Fall With Me

by J. Lynn

  Perhaps that wasn’t the best way to start this conversation.

  A piece of fluffy egg dangled off his fork as he sat back against the chair. His brows rose. “Is there?” The tone was level, but it made me shiver nonetheless. “About what, Roxy?”

  “That night.” I swallowed, and the small amount of omelet I had eaten soured in my stomach. “When I drove you home.”

  He stared at me a moment and then finished off his omelet. Pushing his plate back, he rested his bare arms on the kitchen table. “What about that night?”

  My heart was pounding like I’d just done sprints up and down my hall. “I honestly don’t even know how to say this, other than I wish . . . I wish I’d talked to you sooner and realized that you weren’t regretful of sleeping with me. That it was more of you regretting being so drunk. I was just so embarrassed and mad—­”

  “Yeah, I know you were mad. That’s nothing new,” he cut in. “And like I said, I wish I had clarified what I was saying when I had the worst hangover known to man.”

  Me, too, but that wasn’t the point. Like Charlie had always said, I was kind of the act-­first-­and-­never-­ask-­questions kind of gal. This mess was mostly my fault. “That night, once we made it back to your place, things got . . . well, they got really hot and really quick.”

  “I figured as much,” he commented dryly.

  Lowering my gaze, I blew out a long breath. “When we got back to your bedroom—­which is a really nice bedroom by the way. Totally loved your bed. It’s huge. Nice comforter, too.”

  “Roxy.” His lips twitched.

  I dropped my hands to my lap, curling them into tight fists. “We didn’t have sex, Reece.” There. I said it. Like pulling off a band aid.

  His brows knitted together as he tilted his head to the side. “What?” he laughed.

  “You . . . you passed out before anything could happen. We didn’t have sex.” Saying it out loud made it easier to keep going. I met his disbelieving stare. “We started to, but you passed out, and I stayed with you to make sure you were okay. I didn’t realize you were that drunk until then.”

  Reece stared at me.

  “And when you woke up in the morning, you . . . you thought we did have sex,” I explained quickly. “You had looked at me and said last night shouldn’t have happened, and I wasn’t thinking about the fact we didn’t actually do it.”

  Leaning back against the chair, he pulled his hands off the table and then put them right back. Silence.

  Unease blossomed. “The morning just got away from me. You know why, and I left, and . . . I just . . . the whole situation got away from us—­from me. You were avoiding me. And I told myself that I needed to tell you as soon as we started talking again, but . . .” A ball formed in the back of my throat, making my voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you that morning. I should’ve pulled my head out of my ass and told you then. I was going to tell you last night, but it didn’t seem right to do so. But that . . . that was our first time, Reece. There was no other time before that.”

  Reece slowly shook his head as he laughed again, but the laugh—­it was short and full of incredulity. “I . . . I just need to make sure I understand this correctly.”

  The unease spread like a noxious weed as he shook his head one more time, closing his eyes briefly. “For the last year, you have been pissed off at me because you thought I regretted having sex with you, when in fact, we never even had sex?”

  I opened my mouth, but what the hell could I say to that?

  “So, you’ve ignored me. You’ve called me names.” He laughed that abrupt, abrasive laugh again. “You’ve cussed me out over what you thought I meant about an act that never even happened?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “I was upset because I thought you regretted having sex with me.”

  “But we didn’t have sex.”

  I shook my head.

  A muscle flickered along his jaw. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Chapter 15

  I always suspected that Reece was not going to be thrilled once he learned the truth, but I still flinched.

  Reece stood, walking away from the table. I had no idea where he was heading, but he stopped in the middle of the kitchen and faced me. A long, pregnant pause stretched out between us. “Do you even know how crazy I’ve been driving myself, because I couldn’t remember that night? Remember what it felt like to hold you—­to be inside you, and fall asleep and wake up with you? That after the shitty year I had, I’d topped it off by not remembering sleeping with the only girl I’ve ever cared about. Do you even understand how that fucked with my head?”

  My breath hitched around the messy knot in my throat.

  “I can’t even count how many times I’ve tried to remember it and God knows how terrible I felt for not remembering our first time. For fucking thinking I might’ve hurt you somehow,” he said, rubbing his left hand over his chest, above his heart. “And this whole fucking time, nothing even happened between us? Are you seriously fucking joking right now?”

  “No,” I whispered, blinking back hot tears. “I should’ve told you—­”

  “Hell’s yes, you should’ve told me. You had eleven months to tell me, Roxy. That’s a long time.”

  I stood. “Reece—­”

  “Instead you’ve been lying to me this whole time?” His brows rose, and for a moment, I saw everything I never wanted to see written across his striking face. Pain. Hurt. Disbelief. All of those mingled with the anger that tightened his jaw. “Wait. Not actively lying. Just letting me believe in a lie.”

  I started around the table. “I’m sorry. I know that sounds lame, but I am so sorry. It’s just at first you weren’t talking to me and then so much time passed and—­”

  “And you didn’t know how you’d be able to talk yourself around that lie? Sounds fucking familiar,” he spat. I knew at once he was talking about his father. “Honest to God, Roxy, I never thought . . .”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to. He’d never thought I’d so brazenly lie to him, and I had. Pain sliced through my chest. I wanted to crawl under the table, but I forced myself to stand there and take it like a grown adult.

  Reece opened his mouth, but the muted sound of a phone ringing interrupted him. Pivoting on his heel, he stalked over to where he’d dropped his bag last night. He yanked his phone out of the side pocket.

  His eyes were on me as he answered the phone. “What’s up, Colt?”

  It was his brother on the other line, and I wasn’t sure if it was personal or cop-­related.

  “Shit. You serious?” Reece raised his free hand and scrubbed it through his hair. He dropped his hand. “That’s not good.”

  I had no idea what was going on, so I turned and picked up his empty plate. Opening the dishwasher, I almost dropped the plate.

  A pair of my undies was in the utensils holder, stuffed into the square cubby. My hand shook as I stared at them. They were—­oh my God—­they were the black lacy thongs that I wished I’d worn last night.

  How in the world did they end up in the dishwasher?

  I hadn’t opened the dishwasher since Sunday, if I remembered correctly. Yesterday, I hadn’t used any dishes and I’d left the cup I’d used in the sink.

  Shaken, I placed the plate inside, but I didn’t grab the undies. I didn’t even want to touch them. Casper was haunting me, and he was a pervert. If I’d placed them in there having no recollection, I needed to get an X-­ray of my head. Maybe I needed to take Katie up on that séance idea.

  “Yeah.” Reece’s voice startled me. “I can do that. Talk to you soon.”

  Closing the dishwasher, I left the undies inside. The last thing I wanted to do was whip them out. I had enough explaining to do than try to explain that. Turning around, I caught the tail end of Reece pulling a shirt out of h
is duffel bag and slipping it on over his head. He wasn’t looking at me when he buttoned up his tactical pants.

  “Is everything okay with your brother?” I asked.

  Reece lifted his head as he straightened out his shirt. His handsome face was blank, devoid of all emotion as his clear blue eyes met mine. “Yeah. Everything is cool.”

  The knot in my throat expanded at his apathetic tone. I opened my mouth, but he turned away. “Look, I’ve got to go,” he said, heading down my hallway.

  For a moment, I was absolutely rooted to the floor. He was leaving? We hadn’t finished our conversation. Springing into action, I hurried after Reece, finding him in my bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his socks and boots.

  All I could see was the rumpled sheets and comforter. The indents in the two pillows. The shirt he wore last night, the one he’d used to clean me up, a messy ball on the floor.

  My heart was pounding so fast I was afraid it would burst like a balloon stretched to its limits. “You really have to leave? Right now?”

  “Yes.” Tying up his boots, he rose to his full height, a good two heads taller than me. “I’ve got to go let Colt’s dog out.”

  I silently mouthed the words back, because I almost couldn’t believe that’s why he had to leave. I mean, I didn’t want the doggie to go potty anywhere inappropriate, but we so needed to finish our discussion. “He can’t . . . he can’t wait for a little while?”

  “It’s a she,” he replied, bending down and grabbing his used shirt. “Her name is Lacey, and no, it can’t wait.”

  My chest clenched as he straightened once again and then stepped around me. The back of my eyes burned as he left the bedroom and I was . . . I was left staring at the bed. The morning together felt like years ago.

  Wheeling around, I followed him out to the living room. He already had his duffel bag in hand and had pulled on a black baseball cap. It was pulled down low, shielding his eyes.

  “Reece, I . . .” Words left me as he opened the front door. “Are we okay?”

  The muscles under his white shirt rolled as if he was working out a kink in his shoulders and then he faced me. The sculpted line of his jaw was as sharp as a blade. “Yeah,” he replied in that same flat tone. “We’re okay.”

  I didn’t believe him, not for one second. That ball was at the back of my mouth now and I blinked several times. I couldn’t speak, because if I did, the ball would come out.

  Reece looked away, jaw working. “I’ll call you, Roxy.” He started out the door and then stopped. In that tiny second, hope kindled to life like a match dropped on a pool of gasoline. “Make sure you lock this door.”

  And then he was gone.

  I exhaled roughly as I gripped the door and watched as he hung a right at the sidewalk, disappearing from my view. Numb, I closed the door. I locked it. And then I stepped back. My cheeks were damp. Hands shaking, I pushed my glasses onto the top of my head and then pressed my palms against my eyes.

  Oh God, this had gone as bad as it possibly could’ve gone. Shuffling over to the couch, I plopped down as I lowered my hands. “Oh God,” I whispered.

  I knew he’d be mad and I had been terrified that he’d hate me for lying. After all, that knowledge was what made it so hard for me to tell him once we started talking again, but after last night—­after this morning—­I didn’t think he’d walk out. I got that he’d still be upset, but I . . . I don’t know what I thought.

  Tears tracked down my cheeks, and I dragged in a breath; it got stuck on a sob. This was so not good, and it was my fault. This was my fault.

  “Stop crying,” I told myself. It felt like two hundred pounds had settled on my chest, and I replayed what he’d said as he left. “He said we were okay. He said he would call me.”

  And Reece didn’t lie.

  Not like me.

  I didn’t hear from Reece the rest of Tuesday.

  I didn’t paint—­didn’t even step foot in my studio. All I did was lie on my couch like a steaming pile of crap, staring at my phone, willing it to ring or for a text message to come through.

  Reece didn’t call or text me on Wednesday.

  I didn’t go into the studio at all, and the only reason I pulled my ass off the couch was because I had to go to work. I would’ve called in if it hadn’t been for the windshield I’d broken. Yet another bad decision I’d made that I was literally and figuratively paying for.

  Working at Mona’s Wednesday sucked moose balls.

  A steady throbbing pain moved from my temples to my eyes, and then back to my temples. My eyes were swollen, and I told myself it was allergies. I told Jax that was why I looked like crap when he asked me why I looked like shit. But that was a lie. When I woke up Wednesday morning, I could still smell Reece’s cologne on my sheets and I . . . I cried like I had when I’d found out Reece was dating Alicia Mabers, a perfect blond tennis player within a handful of months of moving to town. Except then I had Charlie to ply me with chocolate and stupid horror flicks to get me through what had felt like the end of the world.

  I kept telling myself the tears were for what was probably the loss of a friendship more than the potential of what we could’ve become. I’d never let myself truly consider a future with Reece, so the tears couldn’t be because of that.

  They couldn’t be.

  Halfway through the night, Brock “the Beast” Mitchell showed up without his usual entourage of girls or muscle-­bound guys. Brock was kind of a big deal around these parts. He was an up-­and-­coming UFC fighter who trained out of Philly. I had no idea how he and Jax knew each other, but Jax seemed to know everyone.

  Taller than Jax with a body that showed he spent hours in the gym every day, Brock was a hottie. He had dark, spiky hair and skin that reminded me of sunbaked clay. Brock had an edgy look about him that was super intimidating for ­people who didn’t know him, but he’d always been low-­key and kind every time I’d been around him.

  He took a seat at the bar, giving me a wink as Jax strolled up to him. Immediately, it was bromance time between the boys. I wasn’t really paying attention to them, but since it was a Wednesday night and only the regulars were in the bar and the music was off, I couldn’t help overhearing their conversation. At first, it was nothing major. Just information about an upcoming cage death match and something about a sponsorship deal that Jax looked like he was going to have an orgasm over, but then the subject changed.

  “Man, today has been fucking sick,” Brock said, tipping the bottle back and taking a drink. “One of the girls who works in the office at the club where I train wasn’t at work yesterday. Coach Simmons said she was a no call, no show but . . .” He shook his head, his dark brown eyes glinting with anger. “Some sick ass got ahold of her.”

  I stopped, clutching the cloth I was using to wipe down the higher end liquor bottles on display. Jax cocked his head to the side. “What happened?”

  “Some fucker broke into her apartment. Messed her up pretty badly, from what I hear.” His empty hand closed into a dangerous fist. “Man, I cannot even wrap my head around how a man could hurt a female. Just don’t understand that.”

  “Jesus.” Jax shook his head. “This is what, the third incident in a month or so?”

  “There was that girl that disappeared at the beginning of summer.” I walked over to where they were, dropping the cloth on the counter. “I think her name was Shelly or something like that.”

  Brock nodded. “I’m not a cop. I’m not a psychologist, but sounds like we got a psycho around here.”

  I folded my arms against the shiver that danced up my spine. My thoughts wandered to the strange things in my house, and I stiffened. It sounded crazy to even think what was happening there had anything to do with these poor girls. Plus it didn’t make sense. How would anyone get in my house to do those things without me knowing about it? But still, I had to ask. �
��Do you know if the girls were stalked or anything? Like any warnings?”

  “I haven’t heard,” Jax answered, angling his body toward mine. He arched a brow. “I bet Reece would know though.”

  Oh! Like a kick in the stomach, those words twisted up my insides. I didn’t know how to respond to that. Last Jax knew, which was just from a few days ago, things were on the up and up between Reece and me. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  “I’ll tell you what, though. Whoever this guy is, he’s a dead man.” Brock’s lips curved into a smirk. “The girl who works in our office. She’s Isaiah’s cousin.”

  “Holy shit,” muttered Jax.

  My sentiments exactly. Isaiah was sort of infamous around these parts. To outsiders, he appeared like a legit businessman, but all the locals, including the police, knew he was much more than that. He ran Philadelphia and all the surrounding towns and cities. To put it simply, he was not a man to mess with, and he was smart about his under-­the-­table dealings, because law enforcement could never pin anything on him.

  It was Isaiah who Calla’s mom had stolen drugs from, to the tune of millions of dollars’ worth of heroin. Because of how far reaching and powerful Isaiah was, Calla’s mom wasn’t even living in this time zone anymore. The only way for her to stay alive was to disappear.

  But Isaiah had a code of ethics. One of his boys—­Mack—­had gone after Calla since he was the one who was supposed to be handling her mother. Isaiah hadn’t been cool with that since Calla was innocent in all of this. No one could prove it, but when Mack’s body was found on a back road with a bullet in his head, everyone knew that had Isaiah written all over it.

  Even though his boys hung out in here, I’d only seen Isaiah a few times. Once every blue moon, he strolled into Mona’s, and he always left amazing tips.

  “Yep. So not only are the police looking for this fucker, so will Isaiah’s boys, and this guy better hope the police find him first or the inside of a trunk is the last thing he’s ever gonna see.” Brock leaned back, crossing massive arms across his broad chest. One shoulder rose. “Then again, I kind of hope Isaiah does find him first.”