that she is.”

  “Why don’t you marry her if you think she’s so great?”

  “Y
ou really get uncomfortable with the thought of marriage and commitment, don’t you?”

  “I’m committed. To my company.”

  “A company doesn’t comfort you.”

  “No, I go on dates for that. And other things.”

  She laughed. He hadn’t heard her outright laugh all week. She shook her head in amazement he said that to her. They seemed to usually avoid flirting. She left her leg outstretched and he left his hand on her ankle, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbing at the silky skin.

  “I’ve been thinking about things.”

  “Pretty good time to do so.”

  “I think I should explain some things to you. Things you might not want to hear. Things about how I came to you that night.”

  “I know how you came to me. Question is, do you?”

  “Please, Nick, I need you to know something.”

  “Okay. If it helps for you to talk it out.”

  “Things with Rob started to go bad about a year ago. But until then, he and I were in tune with each other in a way I’ve never been with anyone else. I drank with Rob, and as much as he did. I went to every party, every gathering, every singing gig, and every ‘after and later after’ party. I encouraged it. I enjoyed it. I look like this because I wanted to. I fit in and I was as well known as Rob. Almost as involved. Those were my people, my crowds.”

  “You were also eighteen, nineteen or twenty years old. It seems normal at some point you’d want to grow up a little. Grow out of it.”

  “I was right there doing whatever Rob was doing. Petty things. Stupid things. I spent a lot of my time drunk or high, and very often, both.”

  Nick looked on, waiting for the rest of it, his face blank. Her eyes scattered around, and looked everywhere, but at him.

  “So when I started to change, Rob didn’t get it. Or want to see it. It wasn’t entirely his fault, how we slowly deteriorated. I used to be who he is. How can I get so mad at him when I’m the one who changed, not him? I used to not mind where we lived; it meant very little to me. Insignificant. I was so glad to be there, living with the band, being there for and with Rob. I loved it.”

  “And now you don’t?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “And you still love him?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t just turn off in a matter of a week or a month or even a year.”

  Nick didn’t like what he was hearing. He took his hand off her leg, and pushed it away from him. “So are you telling me that you’re going back?”

  “No. I’m not saying that.”

  He stared into her eyes. “So what are you saying to me?”

  She lowered her eyes and licked her lips. “I want you to see who I am. That I brought on most of this by myself. Maybe you shouldn’t feel that sorry for me, and hate Rob so much.”

  “Ah, but I do. I hate Rob that much. I don’t care if you were selling the drugs and having orgies every night, nobody deserves the beating you took, or the reaction you got from your own husband. God, please get that, would you? Get that much from what happened to you.”

  “I get that. But you still don’t understand how Rob saved me when I was nineteen. When I left for college, I thought it would hold the answers to my miserable life. I’d find friends, and acceptance and love. And this aching loneliness would leave me forever. But I didn’t. I was lost, anonymous. Too quiet and shy to make friends, too awkward to fit in. Until, one night, when I met Rob.”

  “And suddenly you weren’t too shy, and you fit in,” Nick said wearily as he realized where she was going with her story.

  “Yes. He was like the sun shining on me, on my life, after years of isolation, darkness, and even suicidal thoughts. Suddenly, I had everything to live for. He wanted me all the time. I was never alone again. I was never left behind, left out, or abandoned. He cared that I was there. He always wanted me. He has always cared about me. And he has always loved me.”

  “Okay, if he is still all that for you, then why did it suddenly turn so bad? If he’s as wonderful as you have him built up to be, why is he still a lazy, almost great singer, who expects you to do everything, while he does nothing? If he really loves you, why doesn’t he ever know what you need? Or want? Why can’t he do anything for you or help you?”

  “We just got so lost, in all the unending tides of people. All the alcohol, the parties, the drugs.”

  “He got lost. You’re right there. Don’t forget that. Just because Rob made you feel better a long time ago, doesn’t mean he’s that same person today. Or that you even need what he gave you anymore.”

  She looked up at him sharply, her lips twisted in a frown. “He’s the only person who has ever loved me and not abandoned me.”

  “Someone else can love you and not hurt you in a million different ways each day. Rob might love you, but it’s obsessive, harmful, and very one-sided. Someone else will love you. You won’t be alone for long.”

  She finally sank down into the couch, shrugged her shoulders, and looked at the TV.

  “I thought you’d want to know what I was thinking about, how I come to my conclusions. You should realize that I’m not the person you’d like to pretend I am.”

  “I see why you dropped everything for Rob. I do. But what I see happening now is that reality is finally catching up to you. His love is nothing but narcissistic neediness, his ego will never be satisfied, and he is drowning you. And if you need proof of that, I could give you about twenty instances in just the short time I’ve been involved.”

  “You can be very harsh.”

  “I am harsh. I expect a lot out of people. My employees, my family, my friends.”

  “Why don’t you expect it out of me then?”

  “I have. I do.”

  “No, you don’t. You think I’m misunderstood, or confused. You excuse me for everything.”

  He shrugged, unwilling to acknowledge his emotional response to her, when he didn’t know what he felt. “You’re the one who doesn’t forgive yourself ever, but you forgive him no matter what.”

  “You don’t know Rob. I do. I know what he came from. Why he’s becoming who he is. You don’t like it, but I understand Rob perfectly. It isn’t just his ego, or his neediness, it’s his own pain that gets him so moody, and volatile, and so drunk.”

  “Okay he carries issues with him, a shitty childhood, he doesn’t know any better. But at what point does his treatment of you matter? At what point do you matter?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just telling you I understand Rob perfectly, what he thinks, what he feels, and how he acts. What I don’t understand is you. Why you take me in, why you help me, why you give me money, why you fixed my car and lied to me about how much it was.”

  Nick shifted, how did she find out about that? “The car was because it was that unsafe, and unreliable. You couldn’t afford it. Get over it. We’ve been over the money thing before.”

  “You can’t buy me.”

  “I can’t save you from yourself or your husband either, can I?” Nick said quietly. Turning away, he glared out the windows.

  “Why do you even want to?”

  She got up, and started to step over his feet. He pried and didn’t back off Rob like he usually did. He didn’t forgive Rob no matter what Rob’s lame excuses were. Nick cared about Joelle’s perspective, not Rob’s. She saw both perspectives. Nick pushed. And she hated that. He made her mad.

  Without thinking, he reached out, and grabbed her arm. She stopped, and turned, now in front of where he sat.

  “I can’t stand to see what your life is like with Rob,” he said quietly.

  “It’s not for you to say. It’s for me to say. My decision. My choice of lifestyle.”

  She glared at him, hard and angry, her emotions running high. Why could she so easily tell him off, and express herself to him, but she always became a submissive doormat around her husband?

  Nick’s hand was on her elbow, using his finger and tracing the initials on her arms outlined in blue and black.
It reminded him of who she was, and who Joelle thought she belonged to. He looked up at her, and they were nearly eye-level with him seated and she standing. Her minuscule height barely made her taller than he. The air between them was charged and different, self-awareness and anger were colliding in the confusion.

  “Be mad at me, hate me,” he said, pulling her closer, and looking into her eyes, “but know one thing, at least I’d never hurt you.”

  She swallowed, and her throat gently vibrated as her eyes stayed glued to his. Her face was battered, bruised, not much better. He ran his hand over the side of her face that was the least hurt. Tenderness filled his hand, like how he touched his newborn nieces. Joelle seemed that fragile to him, and that lacking in love, acceptance, and help.

  Finally, she answered him, her lips parting in a near whisper, “It’s about the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

  She leaned closer, a slow, almost minuscule movement. They were nearly touching, and their eyes locked. His hands came to her waist; and her ribs were under his thumbs, while her lower back was at his fingertips. She was so small, tiny, and defenseless, with dozens of bruises still covering her. He never really touched her before, nor realized how small she was, or how big the average person appeared standing next to her. He brought her closer, leaned in and finally, his lips met hers. Soft, so soft they were hardly touching, their lips whispered against each other, nearly dry and very tenderly. Almost like how a brother might kiss his sister.

  Except there wasn’t one thing brotherly about how this felt to Joelle. Chaste, but deep, sexual, and intense. His lips moved along her mouth, her jaw, and her cheek. He couldn’t exactly kiss her the way the moment called for, as the deep scab on her lips prevented that. She was a mess still, and she still hurt. There was no forgetting that.

  Finally, his lips faded off to her temple, and into her hair, as he leaned his forehead against her. She smelled of his shampoo. How could he get a hard-on for a girl as vulnerable as Joelle was, while also feeling a tenderness for her that swept through him, nearly taking his breath away?