by Rebel Farris
“Goddammit, Maddie.” He turned to face me. “What do you want me to say? What do I need to do? I can’t hate you or get angry with you because this is my fault. I can hate the situation, and I do. There’s just nothing that can be done about it. You’re not ready for it.”
“What if I’m never ready? What, then? Because it’s always lingering in the back of my mind that what I went through with you was worse. I can’t do that again. In fact, I’m thinking I may just decide to be celibate at least until the girls are out of the house. Fuck all you men—your stupid drama and mind games. Men fucking suck from where I’m sitting.”
He chuckled, his clear blue eyes sparkling with mirth. It reminded me of the first night we met, back when he let me in on his apple juice secret. When we joked about cars, horror novels, and the charisma of his guitar skills. The lighthearted charm and easy conversation that drew me to him was still there.
“I’ll wait,” he said. “You won’t feel like that forever. And believe it or not, to me, you’re worth it. All of this.”
My heart fluttered in my chest at his words. Stupid fucking traitorous heart. I crossed my arms over my chest and began to scan the park for the girls. I didn’t see them.
“Do you see the girls?” I asked.
“They were right there on the swings, dammit. I only took my eyes off them for a second.”
My heart raced as we both got up and walked in opposite directions on the path that circled the big jungle gym. Blood thundered in my ears, muting the laughter of children and the chatter of parents. Dread tensed up my muscles as I scanned the faces of every child and didn’t recognize one. Oh, God.
When I turned the corner, I saw Cora and Cat barreling toward me with huge grins on their faces. I almost collapsed. They stopped right in front of me.
“Mommy, look what that man gave us. Aren’t they pretty?” Cat held out her little fist, and my heart stopped.
I could feel the blood drain from my face as she and Cora showed me the single red calla lilies they each held. Searching the faces of the crowd, I didn’t recognize anyone. Some played with their children; a few sat chatting on the short walls around the playground or on the nearby benches. People picnicked at nearby tables. I caught sight of a man in a green T-shirt watching me, and I held his stare until a kid came down the slide in front of him. He lifted the giggling child in the air. Nothing and no one looked out of place.
My chest squeezed, stealing my breath.
“What man?” I gripped her shoulders. “Who gave that to you?”
“I don’t know.” Cat shrugged. “He was nice. Said he’d been wanting to meet us for a while.”
“Cat, show me who he is!” I demanded, panic overtaking rational thought.
“Mommy, why’re you getting mad?” she said as her chin started to tremble and tears welled in her eyes.
“I’m not mad, baby.” I tried to calm my voice. “I just want to meet the man who gave you the flowers.”
“You found them,” Jared said, walking up to us. One look at me and his demeanor shifted from relief to concern. “What happened?”
Tears swam in my eyes, making the world blurry. “Have you been leaving me these flowers?”
He looked down at the flowers clutched in the girls’ hands, and I could see the recognition bloom in his features.
“I haven’t given you those since high school.”
“Oh, my God,” I gasped. I felt faint.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Jared pulled me up from my crouched position and forced me to a nearby bench. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Mommy doesn’t like the flowers the man gave us,” Cat answered for me.
“I’ve been getting flowers like that, just single red calla lilies, since the night I got back from Germany. I thought they were from you, that you had Nic put one in my room. He had my keys. And when we had that fight months ago, there was one on my bed at the house. Cat says the man that gave her that said he’s been wanting to meet them for a long time.” My body started shaking uncontrollably.
“I’m calling the cops. Plus, you may need an ambulance. I think you’re going into shock. I’ve seen the guys in the field do this.” Concern laced his voice as he dialed his phone.
Was I going into shock? My fingers were starting to feel numb. Someone had been in my room. Someone had been following me. And that someone now had face-to-face alone time with my girls. I couldn’t think straight. My vision began to blur and dim. Why? The question kept repeating in my head. The violation made me feel sick as it sank in, permeating my bones.
Now
The hallway seems to stretch out before me as I leave Bridget’s office and walk back toward mine. Everyone is busy working, so no one pays me any mind as I pass by. When I get next to Chloe’s desk outside my door, I’m reminded that she and Evan are gone. My heart pangs in my chest.
This day fucking sucks.
She lied. He lied. Hell, I’ve lied. Well, I haven’t lied so much as omit the truth. Which isn’t lying. Or perhaps it is. I don’t fucking know anymore. I feel like the whole world is upside-down right now.
I look over into the office next to mine. Nate is sitting behind his desk, talking on the phone. Shit. I need to be working, too. There are things that need to be done. As I look back at the door to my office, it seems dark with the blinds shut. I know I’m stalling, so I take a deep breath and open the door.
The lights are off, but with two full walls of windows, the office is filled with gray light from the overcast day outside. I scan the room and find Dex, sitting in my desk chair behind my desk. My computer is in front of him, and he’s staring at it. He doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks the opposite of happy.
Why the fuck didn’t I think to shut down my computer before I left?
After a moment, his eyes move to me and he pins me with his gaze. He doesn’t move, but a muscle in his jaw ticks as we both freeze. An impasse.
His voice breaks the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because I didn’t want you to know about it. I’ve no intention of handing that over to the police.”
“Why?” he asks.
“I’d think that answer obvious, don’t you?”
“That would explain why you don’t want to hand it over to Martinez, but not me. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“I’d think that answer obvious, too.” I raise a brow.
He nods and steeples his hands in front of him. His elbows rest on the arms of my desk chair. His eyes burn holes through me.
The pressure in my chest feels like it’s too much. I grip the end of the rubber band and pull on it. It snaps off my wrist. I look down at it. Broken. That’s how I feel at the moment. Tears well in my eyes.
“What do I gotta do to make you trust me, Maddie?”
“Well, it’s definitely not feeding me your cover story, that’s for sure.”
“That’s what you think happened last night?”
“What the fuck else was it? You said it yourself in the car. That file’s easily accessible. It’s part of your cover. How in the fuck is telling me any of that supposed to make me trust you?”
“Because not all of that is my cover story. I’ve never told anyone but you, about my parents. You and Marcus are the only ones who know. And he was around back then. You’re the only one I’ve trusted with that story.”
“Fine, then what about the rest of it? The investigation? What’re you doing here with me? What’s this doing to help anything? Are you any closer to identifying my stalker? Do you have any answers? Because where I’m standing, it looks like the only person you’re investigating is me.”
He stands and starts toward me.
A sob catches in my throat as I hold a hand up to ward him off. “I don’t even know if I can hear your excuses. What am I supposed to believe? You turned me down the first time I offered you sex, and then magically, one of your buddies in blue shows up th
e next time we’re together at the park. I know you’re not a prostitute; sleeping with me is not part of the job description. Isn’t it likely that it’s never happened because you’re not what you’re pretending to be? How am I supposed to trust what’s real anymore if all I’ve got are the words of a professional liar to rely on? Do you get that at all? Do you even understand what’s at stake for me?”
I run out of air and drag in an audible gulp. Silence builds between us.
“You’re right,” he says somberly. “I was assigned to build a case against you. If there was one to build. But I’ve already told you multiple times that I don’t think you did it. You’re not a killer, Maddie.”
“You should leave,” I say, so damn sick and fucking tired of everything.
“I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this. Not after you sent Evan away.”
“What the fuck do you care?” I spit the words at him. My anger gives me steady footing once more.
“What do you want me to say? You just told me you’re not going to believe me. How many times do I gotta say it? I’m here for you. I want to protect you. I’m telling you now, I’m not leaving your side. Not when you’re getting videos like that. Tell me what I need to say.”
“I don’t think there’s anything you can say.”
“So what? You’re gonna take the word of your fucking stalker over mine?”
“That’s not what this is, and you know it. Nothing here is that simple.” I gesture back and forth between us.
He reaches behind his back and pulls out his gun.
I take a step back, my eyes darting for the door.
“Stop,” he says. He’s holding the gun, but the grip is facing toward me. He takes two strides until he’s in front of me and puts the gun in my hand. “I’ve looked at your file. I’ve seen all the evidence. I know you didn’t kill him. I’m not trying to build a case against you. Believe me, if I thought you were capable of killing anyone, I wouldn’t put a gun in your hands.”
With the gun in my hands, my arms start to tremble and tears flood my eyes.
“I trust you with my life, with my daughter. And I never thought I’d say this to anyone, but I trust you with my heart. Because I’ve fallen for you, Maddie.”
My knees buckle and hit the floor. I lay the gun at his feet as all the fight drains out of me.
“You shouldn’t trust me,” I mumble. I can’t see him clearly through the wash of tears in my eyes.
He bends down so he is eye level with me.
“Because I killed the father of my children. I killed Jared.”
To be continued in Pivot Line…
Welcome to the Back of Book Shit, aka the BoBS. This is the part of the book where I tell you some of the backstories to my books.
Where to fucking begin… I’m sitting here, writing this while on a ton of drugs after massively injuring my back, so you’ll have to forgive me if this just comes out as a garbled, repetitive mess.
I really can’t believe I’m doing this. That I’m finally sending this book off to the formatter, so I can publish it for you guys. This has been a long road for sure.
So, you’ve finished reading my first book, and at this point, you either love me or hate me. I don’t think there is really an in-between reaction. That cliffhanger, right? But fear not, book two is coming your way awfully fast, and it will be worth it. I promise.
The Falling Small Duet truly started out as a one book concept, but after writing the entirety of the past timeline and the first half of the present timeline, I knew this story was going to be long. At that point, it was already over 140k words. Too long for one book, but I finished writing it and started posting chapters. And with every bit of feedback, it was always—add more. More words to an already long story, which everyone who read it described as fast-paced. Currently, the combined word count is over 200k. That’s longer than Gone With the Wind, a notoriously long book.
So, it had to be done. I had to break it into two. I’m sorry—but I’m not sorry because this story is so worth it. Every word had to be written, every piece of this story had to be told. I love this story with every fiber of my being. And if you loved False Start, you’re absolutely going to flip for Pivot Line. Maddie’s story starts with a whimper and goes out with a bang. Prepare yourselves.
All the feels—that’s what I aim for. I want you to laugh, to cry, to sit on the edge of your seat, to fall in love, to get turned on, to get angry, and yes, to even want to toss my book across your room in frustration. You probably did when you read that last line. And I cannot be held responsible for damaged kindles, iPads, or other eReaders.
Though technically, False Start isn’t my first book. About five years ago, I wrote a book. It was supposed to be a YA fantasy novel based on a shit ton of mythological and scientific references. I wrote it. It wasn’t YA. I couldn’t keep my main chick from screwing people.
It happens.
And the main love interest never had an arc. I enjoyed writing it, I still love parts of it, but I don’t even know where to begin with fixing it. Nevertheless, I decided that I would try again. But in my research for how to write better, I kept hearing the same thing over and over—read.
So, I read. I read 600 books (almost 700 to date) before I decided it was time to attempt to write this book. The idea of Falling Small came to me as a mishmash of events that were happening in my life at the time.
I was living in Seoul, South Korea, on the Yongsan military base. We lived in such close quarters with so many families, it was hard not to know what was going on in everyone’s life. And military life has its challenges. I couldn’t work, so I bided my time skating for the Republic of Korea Derby team and learning to play the guitar.
When we left Korea, my husband was getting out of the army, and we had to move back to Texas since we are originally from Houston. But I had this story that was dying to get out, and it was about a musician and derby girl. Austin is the Live Music Capital of the World and the birthplace of modern roller derby, it just made sense to set the story there. So, we actually moved to Austin just so I could write a book that was set here. This story is kind of a sort of twisted love letter to Austin, in a way, taking what it’s famous for, mixed with all the things I’ve come to love about living here.
There was so much research that went into this book—the whole series in fact. I’m apparently a weirdly hands-on author that has to experience things to write about them. Well, most of the time. I’ve failed to find a Black Mask Society, but if anyone has leads—be sure to let me know. I did, however, train in jujitsu, boxing, and krav maga, and I somewhat learned to play the guitar. I really suck at it, but we can’t win them all, right?
I sat with musicians to learn how they collaborate and write songs. I toured recording studios, live music venues, drove through neighborhoods, imagining where my characters would live, what their lives would look like… and it still took me two years before I decided that it was time to write the book. I had read enough to know what kind of stories I liked, what kind of characters spoke to my soul, and most of all, I found my voice.
And while I want to tell you about how all of this came to life—where I pulled all the inspiration, it will have to wait until the BoBS in Pivot Line—because of spoilers. But just wait for it, because there is a lot of cool stories behind these books.
This book, in particular, was an exploration of the reality of human nature. We all make mistakes, we all fuck up, and most of the time we have good intentions while doing it. No one sets out to be a villain. Even some of the most horrible people on the planet could justify their actions in one way or another. But for the rest of us, we still falter. We’ve kept secrets. We’ve tried to pretend to be someone other than ourselves. We all have tempers that flare, we’ve all said things that we shouldn’t have, and maybe destroyed relationships along the way, learning how to cope with our own nature. I have done all of that, more times than I’d like to admit.
I really do hope you enjoyed this story and I hope you stick around for part two. Because if False Start is a good representation of me as an author and my personality—Pivot Line is my still-beating heart ripped from my chest and put on display. It is so deeply personal that I only let two people read it before I set it on the path to publishing it. Not including my editors, proofreaders, and formatter. But you’ll get more on that in the BoBs for Pivot Line.
Until then. Be you. Stay Original.
Rebel
Now I need to thank all the people who helped me get this shit together. And many people helped me bring this particular book from the deep recesses of my mind into a reality. Even though I know most of you will start tuning me out at this moment. You really should stick around these people deserve all the attention and kudos they can get.
The biggest thank you goes to my husband, Tyler. I mean, technically we’re still married, though separated. And even with all the drama relationship woes bring, he never stopped believing in me. He was always there, most of the times frustrated with my incessant need for validation, to read each scene as I wrote them. He would tell me if I had accomplished my goals and was ready to move on to the next scene, but he also remained rather reluctantly impressed by my storytelling skills. He has stayed with me, helping fund my ambitions and making sure I have the chance to see my dreams become a reality. Without him, this book would never have become a reality, nor the ones coming to you in the future. And he deserves all the thanks and admiration I can bestow upon him.
Next to thank are my kids, Rye, Skye, and Brody. You three are the best cheerleaders a burgeoning author could ask for. Always willing to give me space when I need it, your endless support and boundless faith have helped me tremendously. I love you from the deepest part of the ocean to the farthest star in the universe, and back.
My critique partners—Lori Diederich, JJ Ashton, Bryan Fagan, and Amy McKenna. Thank you so much for your early belief in my writing. Without your gracious help, your eagerness to read more, and consistent encouragement—I wouldn’t have gotten this far, for sure. I really do appreciate you putting up with my whining and tantrums. Especially when I couldn’t figure out how to make people see the message behind what I was writing. And for weeding through my horrible grammar and helping me relearn some long-forgotten lessons. But most of all, thank you for your time and patience in coaxing me to get it right.
