When I Fall
Page 5I laugh as the heat burns across her cheeks.
Riley is always quick to embarrass. Since we’re related, and she bugs the shit outta me about stuff, I push her buttons any chance I get.
She stands, sliding her chair back under the table.
“You leaving?”
Her head drops into quick nods, her eyes casted to the floor. She doesn’t move, doesn’t make any attempts to leave the spot she’s suddenly glued to. She’s nervous about something. Going as far as to avoid eye-contact.
“What?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. “Did that asshole say something to you about asking me for another raise? He’s not getting one. Tell him to start showing up on time and maybe I’ll consider it.”
Her eyes slowly reach mine, and she winces before saying, “I ran into Molly at Costco.”
My stomach drops to the floor.
I don’t want to react to that name. Nine fucking years should’ve made it so I don’t give a damn about any woman named Molly, but every muscle in my body tenses. My forearms begin to burn as my arms lock, tightening against my body.
Fucking shit.
“She’s not back here, is she?”
Last I heard, four years ago from some asshole I went to high school with who decided I wanted to know this information, Molly graduated from Virginia Tech but decided to stay there instead of moving back home. I like her being ten hours away. I’d like a greater distance if I could get it.
China. Australia. Fucking Mars would be awesome.
“I have no idea,” Riley answers, taking a step forward. “But, she was shopping at a store where you buy items in bulk. I don’t think people do that if they’re just here for a visit.”
“You didn’t talk to her?”
Her eyes widen in shock. “No way. Why would I? As soon as I saw her, I turned and went down another aisle. I don’t have anything to say to her.”
I close my eyes, raking both hands down my face.
This fucking sucks for several reasons. One, we’re talking about Molly, and I don’t fucking talk about Molly to anyone. I don’t like thinking about that bitch, and talking about her makes that a problem. Two, my sister knows this shit affects me, and I hate that. She’s practically rubbing my back, telling me everything is going to be okay with the sympathetic look she’s giving me. Fuck that. This shouldn’t bother me! She knew, even before she said it, this would get to me, and that pisses me off. I shouldn’t care. My sister shouldn’t know this will affect me. I should be over this.
What. The. Fuck.
“Who the fuck cares if she’s back? That bitch could move in next door, fuck every guy in the neighborhood except me on her porch, and I wouldn’t give a shit. I don’t care what she does or where the fuck she lives.” I grab my car keys off the hook hanging on the wall and stride past Riley out of the kitchen.
I need to get out of here. Riley likes to talk, and I’m not talking about this. Not with her.
“Hey! Where are you going?” she shouts behind me.
“Out. Lock up when you leave.”
I pull the front door shut behind me as my other hand reaches for the phone in my pocket. As I’m backing out of the driveway, the call connects.
“This better be important, dick. She’s asleep.”
I ignore the half-joking, half-I’ll-kick-your-ass tone in Luke’s voice. Any other day I’d have some smart-ass rebuttal, but my mind is too busy trying to wrap around the information that was just dumped on me.
“Wake her up,” I reply, shifting the truck into drive. “I’m on my way over.”
Beth
Normal people might panic waking up in a strange room. The unknown is always frightening compared to the familiar, but I guess I’m not normal. I don’t feel anything besides a happiness I haven’t felt in a really long time, maybe ever, as I piece together why I’m in this bedroom, and not in Rocco’s.
The phone call I made yesterday to an aunt I never knew existed. The eight hour drive from Louisville to Ruxton, which left me too exhausted to do anything besides pass out face-down on this beautiful, quilted comforter.
I smile against my pillow as the memory of my arrival in Alabama plays out in my mind.
My aunt’s contained excitement, the tears in her eyes as she welcomed me into her home very early this morning. Very, very early. I think she knew I needed sleep, because she didn’t try and rope me into twenty-two years of missed conversation. I would’ve talked if she wanted it. I would’ve given her every last word to show my gratitude for what she’s giving me, but she didn’t press for it. Instead, she showed me to this delicately decorated bedroom, with light purple walls and girly accents, and then, darkness.
The unknown is always frightening compared to the familiar.
Not in this case. Not with my familiar.
A knock on the door has me sitting up, hugging my knees against my chest.
“Come in,” I call out through my hoarse morning voice, seconds before my aunt’s face peers through the small opening.
She smiles, her dark hair pinned back into a high bun. “Hey, darlin.’ I was just checking to see if you were up yet.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">