Break My Fall (The Breaking Trilogy Book 1)

by M. Mabie

  “Ted!” Dori shouted. “You’re drunk. You know better than that. Watch your mouth.”

  “I’m just asking.” He flicked his cigarette at my feet.

  I’d seen him with a bellyful before, and I had to remember they’d once lived through it too. It was sensitive and complicated.

  “Ted, I respect that woman in there, but she doesn’t see Lancaster for what it is yet. She doesn’t know it’s a cult.” Ashley had snuck back out, probably after hearing her mom yell at her dad, and stood behind Chris, who was keeping his mouth shut for once.

  “Where’s Myra?” I asked. I didn’t want her to overhear the arguing.

  “In the bathroom,” she answered.

  “When are you planning on telling her, Abe? When there’s finally a news story about that new academy they’re so proud of? More like a prison for kids, God only knows what they’re doing there to those children.” He leaned forward, waving his arms. “Hell, maybe you’ll wait until something comes out about that Newmecula place I heard about. I hear they’re pumping that place with young women from all over the country. You think that’s on the up and up?”

  “Okay, big boy. It’s time for us to go,” Dori said. She offered me a smile. She mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  But I agreed with everything he said. Lancaster and Newmecula were all of that and probably worse.

  Dori and Ashley each grabbed one of his hands and helped him out of his chair. “If you respect her so much, then have you taken her to see a doctor? Made sure she’s healthy? Made sure they didn’t hurt her? Made sure she knows about birth control? Or are you just another piece of shit willing to trap her.”

  Dori’s hand made a crack when it connected with his face. “That. Is. Enough. Theodor Grier. You know Abe better than that. Apologize.”

  Stunned in the firelight, he looked into his wife’s eyes and his chin quivered. “You know what they do to girls. What they do to boys.” His voice got low. “You know, Dori. You know.”

  She rubbed the place where she’d hit him and evened her tone. “That’s our Abe, sweetheart. He’s not them. Let’s go home.”

  Ashley’s hand was over her mouth, Chris’s jaw hung open, and I felt the same. There were horrors about that place that even I couldn’t fathom. The nightmare was different for all of us, and apparently more evil for Ted than I ever knew.

  As the older couple walked out the of the fence, Ted repeated over and over. “I’m sorry.”

  Chris turned to his wife. “Baby, are you okay?” When he stood, she buried her head in his chest, facing me. “I didn’t know about that. He’s never said any of that before.” Tears fell over her cheeks.

  He rubbed her back, whispering, “Shhh. He’s okay now.”

  It was time to go. “I’m going to get Myra, and we’re going to take off.”

  Chris nodded, holding her.

  When I entered the back door, I expected to find Myra looking at something in their living room. Pictures or Ashley’s collection of concert tickets she had framed on the wall, but she wasn’t there.

  And she wasn’t in the baby’s room.

  And she wasn’t in the bathroom.

  She wasn’t downstairs or out front, but neither was my truck.

  My girl was gone.

  43

  Abe

  Dear God,

  Please help me.

  I thought I was doing the right things. I thought I was helping her. I thought I’d rescued her. But she was rescuing me, Lord.

  I don’t know where she is or if she’s safe. She isn’t answering her phone, and she’s been gone all night. The police said they won’t look for her yet. Not for hours, but it’s already been eight hours, and I’m losing my mind.

  Bring her back. Please. Just bring her back to me.

  GOD,

  She’s been gone a whole day, but the police say she’s not missing. How can that be? She is missing. Missing from our bed. Missing from our cabin. Missing from my world and I hate it.

  If she left because of something I said or did, please speak to her heart and have her let me explain. I won’t trap her. I won’t keep her if she would rather be somewhere else, but I need to know she’s safe.

  I need to know she’s okay because I’m losing it here. I thought she’d come back by now.

  Why hasn’t she called me? Why isn’t she replying to my messages? Tell her I’m sorry and that I’ll tell her everything. That I’ll do anything.

  I want her back.

  DEAR GOD,

  You know my father is evil, and I don’t want to call him, but I can’t go another night in that bed wondering where she is. I can’t sleep or eat or think straight.

  I miss her.

  I need her.

  Why would you bring her into my life and make me care about her so much just to take her away?

  What if she’s hurt? They haven’t seen my truck. What if it’s in a ditch I haven’t looked in?

  Please. I’m begging. Please help me.

  MY HAND SHOOK WHILE the line rang. I hadn’t eaten or slept in two whole days.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s Abraham. Where’s my wife?”

  “She’s not with you?” I wasn’t in the mood for rhetorical games. When I didn’t answer, he said. “Abraham, it’s a shame you can’t control your helpmeet. You should call Matthew. They talk a lot.”

  Continue Abe and Myra’s story, October 16th, in BREAK ME DOWN. Click here to preorder.

  And while you wait for Break Me Down, keep reading for a short sample of Roots and Wings, a small-town stand-alone romance in my City Limits series.

  A Preview of ROOTS AND WINGS

  Suddenly, I was a bachelor in an unfamiliar town with a money pit of a house, a truck that wouldn’t run, and a new job. Yet, all could think about was Mutt, or at least that’s what they called her.

  To me, she was gorgeous and witty ... and perfect. She knew more duty than desire, more perseverance than passion, and more acquaintance than affection, but here was no way I’d ever want to change her. In fact, I was dying to show her the life she'd been missing, but first she'd have to trust me enough to tell me her real name.

  I wanted to plant roots, but I refused to clip her wings. Not when she was everything I’d been looking for and all the home I’d ever need.

  Roots and Wings is a standalone contemporary romance. If you're looking for a good time, then you're come to the right place. Welcome to Wynne.

  Chapter One

  MUTT

  Few things were certain around O’Fallon’s Service and Tire. Kenny didn’t really work there, but he was there enough. Be careful what you eat in the break room. The week before I’d found some leftover cake, and, sure enough, it was harder than a wedding night dick. And last, when we did the fifteen-minute oil changes for fifteen bucks, that garage would be asshole to elbow all day.

  Dad had done that promotion once a year for twenty years, which happened to be every year he’d owned the place.

  It was our family business. That was, if two people could make up a whole family. I guessed families were all different shapes and sizes, and since Grandpa passed away, it had only been Dad and me.

  Oh, and Dean.

  He wasn’t really family, but he’d worked there since we were in high school. And, honestly, who the hell wasn’t family somewhere down the line around Wynne?

  Dad and Dean worked the shop and I ran the desk—unless they needed the help, but most of the time it was pretty slow and easy to manage.

  Not that day.

  There was a line out the door and cars parked along the road, waiting. All there to get their oil changed for fifteen bucks.

  I wadded my thick, long brown hair up into a knot on the top of my head as I heard my dad exclaim from the garage.

  “Twenty, Mutt! We’re on a roll today, kid. Make sure they all keep pulling in.”

  Oh, yeah. My name’s Mutt. Not my given name, but, ask anyone who Darrell O’Fallon’s daughter is—ten to one—they�
�ll say Mutt. My grandpa—God rest his bastard soul—called me that from the day I was born.

  Sometimes it drove me nuts growing up. I’m used to it now; I don’t think my mom liked that very much, but she didn’t stick around long enough to do anything about it either. She left when I was two months old.

  No Dear John letter.

  No phone calls.

  Just gone.

  My grandpa called me Mutt because apparently my mom was the town bike. Every town had one, and she was theirs.

  Among everyone else who had a go at her, my dad ended up getting the longest ride.

  He loved her. To tell you the truth, I thought he still did.

  This one time I asked my grandpa about my name and he told me flat-out: “Your mom was a whore, Mutt. You could be anybody’s kid. You could be made up with anybody.” I never forgot that, and thought about it a lot more whenever I’d consider dating someone.

  First, what if we were related? Ew. No.

  Second, who would want to bring a Mutt home to Sunday dinner? Not many.

  So most of the time, I decided, better not.

  That was the only time I saw my dad raise a fist. He knocked out three of Grandpa’s teeth that morning. Then he made me scrambled eggs and told me to not pay him any attention.

  Don’t worry. They were false anyway, so I guess there was no real harm done.

  It wasn’t like Grandpa had a lot of room to talk. His last wife had run off with some guy she met at a casino. That’s why he was stuck there living with us.

  Most people would say I was kind of a tomboy, growing up with only a dad and an asshole grandpa to show me the ropes. I didn’t really give a shit. In my experience, people said whatever the hell they wanted to anyway. My name was the perfect example of that.

  Anyway, I’m not done yet, despite how hungry I was on fifteen-minute oil change day, I was having a pretty damn good Saturday.

  Wynne was a small town on the river and we had a great lake nearby, too. Sure there was no mall or movie theaters, but if you wanted to catch wall-mount worthy trout or a largemouth bass, you were in the right spot.

  Dad’s oil change promo was going great, but what was shocking me was how many spinners and lures I’d sold.

  I’d made them all myself and was about to sell my last one.

  “Mutt, honey, those sumbitches bit on every cast. I’m taking the rest you’ve got here,” said Mr. Walton to me from the other side of the counter, slapping a twenty down on the linoleum top.

  I should have been charging more.

  A few days back, I’d set up the little display with the fifty or so I had on hand, and at five bucks each, I sold out too easily.

  I wasn’t complaining. I loved making them.

  But Mr. Walton was right.

  Those sumbitches did work.

  The past Thursday evening, I’d caught a two-pound bass off my dock in only about ten minutes. That’s called working right there.

  “I’m glad you liked them. Which one did you use?”

  “The blue and yellow one. You got any more of those?”

  “No, but I can make a few up for you.”

  “I’ll take ‘em, by God. Make me ten of ‘em.”

  “All right, I’ll call you when I have them ready. Is that all you need?” I asked. He’d just been in a few days before getting new brakes and tires put on.

  “Oh I’m fine, I just thought I’d come settle up from last week. Your dad’s probably just been busy, but we never got our ticket in the mail like we usually do.”

  That was odd. My dad was always meticulous about his billing. Although primitive, his system was foolproof.

  In Wynne, everyone knew everyone. They’d drop their vehicles off, and then come pick them up whenever. Keys in the visor.

  Dad always sent out invoice tickets on Mondays, and Mr. Walton had been in the past Friday.

  “Sorry about that. Let me look real quick.” I left him at the counter and ran into the small office. In the old wooden chair, I sat down and spun around to the cabinet where he kept all the past week’s tickets and found it full. I pulled the folder out and opened it, seeing Mr. Walton’s ticket about a third of the way down.

  Had none of these been sent out?

  I knew he was waiting for me, so I didn’t want to spend too much time going through it all, but shit, there was a lot. I quickly looked at the ticket on the bottom and it was from almost a month ago.

  “Hey, Mutt,” Dean said from the doorway, the office was only big enough for one person. “Can you call and check on the parts order? Your dad says we should have more filters, but I can’t find them. I hope he’s got more coming in.”

  Shit.

  “Yeah, I’ll call, but I doubt they’re open now. Do you have enough for today?”

  “I don’t know. We still have about ten cars out there.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Call down to Dub’s and see if they have any to get us by.”

  Dub’s was the other automotive repair place in town. There wasn’t really any competition though, since there was enough work to go around. Always had been.

  Dad and Dub even worked here together for a while, but they didn’t have enough space. Dub opened his own shop about three years after Dad bought his. They’d been best friends all my life. He even came by earlier to get a free hot dog and Pepsi.

  “Thanks, he probably forgot. I tell ya, the old man’s mind is not what it used to be.”

  It was true. My dad would never hit the Guinness book for highest IQ, but that had been just another thing he’d slacked on.

  “Mr. Walton, here’s your invoice. He didn’t get it out yet. Sorry for the trouble. Do you want to pay it now? It’s $745.00.”

  “Sure, honey, let me go get my rubber checks out of the truck,” he said, winking at me. I think I’d heard that recycled joke told once a week for the past ten years.

  I peeked into the garage and caught Dean hanging up the shop phone. He gave me a thumbs up, then motioned for the next car to pull in.

  What would we do without Dean?

  He was like the brother I never had, and Dad was like the father Dean never had. You could say Dean’s story and mine were similar. Me with no mom. Him with no dad. Since his mom had passed a few years back, he had no mom either. We were pretty much his only family.

  I walked over to my old man, his head grease streaked and his hands moving as fast as they ever did.

  “Twenty-two, Mutt. I think we’re going to beat last year’s twenty-eight.” Pride was shining in his aging brown eyes. He loved what he did.

  Then he teased Dean, “If that slacker would pick up the pace we could damn near hit forty, I bet.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re going to owe Dub a case of beer. You forgot to get oil filters this week. He’s on his way up. This is the last one on the shelf,” Dead fired back.

  My dad stopped and looked at him like a coonhound with three dicks, but it wasn’t Dean who was wrong. Judging by the stack of unpaid invoices, I had to start taking on a little bit more of the responsibilities around there.

  “Didn’t we order those?” Then he scratched his face and went on about his business.

  “I’ll call them on Monday and see. Maybe they left them off the truck or something? Don’t worry about it,” I said and kicked his work boot. “You’ve got a line out there. Get your old ass in gear.”

  He rolled his eyes at me and went back to work.

  Dean and my dad beat their record. Thirty-three oil changes in less than fifteen minutes, start to finish. They drank a few beers as they cleaned up the shop for the evening and called in some tenderloins for us at Diana’s, the local diner across the street. We were all hungry and one of her tenderloins could practically feed a whole family. They were plate-sized and you needed three buns.

  “Hey, we’re walking across the street to eat, you coming?” my dad finally asked a little later.

  I looked at the clock. It was seven and I knew she’d be closing up
the kitchen soon, but I needed to take a better look at those tickets. I had my work cut out for me. It was either going to take all night or all the next day, and paperwork was the last thing I wanted to do on Sunday.

  It was supposed to rain a little, but that was fine. I needed to get a jump-start on making more lures. The extra money was going to be nice, and they were selling better than I ever dreamed.

  “Nah, you guys go eat while they’re hot. Tell Diana I’ll be over there before she takes off. I’m going to settle this register and clean up. You two go.” My dad ran a hand over my back and kissed the top of my head.

  “Hey, how many did you sell today?”

  I smiled, knowing he’d be just as excited as I was.

  “All of them.”

  “No shit, Mutt? Hell, you’ll be setting up a tackle shop next. Just you watch. Good job, kid.” It was nice having someone notice how well they were doing, but, then again, he was my dad.

  “Your old man’s gonna go eat, then I’m hitting the sack. These old bones are tired.” He winked at me as he slapped off the lights to the shop. “Love you, Mutt.”

  “Love you, too, Dad. See you in the morning.”

  It didn’t take me five minutes to get the register in order, and then I went through the pile of invoices in the folder. There was almost ten thousand dollars’ worth of billing in there. I sorted them and decided I’d come back the next morning to finish up.

  I was starving and didn’t want Diana waiting on me so she could go home. She would, too, if she saw the light in the shop. Hell, if it weren’t for her, I would have starved by age three.

  I closed up the building for the night and walked across the street. Teenagers were cruising, people were filing into Sally’s—one of the two bars in town—and it was a normal, small-town Saturday night.

  I stepped up to the brick front of Diana’s, and just as I was opening the door I heard a man say, “Shit,” from the vehicle parked nearby. I guess I wasn’t the only one having a long day. Minding my own business, I stepped into the diner.