Fallen Eden

by Nicole Williams

  “See? Happy endings for everyone,” Patrick said, clasping his hands together. “You got cowboy and William’s got a girl who won’t leave him for some lame-brain with a coward’s heart.”

  I bit my tongue, wanting to argue back in the worst way, but I’d come so far already. I couldn’t admit to Patrick why I’d left—not now that William had found someone to move on with. My plan was working—I should be happy. He’d found someone he could love again and I was far enough away I couldn’t kill him.

  However, happiness and I had parted ways two continents and an ocean back.

  “Bryn!” a strained voice called from a way’s off.

  “Speak of the devil,” Patrick said, turning into the forest. “And he’ll appear.”

  “When do we start?” I yelled at the fast retreating Patrick, trying to push aside the dark images swirling in my mind. I wasn’t successful.

  “Tomorrow morning, nice and early, before cowboy gets up. I’m really looking forward to it.” And he was gone, evaporating into the depths of the forest, taking the coveted jacket and scent with him. Leaving a junkie shivering with her withdrawals.

  “Bryn!” Paul’s voice was closer. “Where the heck are you?”

  I couldn’t stand going back to the home where William would bring another woman. Not right now. And I couldn’t face the man waiting for me, in more ways than one, while he also waited for his death.

  Instead, I huddled into a ball on the mossy earth, trying not to think William’s name or of his face or the way he absently combed his fingers through his hair or of the way his hand pressed against my back as he led me into a room. At the moment, I didn’t want anything more than to forget about him, but there was also nothing more impossible. The world dangled him on a string in front of me, just out of reach, reminding me what I’d lost.

  As if a consolation prize for losing the race of love, the skies hailed down a sheet of rain, lulling me into a tragic sort of calm until I found sleep.

  Although he was waiting for me there, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BECAUSE EVERYTHING

  “Keep them shut!” I commanded for the fifth time in thirty seconds time.

  “Alright, alright,” Paul said, trying to diffuse me with his hands. “Bossy, much?”

  “Only with you,” I grumbled, steering him down the hall.

  I pulled open the front door and a rush of air pummeled us. Paul wavered, steeling himself against the doorframe. So maybe my hair-brained scheme wasn’t such a great idea if he was losing a battle against fast-moving air. Paul should have been in bed, resting in a hospital, but me—the witless wonder—decided an extreme sport was today’s best course of treatment for terminal cancer.

  “I didn’t think the Alps were prone to hurricanes!” Paul hollered through the stifling noise.

  “Okay, open your eyes now,” I ordered, sliding the cyclone of hair out of my face.

  His eyes flashed open as I motioned towards the monster machine in front of us. “Your chariot awaits.”

  His eyes amplified. “What is a helicopter doing in the front yard?” He blinked a few times, as if trying to ascertain reality. It did look more like something you’d see on the big screen as opposed to real life.

  “Since we are in the Alps and you’ve been dying to go boarding since we arrived . . .” I began, realizing, as I said it, how ridiculous this was “I figured if we were going to do it, we might as well do it up right.”

  When I’d found the tri-fold brochure tucked into one of William’s med books last week, I hadn’t even stopped to think if it was a good idea. I only saw an opportunity to do something for Paul that was a dream of his.

  I wanted to shove every desire, dream, and wish into his life before he ran out of it, but it clearly didn’t enter my mind until now—when he looked more frail than ever—that if the cancer didn’t take him first, this could.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea,” I said, tugging Paul’s sleeve back into the house. I doubted the money was refundable, but the owner of the company had given me a great deal once I told him where I was staying. He didn’t offer a reason why and I didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Bad idea? This is the worst idea you’ve had yet,” Paul said, his face filling with color. “I love it.”

  He broke free of my half-hearted tug and loped towards the helicopter. The pilot had the door open and gave him a thumbs-up. I heaved and followed after Paul, who was already buckling himself in—wide-eyed and practically wagging from his excitement.

  “It’s not even my birthday,” Paul yelled when I climbed in beside him. “Is this some kind of guilt gesture since I’m knocking on death’s door?” he asked, nudging me.

  “No,” I barked, wrestling with my belt.

  “If you want any other ideas of guilt gestures you could throw my way, I’d be happy to give you a few ideas,” he said, his smile leaving nothing to the imagination.

  I elbowed him, not about to give a verbal response to his lunacy.

  “Can you hear me alright?idth the pilot asked, lifting the helicopter off the ground.

  “Roger that,” Paul said with mock reverence.

  I nodded, looking out the window at the house that was barely a dot below us. I was hoping this perspective would give me a new perspective of my own. “Crystal clear.”

  Something tapped my leg, drawing my attention. The pilot was holding a pair of headphones, looking expectantly at me. I had to be the worst Mortal-acting Immortal in existence.

  I grabbed the headphones and slid them into place, moving the mouthpiece into position. Thankfully, neither Paul nor the pilot seemed to notice.

  “This is your captain speaking—Captain Gustav—next stop, 12,000 feet where you’ll find the air thin and the powder rocking,” he said, his tone what I imagined a man named Gustav to sound like, but his word choice was more Southern Californian teenage boy. “I hope you’re advanced boarders because even if you chicken out, there’s no where to land up there.”

  “We’re jumping from this thing?” Paul shouted, sounding the opposite of terrified. “Killer.”

  I rolled my eyes, wincing simultaneously at Paul’s word choice and how that title could be ascribed to me if this day didn’t go as planned. Exactly who was the lunatic who’d set this up for a man possibly weeks away from dying? Everyone named Bryn Dawson raise your hand.

  “So do you know Dr. Hayward?” Gustav asked.

  He might as well have just slapped me across the face.

  He didn’t wait for an answer, thankfully. He would have been waiting awhile. “Now that’s a good man if I ever knew one. He was real active in the search and rescue missions around these parts. Saved my own boy a couple years back after he got himself buried in an avalanche. I’ll be forever indebted to him.”

  “Do you know him, Bryn?” Paul asked, looking at me as if he already expected a lie.

  I looked out the window. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Gustav snorted. “Believe me, you’d know if you did. I had to practically pull a lever out to pry my girls away from him.” He laughed, tilting his head back. “Sexy Beast was the phrase coined, I believe, among a few others that would make a father blush to repeat.”

  “Sounds like a real chump to me,” Paul said, while I kept my silent vigil, knowing if I opened my mouth it would be apparent that Dr. Hayward and I were anything but strangers.

  “No, no, he wasn’t anything like that. He wasn’t even aware of his effect on women, nor did he see the thirteen souls he saved in these mountains as that big of a deal. With most men, that would have made them arrogant—cocky, even—but Dr. Hayward was a far-cry from that,” Gustav said, a bit defensively.

  “So whatever happened to the good doctor?” Paul asked, not really sounding like he cared.

  Gustav shrugged. “I’m not sure. The last day I saw him was almost a year ago. I was dropping off some of my wife’s cherry danishes just as he was running out the door to get to the airport. Almost
ran straight into me, he was in that big of a hurry. He was different, giddy as a schoolboy is the phrase you Americans might use.”

  Paul snickered, before mouthing over to me, “Our ancestors might use.”

  The helicopter banked to the left, nearing our destination I assumed because there wasn’t anything higher than the peak we were aiming for.

  Gustav continued, obviously one of those storyteller-types that wasn’t about to be detoured just as he was getting to the good part. “There was something in his eyes—I knew right off the bat—so I asked him who she was.”

  “Who she was . . .” Paul repeated, seeking clarification.

  “The girl he’d been waiting his whole life for—at least that’s what he told me. Silly romantic notion if you ask me, so I asked him if this girl was worth losing everything for.” Gustav glanced back at me, something purposeful about the way he did it.

  “And was fair maiden worth losing his life for?” Paul asked, clearly teasing the conversation along, as he pulled a beanie cap over his sunny-blonde hair.

  “Losing your life for love’s for the boys,” Gustav said, pointing his finger at Paul like he was giving a lesson. “It’s the hallmark of a man to lose everything else for your woman.”

  “What else is there?” Paul asked, arching a brow.

  I could hear the eye-roll in Gustav’s voice. “Just those few little things known as pride, reputation, honor, hopes, dreams—”

  “Alright, alright,” Paul interrupted, bouncing his head. “I got it, no need to go into an hour long sermon.”

  Gustav glanced back at us, his expression less impassioned. “You two better get your boards strapped on, we’re almost there.”

  “Whatever happened to Romeo? Did he get the girl?” Paul asked, snapping on his board like he couldn’t get it on fast enough.

  “Don’t really know, but I can tell you he was the first person I believed when he told me that this woman was worth losing everything for. You want to know why?”

  Paul nodded for the both of us.

  “Because he looked me square in the eye when he answered.”

  Paul glanced at me from the side, circling his index finger around his ear.

  I couldn’t take it any longer, being stuffed in this flying piece of metal, lined with the reminders of the past, flown by a man who sounded like he was going to found the religion of William-worship.

  I needed fresh air and a shot of fear-induced adrenaline. Soon.

  “Alright, kids,” Gustav yelled, the helicopter door sliding open. A gust of air and noise pulsed over us. “Jump now or forever hold your peace.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” I yelled at Paul, slipping off my headphones.

  Paul’s eyebrows danced as he lowered his goggles into place. “Cowabunga, dude,” he yelled, flashing a peace sign as he flung himself from the helicopter, exploding into the powder below. He wobbled a couple of times, but managed to stay upright. He’d survived the landing, now we just had to make it down the mountain, and he wasn’t exactly holding himself back.

  “Thanks so much,” I hollered to Gustav, ready to heave through the door.

  He grabbed my hand mid-jump. “Don’t do this to yourself—don’t do this to him—anymore, okay?” he said, knocking the needless oxygen from my lungs. “I know it’s you. I know you’re the girl from the newspaper photo he showed me. Just go back. He’ll forgive you. Knowing him, he already has.” He gave me a twisted smile before letting go of my hand.

  I was flying through the air, instinct taking over and blocking out everything Gustav had said . . . had meant. The only thing I was aware of was the fast-approaching ground and catching up with Paul so he didn’t come to a premature death . . . at least pre-premature.

  A blizzard exploded around me when I hit the ground before I was swerving and winding down the mountain like I’d been made to do nothing but this. It took me all of a few blinks to catch Paul.

  His expression was heart-wrenching—like he was savoring every morsel of his last supper. I had to look away before the ball in my throat expanded.

  He made a sharp cut in front of me, taking the lead. Looking back, a taunting expression plastered his face as he curled his finger at me.

  I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially an athletic one thrown down by Paul Lowe. I positioned myself into the most aerodynamic position I could, whizzing past him, but his response was just as quick. His board was practically overlapping mine as we charged down the mountain.

  The mountain was coming to an end, flattening out into a plane of heavily timbered woods. I saw the finish line and readied myself for a victory dance.

  I was just raising my arms to announce my win when I was tossed to the ground, commencing a series of somersaults that sketched a compacted line of snow. I landed on my back, board and goggles missing, as a shadow leaned over me, blocking out the mid-day sun.

  “I win,” Paul said, slapping the ground in front of us ceremoniously.

  I shifted, trying to push him off, but instead succeeded in shifting him more on top of me.

  He chuckled. “I win again,” he said, beaming at me.

  “You are one sick pup, you know that?” I scolded, trying not to contrast how different Paul’s body felt running against mine. Nothing fit together—it was like trying to force two mis-matched pieces of a puzzle together.

  I could have shoved him away, like pushing aside a blanket, but there was something about having him with me this way—mismatched as it was—that was comforting. Like he was grounding me; keeping me from getting lost in a land of shadows and regret.

  “So you’ve pretty much made my day,” Paul said, beaming “You wanna put the cherry on top?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, like I was ignorant of his innuendos.

  “I’ll show you,” he said . . . quietly. Very un-Paul-like.

  There was nowhere to retreat to, my head was packed into a canyon of snow, and I knew what was coming next. I’d seen that look in his eyes before, right before he got denied the first time. Here comes the second—I hoped there wouldn’t be cause for a third.

  “Don’t,” I whispered, stalling Paul’s lip-first advance at me.

  “Why not?” he whispered, his eyes twinkling.

  “Because,” I answered, less than thrilled he asked for an explanation. It should be a girl’s god-given right to deny a guy a kiss without having to offer up an explanation.

  He rolled his eyes, I’m sure loving another one of my information-packed answers. “Because nothing,” he said, coming at me again.

  “Because everything,” I snapped and, as a knee-jerk reaction, I pushed him off of me. However, I hadn’t planned on sailing him ten yards away.

  “Oh my gosh!” I yelled, springing up and sprinting toward him. “Are you alright?”

  His body was sunk a half-foot into the snow, his face stunned. He shook his head, looking at me like I was an enigma. “Okay, so I’ve either lost more weight than I thought or you’re the bionic woman.”

  “Let this be a lesson unto you that when a girl says no, she means no.” I held out my hand, pulling him up.

  “But I thought no meant yes and yes meant yes,” he said, his dimples drilling deep.

  “Of course you did,” I replied. “Come on, Casanova. Time for your nap and prune juice.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LOOSE TETHER

  A week had passed and Patrick had played hookie everyday while I’d shown up five minutes early. I should have been irritated, like I was the majority of the time with him, but it was more pity than anything I felt for him. He’d been all but forced into a new area of training for him for a girl who’d broken his brother’s heart.

  I wasn’t expecting anything different this morning, but I caught the cadence of voices on the wind the second I stepped out the front door. They were coming from the direction I was heading and they became louder with each step I took towards the greenhouse. The closer I got, the stronge
r this feeling from deep within became. It was unsettling, but only because I knew only one person who was capable of igniting it. It was that feeling of my heart being tethered to him, winding around him, cinching tight, until I crashed into him.

  The voices came to an abrupt halt, as if they’d heard someone approaching. I freeze-framed mid-stride. Seconds passed in silence, just the rattle of brittle leaves shaking in the wind. I felt a string of prayers on my lips: one that is was him, one that it wasn’t, and one that I wasn’t insane and hearing voices.

  “Do this one thing for me,” a voice cut through the trees, deafening from the extended silence. Deafening since it had been months since I’d heard this voice. “I’m begging you.”

  “This one thing?” another voice replied, sounding baffled. “It’s been one thing after another with this girl and I was through doing one more thing for her about two months ago.”

  I sprinted towards the voices, knowing I should be sprinting the opposite direction, but that tether that connected me to him wound me closer. I didn’t stop to think what I’d do when I saw him or what I’d say, I just ran. Towards him.

  And nothing had felt so right in a long time.

  My speed fiery and my mind distracted, my foot hooked into a tangle of roots, flattening me face-first into the ground. Twisting my ankle free, I whined—more from being delayed than the pain.

  “Bryn?”

  How could one word make my heart throb so badly it felt like a bear-trap was crushing through it?

  “Are you alright? Where are you?” His voice was urgent, fretful even, and it was getting closer. Brisk footsteps were crunching towards me. My voice caught in my throat, the lump making it impassable.

  I wanted to call out to him. I wanted him to fall down beside me so I could feel his body running against mine. I wanted to laugh away the past couple months until we were grabbing at our stomachs. I wanted him.