The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes

by Harlow, Jennifer

  As I climb off Bennett, he laughs, “Holy fuck! That was amazing!” I flop beside him, staring at the ceiling as he continues to laugh and pant. “Really. Amazing. You’re a damn hellcat, Fallon.”

  His chuckles begin to make my skin crawl. “Glad you liked it.” I pause. “You can leave now.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You got what you wanted. So did I. So you can leave now. Bye.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he sits up to study my face. I continue staring up. “What? Seriously?” he chuckles nervously.

  “Seriously. I’m tired. I want to go to sleep. We have a meeting tomorrow morning. So…bye.”

  My boy toy stares for several seconds then shakes his head. “O-kay…” The man stands, tosses the condom in the trash, and retrieves his pants from the floor, treating me to a great view of his ass. Good but nowhere as fine as Jem’s. Jem. My heart physically wrenches at the mere thought of him. “You are something else, you know that, right?” Bennett asks.

  “What? You want to stay and cuddle? Maybe braid each other’s hair?” I scoff. “Please.”

  “Did I say it was a bad thing?” He zips his fly and turns around. “I can stay, you know. If you need someone to talk to. I am also an amazing hair braider.”

  “Bye,” I say in sing-song. Shaking his head, he moves to the door. “Thanks for the sex!” I call as he walks out.

  The moment the door shuts, the show’s over. Alone once more. Just me and the pain. I still feel him. Jem. Inside me. On my skin. In my soul. I thought that might cleanse him. That the booze, the sex would kill him like an antibiotic against an infection, or at least anesthetize me enough I could pretend it worked. It used to work. But now, if anything, I just feel worse. Physically ill. Disgusting.

  Fuck it.

  After grabbing a tiny Bourbon from the mini-bar, I stumble into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I don’t even bother to take off my sweater. I just slump in a heap onto the tile and chug the bottle as the water burns me. Baptism by fire. I’ve fallen before. Like the phoenix, I shall rise from the ashes, blah blah blah. What other choice do I have? What other choice have they left me? The men I loved? Love. What bullshit. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m nobody’s fool. Not anymore. And never again.

  *

  One thing I didn’t miss about drinking were the damn hangovers. My tolerance has regressed to the neophyte stage. I used to be able to consume an entire bottle and only get a headache. I only had four drinks and one mini-bottle and have thrown up twice, needed two showers to help with the body aches, and not even four aspirin have quelled my headache. It’s our turn to be late today. Shannon had to break into my room and shake me awake. After the second shower, I slapped on lipstick, put my hair in a wet ponytail, slid on a black pantsuit, and chugged the coffee Shannon made me as we trekked to our limo. Lane and our lawyer Sherman have been waiting in the lobby for over half an hour and seem none too happy when I finally do drag my carcass downstairs.

  “What—” Lane begins.

  “I overslept,” I snap as I put on my sunglasses. “It happens. Let’s go.”

  I lead the posse to the awaiting limo. Goddamn the sun is bright today. Is it always this bright? Not even the sunglasses help. Thank God for tinted windows. Darker but not dark enough I can remove my sunglasses. Shannon gets in beside me with Lane and Sherman to the left.

  “I already told them we’re running late,” Lane says as the door shuts.

  “Good for you,” I mutter.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, more hostile than concerned. “Are you—?”

  “Shannon, does Pendergast have a spare corporate apartment open? You know, the ones we have clients stay in?”

  “Yes. Two.”

  “Then I’ll take the nicer of the two. Have someone prepare it for tonight. Air it out, buy some food, usual shit. I’m also going to need you to arrange for a dozen boxes to be sent to the penthouse. I’ll pack myself, but I’ll need a moving company to pick them up and carry them to the new apartment. Then again when I find a permanent residence. Got all that?”

  “Yes,” she says, scribbling on her pad.

  “You’re moving? Again?” Lane asks. “Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “You and Ambrose split up?” Lane asks. “When did this happen? What—”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “I’m sorry but it is my business,” Lane counters. “You splashed around the tabloids and coming to meetings hung-over affects Pendergast.”

  “Then it’s a damn good thing I’m quitting Pendergast,” I say.

  “You’re what?” Lane asks. “You can’t.”

  “The hell I can’t. I never wanted to work for your damn company anyway. I hate it. I hate the boring meetings, the asshole executives who treat me like a sideshow freak, and I hate having to dress up and pretend I have any idea what I’m doing. I’ve given enough of my life to it, but I’m done. Fuck Pendergast.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Lane asks Shannon, who just shrugs.

  “What’s going on is I’m tired. I’m tired of giving, and giving, and getting fuck all in return but pain and heartache. I’m tired of living for other people. If other people don’t give a shit, why should I? It’s over. I’m done. Today’s my last official day as your dancing monkey. Plus Shannon’ll be much better in the position than me.” I look over at my flummoxed assistant. “Congratulations, you’ve just been promoted.”

  “I—” Shannon begins.

  “This is madness!” Lane proclaims. “Joanna, if this is another ruse like the one during the Cain incident, you need—”

  “It’s not. This is a hundred percent real.” I look at Shannon. “Draft up whatever papers are needed for you to become my proxy. Convene the board, scream it from the rooftops, whatever. As of tomorrow, I quit.”

  I stare out the window at the passing shops and boutiques. I know the others exchange confused and worried glances, but I don’t care. I made up my mind last night, even before the Jem bullshit. I only stuck it out this long for Justin. To preserve his legacy. Well, if he doesn’t give a shit about it, why the fuck should I? Besides, he should have given his shares to Shannon in the first place. She knew all the players, all the plays, and actually has a business degree. The company’s in better hands with her making my decisions. Falling in love with Jem, drinking my weight in whiskey, and fucking Bennett Stone show I clearly make wrong ones.

  “Joanna, whatever happened with Ambrose—”

  “This has nothing to do with him,” I insist. “This has to do with clarity.”

  “No, this has to do with the alcohol you obviously consumed last night. If you’re checking yourself into rehab, you need to let us know,” Lane says. “It won’t leave this—”

  “Jesus Christ! I thought you’d be over the damn moon I’m quitting, not leading the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “Well, we need to tell people something,” Shannon points out.

  “I’m resigning to pursue other ventures. I’m resigning to focus on charity. I’m resigning to become a nun. I don’t care what you tell them. And if they ask about the break-up give them the standard, ‘No comment.’”

  “Well, what did happen?” the lawyer asks.

  “No comment.”

  Lane throws up his hands in frustration. “This is insanity. You have lost your mind.”

  “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. Either way, you’re well rid of me.”

  “But what will you do?” Shannon asks.

  I haven’t gotten that far in the plan. Not that there really is a plan. “I’ll do whatever I want. The world’s my oyster, right? Untethered and unencumbered, answering to nothing and no one. Aren’t I the lucky girl?”

  The trio smartly stop their inquiries and we ride in silence the two minutes to Goliath. As the glass behemoth comes into view, repairs still underway, it’s so strange to think that when we arrived here not twenty-four hours ago my life was completely di
fferent. I just had to surprise Lucy. I just had to show up when he was visiting her. If I had chosen to arrive ten minutes earlier or later I’d still be living in blissful ignorance. Everyone’s always harping about the goddamn truth, myself included. The truth is overrated. Seriously. The truth can suck my dick.

  We’re ushered back to the conference room where the Goliath team wait. I suppose I should feel a sense of shame or at least embarrassment when I set eyes on Bennett, but nope. My give a damn’s busted. He smiles at me as he rises from the table. “Hello. All.”

  “Sorry for our tardiness,” Lane says.

  “Well, you know what they say about glass houses and stones,” Bennett retorts as we sit.

  I remove my sunglasses. “Doesn’t stop most people from throwing the fuckers.”

  “Guess that makes me better than them,” he says, not missing a beat. “Go me.”

  Even I manage a smile for that one. His grows larger. Just for me. I look away.

  “Let’s not waste any more time,” Lane chimes in. “I understand we only have a few wrinkles to iron out. Shall we begin?”

  As I sit for two hours listening to dull as hell negotiations about arbitration liability and tax write-offs, I realize without a shadow of a doubt I’ve made the right decision. For once. I’ve wasted over a year of my life in conference rooms bored out of my skull. No fucking more. Bennett keeps trying to catch my eye, but I stare straight ahead at the door. Thank Christ we did all the heavy lifting yesterday, so today’s torture only lasts two hours. The novel size contract gets signed, notarized, and I’m finally free.

  That’s that.

  After the last signature, I leap from my seat and rush for the bathroom, mostly to avoid Bennett, okay mostly due to the five cups of coffee I drank to stay awake. An empty bladder. The highlight of my day. I—

  When I step out of the stall, I’m shocked to find the person—well, one of them—I was actively trying to avoid, leaning against the sink with that damn boyish grin of his affixed.

  “Jesus Christ,” I gasp.

  “Not quite,” Bennett quips, smile growing.

  I roll my eyes. “So you’re a pervert as well as an asshole. That your kink? Listening to women pee?”

  “Maybe I was hoping for a quickie.”

  I roll my eyes again and move toward the sinks to wash my hands. “What? Were you doodling ‘Mr. Joanna Fallon’ surrounded by hearts in your notebook earlier?”

  “You peeked,” he says with a fake pout.

  A wry chuckle escapes me. “Look last night was last night and this morning is this morning, and never the twain shall meet again. I like you. I do. You’re funny, you’re gorgeous, you’re decent in bed, but my life is fucked right now. Not to mention you live hundreds of miles away and I have no intention of ever, ever setting foot in this shitty city again.” I move around him to the paper towels. “But hey, if you ever find yourself in Galilee, given time, I may be up for a few laughs, who knows? Life can turn on a dime, right?”

  He studies me, eyes narrowing. “He really did a number on you, huh?”

  “Which he?” With an eyebrow raised, I turn my back on him and walk toward the door.

  “Joanna?” Bennett calls. I spin around. “Take care of yourself.”

  “No one else will, huh?” I pucker my lips in a kiss and step out. “Bye, playboy. It’s been memorable.”

  The Pendergast contingent wait for me by the elevators and don’t say a word the ride down to the lobby. There’s nothing they can say, and maybe they know me well enough to realize that. Or maybe they don’t want me to change my mind. They’ll be popping champagne when they return to Pendergast. Shannon will be ten times the deal maker I’m supposed to have been.

  We step off the elevator and through the foyer. I have so much shit to do now. Packing, selling the manor, I’m sure there’ll be a ton of paperwork needed for my resig—

  “Joanna?”

  I cringe when I hear her voice. Of course. When I spin around, Lucy’s already risen from her chair in the vast lobby. Just waiting to pounce. Lane and Shannon actually smile at Judas as she slowly begins her approach. Nope. I stride toward her to intercept. I am in no mood for this.

  “He would send you,” I hiss. “What, is he too much of a pussy to face me himself?”

  “Don’t be vulgar,” Lucy admonishes.

  “Don’t tell me what to do. Cunt.” I step in close, getting right in her face. “You. Of all people…you saw. You were there from the beginning. You had a front row seat to my agony. My misery. My guilt. And you could have stopped it all with a few words. But you didn’t. And I understand loyalty, and that he asked you to keep his secret. Again. But sometimes plain human kindness trumps loyalty. I always knew you were a cold bitch, but I never had you pegged as a cruel one.” She opens her mouth, but I don’t give her the chance. “I know, you had your reasons. I just don’t care. I’m not gonna waste a second of my time listening to them because I’ve heard them all before. From you, from Justin, even from…Jem.” My lip twitches when I say his name. “I’m done listening. I’m done. With all of you. Never speak, never contact me again. These are the last words I ever intend to speak to you, so you listen. Tell your nephew I wish I’d never met him. I wish he’d stayed dead. And if he ever comes near me, not only will I tell the world his secret, I’ll put the bastard in the ground myself. Go to hell, Lucy, and take him with you.”

  If possible my scowl deepens, and I turn on my heel, stalking past my gawking colleagues outside into the sunny fucking day without looking back. Get me the fuck out of this town. Get me—

  Halfway to the car I can’t help but notice a tall man with a beard and the hood of his jacket up staring at me. I stop walking to stare right back at the coward for a second, the hope quickly draining from his gorgeous face in time to his slumping shoulders. My eyes, my scowl, hell my every pore radiates atomic fury at that man. He must sense it—how could he not—because he takes a step back. For a moment, just a moment, he’s scared of me. The big damn hero afraid of little old me.

  He should be.

  I can’t stand to gaze at him a second longer. I turn my back on the bastard and don’t dare look back. For both our sakes. My rage could consume the city. My soul is being held together by glue and string. Perhaps I should let the bindings burn. Allow the pieces to shatter. Something that doesn’t exist can’t hurt, right? And right now mine’s in agony. Having a soul’s overrated. Hasn’t done me one bit of good. It’d be a mercy, really.

  But the world seems fresh out of that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Faith For Fools

  Home.

  A place. A word. A feeling. A person. It’s different for everyone. I’ve lived in many dwellings, had many roofs over my head, but only have had three true homes, all ripped from me by the evil men do. A thief’s bullet. A supervillain’s pride. The lies of a lover. I don’t waste a moment disassembling what remains of the last one. The always efficient Shannon worked her phone and when we landed in Galilee, my temporary digs were aired out and stocked with food while boxes and a reservation for a van tomorrow were waiting at the old. I call up to the penthouse, but there’s no answer. He’d pick up if he was there.

  When the car pulls up to my building, and I get out with a sigh. Let’s get this over with. Barry, the doorman, opens the entrance. “We, uh, put your boxes in the apartment, ma’am. Are you and Dr. Ambrose going—”

  “Just me. And tomorrow I’ll be back with the movers. Should only take an hour or so.”

  “Okay, ma’am.”

  I know he’s dying to ask what happened, but I hustle to the elevator before he can say another word. Only one person gets the whole story. He deserves it.

  “I’m sorry?” Dobbs asks.

  “I said Justin’s alive,” I say as I step into his apartment.

  Shaking his head, the old man shuts the door. “No. Miss Joanna, he—”

  “I saw him. I talked to him. He faked his death. He’s been living in Indep
endence with Lucy this whole time.”

  “No,” he chuckles. “No. He…” Dobbs stares at my stony face, his smile slowly dropping along with the rest of his wrinkled face. But after the disbelief fades, he does something odd. A giant, brilliant grin overtakes his face. “He’s alive?” Dobbs begins laughing. “Oh my God, it’s a miracle.”

  Not the response I’d anticipated. “Dobbs, he lied to us. We mourned him. Together. He allowed us to think he was dead.”

  “But he’s not! He’s alive and breathing and…nothing else matters but that, Miss Joanna. Nothing.”

  I remain silent.

  “I-I want to see him,” Dobbs continues. He turns his back on me to walk away. “I-I have to see him. He’s with Miss Helms?” he calls from his bedroom.

  My legs are suddenly made of rubber. “Yep,” I call back.

  Why the hell is my stomach churning? Because he’s leaving too. And he may not know it yet, but I do. He’s never coming back. Justin will welcome him with open arms and Dobbs will never leave them again. I’ve lost him too. Goddamn you, Justin. Godddamn you to hell. I slink away to my apartment without another word. I’m afraid of what I’ll say if I open my mouth again.

  Thank Christ there’s no one in the penthouse when I enter. The boxes rest against the couch Jem and I picked out together. Our first act as an official couple. My stomach churns again, and I have to look away. If I take too many detours down Memory Lane I’ll break down. Just get this done, Jo, and get the hell out of here.

  I collect a few boxes and start on the living room. Neither of us is that sentimental, so I don’t have tons of photos or knick knacks around. All I take are the photos of my cousins, uncle, and aunt before moving to the DVD collection. Fuck. When I come across the copy of Excalibur I snap the disk in two. I never should have invited him inside that night. I should have followed my first instinct and let him drive off. Fuck you, hindsight.