Catch Me When I Fall

by Jackson, A. L.

  “Nothing?” Richard grabbed me by the wrist and spun me around. “That wasn’t fucking nothing,” he spat.

  Frustration and confusion and anger marred his attractive face. My brother was about as handsome as they came. One-hundred-percent masculine with a striking, unforgettable face, the guy was nothing but charisma and drive and a talent unlike any other.

  Night after night, he won over crowds, and they worshipped at his feet.

  They liked to say I was the face of Carolina George.

  I knew better.

  It was him. My older brother who I respected more than anything. I still couldn’t believe he’d get mixed up in what he had. That he could be partner to it. I wondered what he’d say if he found out that I knew.

  If it would change anything.

  “I just . . . I think I’m tired.”

  Tired of pretending.

  Tired of covering up this hurt.

  Tired of being afraid.

  Doubt pinched his face, and he roughed a hand through his dark blond hair. “Are you joking right now, Em? You’re tired? You fucking blew the call with the record company this morning, and then you ran off the stage in the middle of our last song . . . because you were fucking tired? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?”

  He kept angling closer with each word he shouted, the anger in his voice echoing against the brick walls and pelting against the dingy, dirty ground.

  Tears burned in my eyes, and I struggled to hold them back.

  Didn’t he get what I had done for him? What I’d gone through for him? But I knew he didn’t have the first clue, and I had no idea how to tell him. Terrified for him to know what I’d endured. Almost more terrified of what he was hiding.

  Wrapping my arms over my chest, I took a step back, as if it could shield me from his anger. Protect me from the pain ripping me apart.

  “I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”

  Richard grabbed me by the upper arms and shook me. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he somehow thought he could shake some sense into me, but it didn’t matter. I felt it like a blow, terror ridging my spine, my nerves racing as my breaths turned shallow.

  Struggling for air.

  “We’ve spent our whole damn lives working toward this, Em. Our whole lives. And now, everything we’ve wanted is right there, waiting on us to take it. And what? You’re just going to walk away? Give it up? After everything?” His words were a rush of resentment and confusion, as if he’d gotten swept up in my turmoil and didn’t know how to get free of it.

  But that was the problem.

  We were tied, our success wound up in my decision.

  Agony raked my throat, and my voice scraped with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Rich. I don’t know what I want or if I can keep going on like this. I’m so sorry.”

  Disbelief pulled through his expression, disgust coming in right behind it. “So, you’re just gonna make that choice for us all?” His green eyes blinked a thousand times, as if he were trying to see me.

  As if maybe he no longer recognized me.

  It seemed about right because I no longer recognized myself.

  “What about Leif and Rhys?” he demanded.

  The faces of our drummer and bassist spun through my mind.

  My best friends. The two guys who were as close as family and just as important. I was struck with the truth that I was letting every single one of them down.

  “They have given their whole fuckin’ lives for this band.” Richard’s voice was low and severe, conveying a message my spirit didn’t want to receive. “What about every fucking mile we spent on the road? Every venue we ever begged to let us play? The nights we went hungry, so goddamn broke we had to choose between food and the gas to get us to the next city so we could play? What about the pact we made that the most important thing to all of us was chasing down a dream? What about that?”

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” I whispered, trying to hold myself together and not come apart right there. Trying not to throw the blame at him. To demand that he take some responsibility. But I didn’t know how to form the words. Didn’t know if I could admit what had happened because of it. I was terrified that would be the last fallen brick that sent me crashing.

  Richard turned away for a beat, scrubbing his face with his palms and tipping his head to the night sky.

  His muscled body vibrated with indignation and ire. Barely constrained. Getting ready to burst.

  As if he couldn’t contain it a second longer, he flew back around, fury flooding from his mouth. “You don’t get to do this, Emily. You don’t. This is bullshit. You were all in, just like the rest of us, and you don’t get to walk now.”

  “I just . . . I need a little time,” I begged.

  Time to figure this out. To fix this. Repair all those broken bits floating free.

  “We don’t have any time left. This is our big break. The culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. You have cold feet, Em. That’s it. It’s going to be fine.” This time, it was his turn to plead.

  Cold feet.

  I only wished.

  I backed away another step. “I’m not ready. I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

  My brother roared, shouting his disgust and disbelief in the empty, stagnant air. He snatched a discarded beer bottle from the ground and threw it against the brick wall. It crashed, shattering into a million pieces, raining to the ground like the dreams I could feel coming apart around us.

  “Fuck this bullshit!” He whirled on me and jabbed his index finger in my direction. “And fuck you.”

  “Richard,” I said through the lump in my throat.

  He backed away, putting up his palms, his mouth twisting in outrage. “No, Em. Don’t try to cover up what you’re doing with a lame apology. It’s not enough.”

  Didn’t he get it?

  I’d already given more than I could take. For him. To protect him.

  He left me standing there, gasping and bent over. He flew up the steps and disappeared inside. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, a wall that went up between us and left me bitterly alone.

  Alone and afraid.

  My hands found my hair, and I yanked hard, and I screamed as if it might expel the loathing invading every cell. It just echoed back like a vacant, endless silence.

  Unable to remain in it, I ran, racing out of the alley as if I might stand the chance of leaving it all behind. Just more crap tossed into the dumpsters.

  I doubted I could run that fast, but oh, was I going to try.

  I hit the sidewalk, my wedge heels slapping the concrete, the hazy glow of lights coming down through the dense Savannah summer night and infiltrating the air with an eerie glow.

  It was just after ten, and the Historic District was alive, roiling with bodies and voices, a bated disorder that clung to the atmosphere.

  I felt hostage to it.

  Wanted to get lost in it.

  Outrun it all.

  Forget.

  Or maybe what I really wanted was to remember who I was.

  Making a mad dash to find myself.

  A familiar neon sign shone from up ahead.

  Charlie’s.

  It was an old dive bar that we’d played in what seemed a thousand times, back before we’d gotten hooked up with that big-name band that was gonna take us places, and then I’d been taken places that I didn’t want to go.

  Swinging open the door, I rushed through it, breaths still heaving from my throat. Inside, it was packed, a crush of bodies dancing at the foot of the stage where a band played, live music the life beat of this place. The round-top tables were surrounded by smaller groups, the plush, darkened booths lining the far-left wall overflowing with obscured faces.

  Eyes making a quick sweep, I made a beeline for the bar and slipped onto the one free stool. The young bartender slinging drinks as fast as they were ordered.

  The bartender tossed a paper coaster with the
Charlie’s logo on it in front of me. “What can I get for you?”

  “Two shots of tequila.”

  He arched a brow.

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat, the nerves and fear and terror that wouldn’t let me be. I wanted to silence them more than I wanted my next breath.

  “Make it three.”

  I guessed he saw the way I was trembling because he dipped his head really quick and lined up three shot glasses that he rimmed in salt. He poured the bottle over them and garnished each with a lime.

  I didn’t take the time to prime my taste buds. I just slammed one back, then the second, then the third.

  Fire burned down my throat and pooled in my belly, and my trembling spirit began to calm.

  I didn’t care that I looked like some kind of lush.

  The only thing I cared about right then was forgetting. The desperate need to feel something different than hopeless, the way I’d been feeling the last three months.

  I wanted to reclaim.

  Salvage the pieces that had been scattered.

  Maybe I was going about it the wrong way, but I had to take a step before I went and lost everything.

  I lifted my finger in the air, indicating one more. There was no missing the look of worry that passed through the bartender’s expression. “Can I call someone for you? Looks like you’re having a bad night.”

  Humorless laughter rolled out. “I’m just fine.”

  Lies.

  All lies.

  But who was I gonna call? I could call Mel, but then she’d be pissed at Richard, and the last thing I needed to do was get our assistant who was also my best friend mixed up in this. After all, her future was riding on me getting my shit together, too.

  All of them were. Reliant upon me.

  Oh God.

  Another round of regret and hurt and bitterness went stampeding through my senses, and I slumped over, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth in an attempt to keep the sob bottled in my throat from gettin’ free.

  The bartender eyed me, questioning his judgement before he grabbed another shot glass. “One more for you, gorgeous, then you’re done.”

  Redness clawed. God, ten minutes in, and he thought he needed to cut me off.

  Apparently, I needed an intervention, but not the type the guy was thinking.

  “Thank you,” I told him with a shaking voice, trying to play it cool, as if I couldn’t feel the warmth of the alcohol gliding through my veins, warming me from the inside out, at odds with the cold, stark loneliness that covered me from the outside.

  He slid the glass my direction. “No problem.”

  He turned away to focus on other customers.

  “You don’t have anyone to call, I’d be glad to take your number.” The slimy pickup line came from the stool to my left, and I lifted my eyes to the guy who was leering at me. Ratty, unkempt beard and stained tee shirt.

  Awesome.

  “Thank you, but I really want to be alone right now.” I tried to turn away, but he leaned forward, forcing himself into my line of sight.

  His brow lifted in suggestion. “Huh, you sure look like you could use some company. Why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap, and I’ll make it all better?”

  He grinned a vile, disgusting grin.

  Nausea churned in my belly, revulsion and fear flickerin’ through my senses that were barely dulled by the liquor.

  Maybe I should have thought better about this.

  I was still wearing the dress I’d worn onstage, red and short and cut deep between my breasts. Much more provocative than anything I’d ever pick for myself—my wardrobe was completely in the hands of Mel, considering I’d probably be wearing sweats up there if the decision were left to me.

  And God, I didn’t have my phone.

  This was stupid.

  “I’ll pass,” I said, dread crawling through my being.

  He set a hand on my knee. “You sure about that?”

  I sucked in a staggered breath at the unwelcome contact, trying not to gag.

  Then my heart fully seized in my chest when I felt the dark cloud descend from behind us.

  A voice that could only be described as menacing rumbled into the space, “Only thing sure around here is you’re about two seconds from losing your throat if you don’t take your hand off her. Got me?”

  Dark and cold, the words penetrated the din of the bar, and the guy who’d had his hand on my knee glared behind me, clearly getting ready to spout out something aggressive, and then froze, words dying on his tongue. I was pretty sure it was fear that took hold of him as he slowly removed his hand and slipped off the opposite side of the stool.

  Unsettled, I kept my attention trained on the tiny glass still clutched in my hand.

  The man who’d sent the asshole running slipped into his place.

  Was it the ground shaking or the slosh of alcohol beating through my brain that made me feel as if I were tipping sideways?

  I was almost afraid to look that way, not sure of what to make of the feeling that crawled over my flesh.

  I stole a peek at the man.

  My belly tipped.

  Capsized.

  Tossing me into an ocean of instant fascination.

  The eyes of what had to be the most intriguingly beautiful man I’d ever seen were trained on me. Eyes so dark they were the color of onyx, though somehow, they glinted like cracked, black ice that held a seething ball of white fire within.

  Anger and fury raving in the depths.

  His sharp jaw was clenched, and his full, full lips were set in a grim, threatening line.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded. His voice rang like the lash of a raging song. Heavy and grating and seductive.

  “I . . . I—” It was all a stammer as I contended with the lump that had grown thick in my throat, all of my attention trapped, snared by the face that glared back.

  I couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol because the man was prettier than any soul had the right to be. His eyes so deep, burning with a thousand wicked secrets, lips nothing but seduction, body so intimidating that it made my heart thunder out of control.

  He faced me where he sat on the stool, one hand clinging to the back of the seat and the other planted on the bar.

  His hair was just as black as his eyes, wild and disordered, and I got the distinct sense that he’d been roughing agitated fingers through it the entire day.

  “I . . . I . . . thank you,” I managed, my voice raw and unsure and riddled with attraction. A spark fired in my chest. I was sure, sitting there, it was the first time I’d felt alive in months.

  Dressed like some kind of powerful CEO, he wore a perfectly fitted white button-up and gray suit pants that hugged all the lean, sinewy strength that oozed from his body, though somewhere along the way, his jacket had been discarded.

  But it was the way every exposed inch of his flesh was covered in designs and colors, shapes and shadows, that held me rapt.

  All of him.

  Arms and hands.

  Chest and throat.

  I felt as if I were looking at a mysterious painting and had been charged with deciphering the meaning.

  The man written in opposition.

  Rebel and ruler.

  Contradiction and conflict.

  A bottle of discord and mayhem and destruction.

  A very expensive brand of sin.

  Something you didn’t dip your fingers into without signing a waiver, accepting the outright risk.

  And somehow, I was stuck there, throat dry and eyes devouring him as if he might be the one to remind me exactly of who I was.

  He edged forward, intensity fierce. His attention skated over the three empty glasses sitting in front of me, lingering on the one I still had clutched in my hand.

  “Drowning your sorrows doesn’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Those eyes swept back up to me when he murmured it, and there was no amusement there.

  My heart thudded i
n my chest, emotion fisting tight, and my gaze roved his face, trying to get a read on this man who’d stepped in to save me and looked like he could destroy me in the same breath.

  “It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?” A tremor filled my words.

  “Doesn’t it? It looked like you were a couple seconds away from regretting it to me.”

  Unease twisted through my body, a flush rising up my neck and hitting my cheeks.

  He was right.

  But I was feeling desperate. Trying to fill the hole that couldn’t be filled.

  I dropped my head, staring at the amber in the glass before I mustered the courage to look back at him, where a wayward lock of raven hair cast one side of his gorgeous face in shadow. “I wasn’t askin’ for that . . . for that . . . jerk. Just because I’m sitting here by myself doesn’t mean that man had the right to touch me that way.”

  Dark eyes flashed fury. “You’re right. It doesn’t. I should follow him out of here . . . show him the cost of touching what isn’t his. Say it, and it’s done.”

  Anger radiated from him. Fierce and ferocious. As if he were my protector and standing guard over me was his job. A wraith that would lay waste to any threat. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, why I suddenly felt safer than I had in forever. At the same time, I was one-hundred-percent certain I was standing at the shore of a stormy, churning sea.

  Wrought with danger.

  The man written in peril.

  And there I was, wanting to wade deeper, reach out and dip in my fingers, pull a little of it into my mouth to wet the thirst growing by the second.

  God, what was goin’ on with me?

  I didn’t do this.

  Fumble all over a stranger. Wonder what it might be like to have his massive hands takin’ possession of my body. Those were the last kind of thoughts I should have been entertaining.

  “I appreciate you steppin’ in, but I would have been okay.” I didn’t even know why I was trying to front that assertion. Because I was shaking. Shivering all over the place. Runaway nerves that didn’t know where to go.

  The fact that I wasn’t okay abundantly clear.

  But I was pretty sure if I sent this man on that kind of mission, he would end up in jail.

  “Would you really?” he challenged, still so close that I was breathing all his breaths. He smelled like whiskey and cedar and the faintest vestiges of cigarettes.