Falling: A Love Story

by lesley,allyn

  And, I kind of know what she’s singing about. Not the love part, but the rest, the wanting, the never ending desire to convince someone else you’re worth a shot. Just as I’m about to say something else, the songs ends, and I do as I promised. I step back from Chelsea but damn me if her hand doesn’t tighten momentarily in mine... gripping my fingers in place.

  I look over at her and I know I’m mistaken when my brain tricks me into seeing tears shimmering in her dark brown eyes.

  I raise her shaking hand to my lips, kissing a knuckle Dyllan-style with a little tongue swipe against her flesh. Then I release her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Chelsea Juliet Robinson.”

  It seems like we stand there forever, staring at each other.

  The same hand that I’ve just tongued with a kiss is against her open mouth but she doesn’t step any closer to me. I don’t have a read on her. Do I go to her? As I’m about to say, fuck it and break my word, she breaks eye contact then drops her hand to her side.

  Always first to dismiss me, I think as I watch her walk back to our table.

  Later, but much sooner than I think, I’ll be the one filled with regrets. Two more will be added to the list that’s been growing exponentially since Chelsea left me inside the lounge last night.

  Regret number one will be my inability to see into the future. Had I been born with that skill, I would’ve memorized Chelsea’s stance that was regretful as she stood near her chair, her body language that screamed she wanted to be held by me, and even ingrained the feel of her from moments ago when she was in my arms. Maybe this would have sustained me for the upcoming times, when loneliness would eat at my soul and despair would become my main sustenance.

  Shit was about to get real, even though I would mask it well with the thing that usually worked for me: pussy, and lots and lots of it.

  Somewhere in between all the dancing and eating, EC approaches the bride and groom with the stripper from last night on his arm. Next thing I know, they’re make their way over to Ma and Chuck. I happen to be standing near them at the time.

  “And, what’s your name, sweets?” Ma asks, meeting her for the first time with no idea about her stage name.

  Luckily, I’m only drinking water, but the liquid chokes me. EC knocks hard on my back. I don’t miss his silent command to keep my mouth shut about her profession.

  “Jillian Greene, ma’am,” she replies. Her New York accent isn’t so heavy tonight.

  “None of that ma’am stuff. Any friend of EC’s can call me Anna.” Ma pulls her into a hug that I know surprises Jillian and my brother.

  Once I recover from my near-death experience, I end up having a good time. Chelsea has a few too many dance partners, but I tamp down my jealousy, reminding myself she doesn’t belong to me... never have and never will. I do have a private, man-to-man conversation with a dude who was a little too close to her while they danced. He left rather quickly after that, because I didn’t give the fool an option to stay.

  All in all, we have a great night. Ma and Chuck dance, and teach the younger couples a thing or two. I take a few spins with Ma, who keeps up easily with me. Close to the end of the reception, a woman with honey-blonde hair in a red dress walks past me. Her outfit screams for attention, and I’m all too willing to give it to her.

  One of the bridesmaids tries to whisper, but that’s damn hard to do with three cocktails in her. “I thought Emma wanted all her guests to wear black?”

  I make my way to where the newcomer is sitting and drop down into the empty chair beside her. “Here by yourself?”

  She takes a sip from her wine glass then turns to me. “With a friend. No one special. And you?”

  “Free as a bird. The name’s Dyllan Sterling.” With her milk chocolate skin tone and delicate features, she reminds me of a doll. “What’s yours, Doll Face?”

  “Caren Price. Are you sure you’re here by yourself?”

  “Yes.” I move closer to her. Her smell is different—not like hers—and I know I won’t have any trouble forgetting this woman in front of me.

  “Then why’s that woman on the dance floor following your every move?”

  Her voice makes me want to do bad things to her. I decide I’m taking her to a motel. Soon, too. Her name is in the wind and out of my memory. “What are you talking about, Doll Face?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Chelsea’s frowning. The woman beside me points a red-painted nail in her direction, and I will myself not to follow it or to take a peek at temptation.

  But, I do.

  While looking at Chelsea, I tell her, “She’s no one.” Then, I grab her wine glass, downing the contents. I’m glad she doesn’t know me well enough to catch on I’m lying through my teeth.

  Regret number two is leaving the reception venue with Doll Face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Can someone please tell me why the flying fuck I’m here?

  I’m surrounded by a sea of pink. Pink balloons. Pink streamers. Pink baby shower signs.

  And, more damn pink!

  There’s so much pink I doubt the makers of the popular anti-heartburn medication will be able to find any of the color to use to make their concoction. This place has all the damn pink left in the world. If I think I could make a run for it, I would. But, Ma keeps looking at me funny, and EC has the cheesiest grin on his face, as if he’s enjoying my obvious distress.

  My reaction to the sheer amount of pink pales in comparison to the way my stomach muscles clench every time I hear Chelsea laugh, or the way I find myself sniffing the trail she leaves behind as she saunters by me. The last time I saw her was over eight months ago at the wedding. EC was quick to tell me she left with some fucker, and he wasn’t sure if it was a family friend, relative, or someone she was interested in. After that disheartening news, I didn’t even want to know anymore. And, though I left with another woman, I should’ve left that chick at the reception table and gave myself a hand job that night. The last time I saw her was the night of my twenty-sixth birthday a month ago, and I decided that was the last time.

  She’s not Chelsea. None of the faceless women will ever be her.

  “Chels,” an older woman I keep my distance from calls out from the back then twirls a finger in the air like she’s hurrying up the activities.

  “I’m sorry. Let’s move on to the rest of the gifts.” Off to the right of a pregnant Emma, the star of my daydreams picks up a huge bag with balloons and flowers on it. She flicks open the card attached before smiling. “This is from Uncle EC and Jillian.” Chelsea waves at them just as my brother makes large circles with his hand in the air while chanting, “Wuff, wuff, wuff...”

  All the guests coo and gush over the pink items she pulls out from the gift bag. I brace myself on the table to rise, but instantly feel Ma’s pale blue eyes zero in on me. I slide my ass back onto the hard seat.

  It’s like I’m back at the wedding.

  It’s not that I’m not happy for Emma and JC, but there’s just this thing that grips my heart when I see them all happy like they are. A part of me wishes I knew how to get and keep that kind of love and devotion.

  Chelsea pulls on a wrapped, purple box with a matching envelope. I cover my embarrassment with fake bravado... chest puffed out and hands stuck into my pockets like I don’t give a damn. But, I do. She adjusts her volume on the microphone.

  “How cute. The card seems handmade.” Her laugh chips away at my nonchalant armor.

  Ma peeps over at me, but I avoid her inquisitive look like the Bubonic plague.

  “Hurry up and read the card. I have to pee,” Emma says then clamps a hand over her mouth as the guests laugh at her slip of tongue.

  “You can tell who’s the oldest, right?” Chelsea jokes, ripping the envelope. “The card says, oh, what the...” She’s obviously taking in the fuckery meant to be a joke—at least it was at four o’clock in the morning when I’d made it, but now seems just plain stupid.

  “This century,” Emma says with her
hands on the sides of her burgeoning belly.

  Her eyes find my place in the sea of pink. “Um, it says... Emma, you sure you want me to read this?” She looks nervously at the few kids running around the hall.

  Emma shimmies in her seat. “Yeah, I gotta go.”

  “It says: ‘Holy shit, you’re having a baby. Here’s two year’s supply of diapers for all the shit you’ll be cleaning up.” She clears her throat. “‘Love, Unk.’”

  She doesn’t mention I drew a baby’s pacifier to replace the ‘o’ in holy.

  After that, JC quickly announces his thanks, telling his guests the party hasn’t ended as he helps Emma up and out of the chair. The music from the iPod is turned up. Some of the guests engage in animated conversations around me, while others refill their empty plates and glasses. I throw my hood over my head, slip on my tinted sunglasses, and begin counting the minutes until I can leave. Chelsea sashays around the room in her khaki pants, grey top, and her too-fucking-cutesy, leopard print glasses. Her hair is in a ponytail, swishing about loosely. Squinting, I make out Roman numerals on the back of her neck.

  Is that a tattoo?

  My posture goes from slumped and disinterest to straightened and pissed. What the hell is that on her neck? I don’t remember a tattoo from two years ago. Are those numbers related to that asshole I met in her dorm a few years back, or someone new? Chelsea turns to the side and does a kind of belly laugh, and my jealousy increases tenfold. Is she this carefree with the prick whose name or whatever she’s inked on her neck? Red is all I see as I try to decipher what the hell those block numbers could mean to her.

  She’s performing her hostess duties, making sure guests are comfortable and having a good time, nothing at all sensual. But, because she’s Chelsea, all I can think about is wishing for a taste of her plump lips. Out of nowhere, I get the urge to embarrass myself and beg her to let me kiss them softly and slowly. I’ve not had a kiss since hers, and that was forever ago. I’d like another taste from those lips, and the ones nestled between her succulent thighs. She switches positions again, and now those Roman numerals are back, mocking me. Yeah, that shit is definitely for that blond dick from her school, I think, seething. This is bullshit.

  I grab my cell from my pocket, sending a text to someone I know will give me the time of day. Five seconds later, I get a response that she’ll bring a friend. I’ll run to the pharmacy for some condoms, lube, and—

  “Dyllan?”

  The voice I know because we’ve been a part of each other’s life for long enough now. But for the life of me, I don’t understand why every time she says it, it’s with a question. As if she’s always amazed I’m still here. When I turn around, Chelsea and Emma’s mother is staring down her nose at me. Not for the first time, I recognize she and Chelsea could easily pass for sisters. They have the same upturned nose and are the same height. Across the room, Chelsea has a mischievous grin on her lips, while her mother stands here clenching her fists at her sides, as if preparing for battle.

  I adjust in my seat. “How are you, Mrs. Robinson?” We’ve been formally introduced at more occasions than I can count, yet the woman has never given me permission to call her anything but by her marital name. I look around her as I often do so as not to remain isolated in her uncomfortable aura. “I don’t see Mikey around.” Her husband is as decent as they come and I know for sure he likes me.

  “He had to work.”

  Michael Robinson, the man in charge of the Robinson household is a hard-working man. Just like Chuck. He and I hit it off right away over a mutual love for Heineken beers and the deep enjoyment we get from working with our hands. It sucks that his job as a train conductor for the city keeps him away from many family functions. “Too bad,” I mutter just to give myself something to say seeing as she and I never have much to say to each other. She doesn’t respond beyond a low, “Yeah” that yells her dislike for me. I don’t like the advantage she thinks she has over me, so I stand to my full height, towering over her. “Nice shower, eh?”

  “What are you doing to Chelsea?” Her brown eyes are flashing fire and brimstone in my direction.

  I chuckle, kind of glad she’s finally decided to stop pussy-footing around her issue with me. Then I sober up because her question is total bullshit. “Me?” I point to my chest. “I’m not doing anything to your daughter.” I can’t help the bitterness that runs underneath my words. Her snort tells me she’s not buying what I tell her. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Chelsea and I are just in-laws. Strictly Emma and JC’s kid’s aunt and uncle.” I dust my hands to prove my point. We’re just an aunt and uncle, barely saying two or three words to each other at large family get togethers. So yeah. I’m not doing anything to Chelsea. Now, what I do to her in my dreams... well, that’s another matter definitely not open for discussion.

  She clears her throat as Chelsea comes in our line of sight. “She’s always so trusting.” I’m not sure her reason for she’s sharing any of this. “Much like I was when I was young and dumb with a man much like you chasing me around as if I was the only woman in the universe.” She stops as if she’s said too much.

  “I don’t get what—”

  “I know your kind.” I hear the sneer in her tone, so I twist toward her. It’s just as I suspect. Her features are hard and distrustful. I don’t get any of it because I’ve never been anything but cordial the brief seconds I’ve been in her vicinity. “You’ve got Chelsea thinking your ‘I’m too cool for words’ attitude is what she should be attracted to.” She shakes her head. “If you ask me, you’re a boy in a man’s body who likes to turn women into your playthings.”

  Fuck her and her judgment. I keep my thoughts to myself during her little monologue because she’s Chelsea and Emma’s mother and Ma would have my head on a platter if I went bat-shit crazy on her. Chelsea’s almost near us, and looks as confused as I feel standing next to her mother, Laura.

  “She’s young and may look gullible to a shark like you. But, my girl is smart. She knows what you are, and Chel...”

  Just then, the person whose ears should be burning reaches us.

  “Chelsea.” Laura makes it sounds like she’s greeting her daughter, but I know better. She was about to tell me off in a nice, firm way, but her daughter’s presence stops her. Her laugh is off-kilter, just as her warning was a minute ago. “You didn’t tell me what a conversationalist JC’s brother is.”

  I quirk my lips to the side at the sarcasm saturating through her overly sweet words. Then I notice that it’s like Chelsea can’t decide where to look: at me or her mom. Not wanting to make it seem like anything is off between us, even if it is, I drape my hand over Laura’s stiff shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Your mother was just telling me how well you and I match.” I wiggle my eyebrows at Chelsea, whose eyes instantly brightens while her mother stiffens even more. “You know, as the godparents of JC and Emma’s bundle of joy.”

  Laura slips from my one-handed embrace to stand by her daughter.

  “I’d love to stay and catch up with you, but I have another engagement.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, reminding me of that fact. “Tell Emma and JC I left. Okay?” I don’t stick around to decode Chelsea’s facial expression or that fucking aggravating tattoo that has absolutely nothing to do with me. I’m tired of doing that.

  There’s an annoying sound off to my left.

  What the hell?

  Fuzzy memories from the past couple of hours rush back to me and puts a mile-wide smile on my lips. The blonde had her mouth attached to my cock while the redhead’s face was stuck between the blonde’s legs. Good times.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  What the hell is that sound?

  A light bulb dings in my brain, penetrating the writhing bodies in my mind and the lust-filled haze still in the atmosphere. I reach for my ringing cell practically yelling my frustration into it. “What?”

  “Dyllan?”

  All the grogginess leaves me. “Chels?”

  I
make out two words through her blubbering and crying: Emma and hospital. As soon as I hang up, I’m racing around the motel room, finding my clothes then hopping into them and gathering the rest of my shit. The room is littered with open condom wrappers.

  I squeeze some toothpaste into my mouth, along with some mouthwash and water, swishing them around, hoping all three will knock out my morning breath and cover the sex odor I know is permeating from my pores.

  In no time at all, I’m parking my car underground in the Yonkers hospital’s maze of a parking lot. Impatiently reaching the right floor, I ask a few questions before I’m pointed in the right direction, and not long after that, Chelsea’s hurling herself into my open arms. My hands wrap around her shaking body, and I’m straining to listen to whatever she’s sharing that’s muffled into my shirt. Over her head, the waiting area is silent. Ma and Chuck hang their heads. EC is gripping Jillian’s hand and looking out the large floor-to-ceiling glass panel window. JC is nowhere in sight. I take in Laura’s hardened glint as she looks over to me and her daughter but I also see the stress embedded at the edges of her brown eyes. I nod in the direction of Mikey, who’s sitting beside his wife and looks haggard.

  I pull Chelsea away from the group. She’s a crying mess: red-rimmed eyes, hiccupping uncontrollably, and cold, clammy fingers that’re clutching my hand, holding on for dear life. Her glasses are in her hair that’s messily in a ponytail.

  I lower my gaze to her eye level. “What’s the matter, Chels? What’s happening?”

  “Blood. So much of it, and it was all over. It was everywhere, Dyllan.” She shoves her head into my chest as her gut-punching wails pierce the hospital corner.

  Just as I’m about to ask for more information, JC bursts through the swinging doors dressed in that hospital gear that makes even the strongest of men quiver with fear. I’m talking the blue scrubs that’s supposed to protect your clothing but when you actually see it one someone you love, you freak the fuck out at it and the shit that’s over his hair and his shoes. Gone is the calm brother I’ve always known. In his place is an agitated man who seems to have aged since the last time I saw him a few hours ago.