This Is Falling

by Ginger Scott

  My last great moments on earth were with you, just as I would have wanted them to be.

  Kissing you for the hundredth time is just as intoxicating as kissing you for the first.

  You will always be the only girl I want to dance with.

  I can’t believe how big your heart is, and how strong, for being able to carry me in it for so long.

  Thank you, for caring so much for my parents and for me.

  I’m proud of you, for fighting through what life handed you. It wasn’t easy, and for many it would have been impossible. But you’re a fighter, a beautiful, brilliant, funny, witty, kind and loving fighter. And the world needs you. So thank you for coming back to it.

  And it’s okay to keep me in your heart. I talked with that other guy…Nate something or other. And he doesn’t mind. Like, at all. (Okay, so he probably wouldn’t say this, but you get the point.)

  I won’t say goodbye. And you shouldn’t either. Because what we had is permanent, and goodbyes would only erase that. So instead, let’s say good beginnings. The best beginnings—first loves. I hear your second one is pretty crazy about you, too. (Yeah, that last part is totally me.)

  Yours. Forever.

  Josh

  And Nate

  Chapter 31

  Rowe

  Maybe I’d already forgiven him. But reading his words, seeing his handwriting, and knowing his touch was on that paper—scribing out every raw emotion coming straight from his heart—had me turned upside down.

  What was I giving up? I’d come so far. After two years of nothingness, somehow I’d come to this place, this place where he was, and I’d met him, gotten him to love me, and started to breathe again! I couldn’t go back to life before; I didn’t want to. This place, here on this floor, this hallway, this room and his—this was my home now. And next semester, it would be my home again. And next year, I’d find my home wherever he was, wherever Cass was, wherever my friends were. This was living. And I wanted life. Josh would have wanted it for me.

  I called Cass from the airport and left her a message, knowing she was probably already on her flight. She texted back later that night, giving me Ty’s number. And I sent Ty a text, begging him not to let Nate know. He was the only one who could help. I hoped he would have that same sense of obligation Cass had when she helped Nate.

  I had two weeks. Nate would be in Arizona right before Christmas for the Pac 12 invitational baseball tournament—an official kick-off for the season. The games were played all over Arizona at various ballparks. But I would drive—I didn’t care how far it was. I would come see him. And when I did, I would give him everything he asked for, I’d give him my heart. I loved that he was selfish for me, but I also loved that he was willing to share my heart with Josh. And as crazy as it sounds, part of me can’t help but feel that somehow Josh sent Nate to me.

  There really wasn’t a way to practice putting myself out there. I was just going to have to leap. Just like I did when I stepped out of my parents’ car months ago and hauled my things up to a dorm room a thousand miles away. I’d have to find that courage, and more, for what I wanted to do. But for Nate…for Nate, I think I can do it.

  Nate

  I’m sure she’s read the letter. Cass told Ty she gave it to her, and Ty’s been reassuring, oddly reassuring. He likes Rowe, though, so I hope he’s not just willing it all to work out. I hope he really truly believes.

  I was hoping she’d text by now though. I wanted to let her know I would be in Arizona. Maybe she found out. Maybe she’ll see it somewhere. Maybe she’s here? That’s stupid. But maybe…maybe?

  “Come on, Preet. Warm-up time,” Cash says, slapping the top of my helmet while he passes me in the locker room. I shut the locker on the rest of my gear and grab my bag of equipment, heading out through the long hallway to the field. These tournaments are the real deal, and there’s something cool about playing on a spring-training field. I can’t help but imagine being here—for real—sometime down the road.

  There’s a decent crowd outside, and the air is cold for Arizona. I guess it’s nighttime, and winter. I just always thought of Arizona as hot and dry. I pull the sleeves snug on my undershirt and pull my mask down while I drop my gear in the bullpen and then start throwing with Cash.

  I love playing catch. It sounds stupid, but this is the best part of this game. This simple act—throwing a ball back and forth with someone—it’s so numbing, and wonderful. Of course, all I can think about is Rowe, and how she’s only miles away. I should text her. No pressure, just to let her know I’m in town. Maybe she’ll want to come to a game, bring her dad. I hope he’s not angry that I told her. He seemed to understand when I called to tell him she was coming home. Okay, maybe playing catch sucks—because all it does is give you time to think.

  Cash and I are warm after about fifteen minutes, and then I pull the spare gear from my bag for the bullpen catcher and head back to the dugout with him. Ty’s coming, but not until tomorrow, and it feels weird to play a game completely on my own. My brother hasn’t missed many, and I like it when he’s here.

  We’re playing Washington. They’re good. But we’re better. There are a lot of scouts in the stands. They come early, before spring training, and they like watching these tournaments. I’m not expecting anything, but I just hope I make an impression. I’d like to be on their list, someone they’ll remember when they come to watch next year or the year after.

  “Mister, mister,” I hear a kid’s voice say, and when I look down, I see him pulling on the leg of my pants. He has curly blond hair and a McConnell baseball hat is mashing most of it down. I kneel down and pull my mask off to look at him, and he’s holding a pen and a ball. “Can I get your autograph?”

  “Sure,” I say, unable to hide the smile this puts on my face. This is the first time anyone has ever asked for me to sign a ball. This is awesome. I write my name, clearly, and my number and hand the pen and ball back to the kid. He tucks it in his back pocket so it sticks out, and it makes me chuckle. He hangs around our dugout for a few minutes until someone official-looking comes to get him and leads him over to the home plate area. He must be throwing out the first pitch, or yelling “Play ball!” or something.

  The rest of the team finishes warming, and soon the dugout is crowded. Gum is popping and seed shells are being spit everywhere. The announcer goes through the lineups, and there’s enough of a crowd here that there’s actually applause. I wonder if anyone travelled from McConnell for this? I bet it’s mostly boosters or alumni. Once they get through the announcements, everyone climbs the steps, and we all take our spot on the third base line, caps held to our chests, my mask held to mine.

  The music fires up, and I expect the same recording of the Star Spangled Banner that I hear every game. But tournaments must be special, because after the flowery intro, someone starts to sing.

  She starts to sing. I know it the minute the first word leaves her lips. I would know that voice anywhere. It’s the voice I imagine when I’m going to sleep every night, and the one I listened to silently, hiding in the dark, while she sang in the shower when she thought no one was there to hear her.

  Rowe is singing. In front of at least two thousand people…maybe three. And she’s not missing a beat. She’s hitting every note, and it’s perfect and beautiful…and she’s here, within reach—touchable. The longer the song goes, the more I can hear her nerves coming through, but she keeps going, her voice just as pretty as the first note, just not as strong. If I knew I wouldn’t get booed for interrupting the ultimate act of patriotism, I would break formation and run to her right now, but I wait.

  When the second verse hits, the video screen switches from a slideshow of fireworks to her—it’s her! She’s holding one arm around her waist and the other hand is clutching the mic, her eyes closed, just trying to survive this. I can’t believe she’s doing this, and I know how hard it is for her. This is light years ahead of what she thought she was capable of, and she’s doing it for me. I feel C
ash lean into me at my side, and when I look to him, his eyebrows raise.

  “That’s your girl, right?” he whispers.

  “Yeah…that’s my girl,” I whisper back, rapping my mask against my leg just waiting for the song to finish so I can run to her. Her hair is long and wavy, tucked under a McConnell headband, and she’s wearing jeans and a McConnell sweatshirt…mine! Ty! Ty must be here. He’s the only one who could have given that to her. I turn my head without fully looking, and I can see him by the dugout.

  Our national anthem is long. I mean, like, stupid long. I’m sure Rowe is thinking the same damned thing right now as her voice quivers for those last few lines. The crowd can feel her losing her nerve, and everybody starts to join in, even the guys standing next to me. As soon as she’s done, as soon the word brave ends and there are no more syllables for her to sing, I drop my mask and I run.

  It takes a while for the crowd to notice what’s happening, but when I get closer to her, a few people start to cheer. Her arms are trembling, and she hands the mic back to a guy wearing a shirt and tie, and she looks like she wants to pass out. She doesn’t see me coming until the last second, and when she turns to me, her eyes grow wide and she bites at her bottom lip. I don’t give her a chance to explain—I don’t waste another second. I cup her face in my hands and pull her to me, kissing her so hard that I have to bend her backward and hold the arch of her back in one hand.

  The cheers are unmistakable now, and there’s whistling, too—lots of whistling. But Rowe just grabs my face, clinging to me, her hands making their way into my hair as her kiss grows stronger and deeper. After several long seconds, I finally break—because we both need air, and I’m pretty sure any longer will earn my team a delay of game.

  “You’re here,” I say, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “That was some letter,” she says, her lower lip once again finding its way between her teeth.

  “I meant every word,” I say, looking her right in the eyes, making sure she understands. “There’s room enough for both of us. And I’m willing to share.”

  “I know,” she says, standing up on the tips of her toes, and pressing her lips to mine, her hands soft on either side of my face. “And thank you…for understanding how Josh fits in my life. He’ll always be important to me,” she pauses, her fingers flirting with mine while she thinks. “But…I really think he’d want me to give this,” she says, putting her hand flat on her chest, small tears forming in her eyes, “to you. You have it all—I just needed an angel to tell me I was ready.”

  I hug her once more. I hug her because telling her I love her and saying thank you isn’t enough. And I hold her tightly, because it’s been too long, and because I want more, but for the next three hours this will have to be enough.

  “I came here with your brother,” she says, stepping back, but leaving her fingers locked with mine. “And my dad. You know, more swing analyzing,” she winks, and I’m done. I love her; I love her so fucking hard.

  “Right, well…maybe when we’re done going over my swing we can play back that recording. You know, look for those parts where you’re a little pitchy,” I wince, playing it off seriously, but she just jabs me in the ribs under the catcher’s guard, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Screw that. I wasn’t pitchy, you ass,” she says, her eyes glaring a challenge. She wins, of course. She always wins. I’d paint my whole damned house pink, and run up the white flag if she asked, she has me so wrapped around her finger.

  “No, you weren’t pitchy. You were perfect,” I say, kissing her quickly one more time before I have to rejoin my team.

  “I’m not perfect, Nate. I’m a work-in-progress. But this is me…this is me, trying,” she says, our fingers dropping apart as I back away. I smile and turn, just letting her think she’s right. But she’s already perfect. She was perfect the moment I laid eyes on her—perfect for me.

  THE END

  Don’t miss Ty and Cass’s story in book 2 in the Falling Series!

  Here’s a little sneak peek at YOU AND EVERYTHING AFTER, coming late 2014!

  Prologue

  Ty

  Here’s the thing about a really good dream. No matter how hard you try to stay in it—eyes closed, hands gripping the sheets, face pressed deep into the coolness of your pillow—you always wake up.

  Always.

  My dreams are always the same. I can feel the pull of the bat in my hands, swinging it around my entire body, the pressure on my thighs as I push my weight back on my right leg, my hips twisting, the bat cracking against the ball. Then I’m running. I’m really running.

  I can feel it all.

  Sometimes, when I can hold on long enough, Kelly is there after I round the bases. I feel her weight in my arms, her hands along my ribs, reaching around my back as she curls her legs up around my body and I lift her. It’s all so effortless. I kiss her, carry her, touch her—breathe her in.

  And then it all just stops.

  The buzzing of the alarm is harsh, everything about my now a painful contrast against the dream I was just forcefully removed from. I spend the next few minutes grieving. I have to get it all out of the way here and now, because I can’t make my goddamned useless legs anyone else’s burden. And I have to get up. I have to pack and get my ass on a plane back to Louisiana to make sure my brother follows through with college. I know if I go where he goes, we’ll both make it through—through life.

  He doesn’t know this, but I need him, probably more than he needs me. But I’m the strong one. And Nate’s the gifted one with the big heart. That’s our roles in life; I was crowned at birth by being born first. I take care of Nate, no matter what. Even if I’m fucked up and broken.

  “Hey, you’re awake.” I barely register the half-naked brunette exiting my bathroom. It’s all a bit of a fog. There was a party, and there were a lot of underclassmen there, and I remember the flirting. Huh—I must have been charming last night.

  I force my typical smile to my face and push my body up so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in my sheets. Reaching for the T-shirt half hanging from my dresser’s top drawer, I indulge in a quick glance at the back of her naked body while she’s facing the other way. She’s hot. Super hot. But she’s not my type. Nobody is.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” I hate calling chicks that, but I have no idea what her name is. “Thanks for last night, and I hate to be a dick, but…I gotta go,” I say as I pull myself up to the chair and bend forward to grab my jeans.

  “I know, you told me. ‘You don’t do girlfriends’,” she says, making air quotes with her fingers. Good, glad I was with it enough to have that conversation with her before anything else. “You planning on coming back to Florida next semester though?”

  And there it is. She knows my deal, we had the conversation—but they always want more. “Sweetheart,” I say, her name’s still a total blank. “I’m probably never coming back to Florida again. And if I do, it will be in my private jet as CEO. Now, I have a flight to catch in just a few hours, and that towel you’re in? I need to pack that. So…”

  She looks like she wants to punch me, and I don’t blame her. But I never make any promises I can’t keep. I’m on the hook for too many promises as it is. Promises to my parents to “be strong for my brother” and to “do something big despite my disability.” I’m good at playing strong—sometimes I even believe it myself. But other times…hell, I’m just fuckin’ tired.

  “In case you change your mind,” she says, handing me the corner of some paper she just ripped from one of my magazines. What the hell? I turn it over and see her number and, ah…that’s right—Beth.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I say and toss it in the trash right in front of her. That pretty much seals the deal, and she’s gone seconds later, giving me the finger on her way out. I deserve that. I probably deserve a lot worse. But Beth is better off without me, and as selfish as it sounds, I need to keep all of my en
ergy in reserve to get through the things I want in my life. I don’t have the capacity to share with anyone else. I lost that the moment I dove off that cliff.

  Finally alone, I stop everything for a few minutes, pushing myself to the window so I can watch everyone going about their lives outside. Pressing my forehead to the windowpane, I watch a couple say goodbye; the guy picks the chick up and swings her around, and then they kiss like they’re in love. You can tell the difference. My kisses are all about using and avoiding. They’re great in the moment, but I don’t taste anything, except maybe vodka or Tequila or, sometimes, smoke. I don’t feel anything, other than my need to get off. But that kiss—the one happening two stories down from my window—is so foreign. It’s about love and happiness and the future.

  My phone buzzes on the bed, so I snap myself out of my torture and put on my mask. It’s Nate. “What’s up, man?”

  “Hey, I’m picking you up from the airport. Parents are staying put,” he says. “Anything special you want since you’re getting in late?”

  “Yeah, to hit the strip club on our way home,” I say, half kidding.

  “Right, so a bunch of singles then. Got it,” he says, without even as much as a laugh. We’re playing this straight, like we always do. I love my brother. He’s my best friend. But Nate’s not strong enough to bear the weight of everything that happened to me, so I finish making plans with him on the phone, and when I hang up, I spend the next two hours packing the rest of my things, a job that would take anyone else fifteen minutes.

  Before I leave, I push myself back to the window to watch my life that should have been happen outside, but only for few more seconds. With the heaviest bag on my lap and the roller behind me, I make my way to the hallway and ask another student to help me wheel the roller to the taxi out front. Once the door is shut and we’re on our way to the airport, I forget it all—the dream, the scene out my window, the last four years at Florida State; it’s all meaningless. And so is everything that’s to come. I’m just going through the motions. You know…being strong.