The Moment We Fell

by Kelli Warner

  “I haven’t,” he says. “Not yet.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” At some point, I know he will stop me and say enough with the questions, but until he does, I press on.

  Cade shakes his head. “Not since he was arrested. He’s been writing me letters for the last three years.”

  “What does he say?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I stopped opening them after the first one.” He shifts uncomfortably at the memory, and I draw back. I can’t help myself; I have to know.

  “What was in the first letter?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  But it does matter. I can see that in the sudden change in Cade’s demeanor. Whether he knows it or not, his body language tells a different story.

  He clears his throat. “My turn.”

  Instinctively, I pull away and begin to get to my feet. “Come on; we need to focus on the game. Let’s go claim our victory.”

  “Whoa,” Cade says, securing his hold on my hand and gently tugging me back down to his side. “I don’t think you understand how this works, Bryant. You can’t play twenty questions with me and not give me anything in return.”

  I sigh heavily as any remnants of the euphoria I was basking in just moments ago dissolve. Unease builds slowly inside me at the thought of giving Cade control of the questions. But he’s right; this one-sided quiz show isn’t fair. Swallowing hard, I say, “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cade

  “Where’s your mom?” I ask.

  Paige’s back straightens, as if someone just dropped a steel rod down her spine, and I’m convinced that if I weren’t holding her hand, she would have bolted at my question. Instead, she stares out at the inky black horizon.

  “She was killed by a drunk driver about a month and a half ago.”

  Surprise punches the air out of my lungs. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” she says, wrapping her free arm around herself. “She was a dancer. She was on her way home from our ballet studio when it happened.” Paige pulls away from me, and her face falls into her hands. “Sorry,” she whispers.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say, guilt washing over me in waves. It wasn’t my intention to open such a gaping wound, but I didn’t know it was there. Now I understand why Paige looks like she carries the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders.

  “I just made you extremely uncomfortable, didn’t I? Sorry for that,” she says.

  “If I’d known, I swear I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you okay?” That has to be the stupidest question. I mean, she clearly isn’t okay, but the words tumble out before anything more reasonable can derail them.

  Paige lifts one shoulder. “Sometimes.”

  “And how about the other times?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Always.”

  She sighs. “Other times—it’s like I’m drowning and I can’t find my way to the surface.” She gives another shrug. “I don’t belong here, but this is my home until graduation. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Do you not get along with your dad?” I ask. With only my personal interactions with Principal Chapman as a reference, I can’t imagine him as a father. Not a good one anyway. But for Paige’s sake, I hope I’m wrong.

  “I don’t really know him,” she answers. “I didn’t even know he was my father before this happened.” Paige shakes her head and attempts to stand again, but I grab her hand, preventing her escape. If I let her go, this moment will disappear. I can’t let that happen.

  Pointedly, I ask, “Do you wish you’d been with your mom that night?”

  Even in the dim light, there is astonishment in her wide eyes. “Why would you ask me that?”

  I just asked her if she wishes she’d died beside her mother. And maybe on the surface that makes me an insensitive jerk, but I need to know the answer. I understand that level of pain. I know what it’s like to lose the most vital person in your life, to wish for just one minute that you could make it all go away. I cock my head, attempting to see more through the darkness than what my eyes will allow.

  Her silence is lost in the wind, but finally, she answers. “At first I did.”

  “And now?” I press, studying her face for a response.

  “No. Not anymore.”

  “What changed?” Turning our hands over, I gently trace the soft lines of her palm with my index finger. Sensitive to my touch, her hand tenses and she shifts beside me.

  “Oh my gosh, you ask more questions than Mrs. Hopkins,” she breathes. “Maybe you should be the assistant principal.”

  I huff. “So, she’s focusing on you now, is she? It’s nice to see she’s branching out.”

  “You too?” she asks, surprised and relieved.

  “Are you kidding? I was her project for most of last year.”

  “She’s intense,” Paige says.

  “That’s because she was a psychologist at a high school in New York. She moved back here a couple years ago to take care of her parents.”

  “Why do you know so much about her?” she asks. “That’s weird.”

  “Yes, it is,” I say. “But I think she was hoping that sharing about her life would get me to open up about myself. Psychologists are tricky like that.” Paige nods and leans in, and I steal the opportunity to pull her close once more. “Turkey on wheat,” I whisper against her temple.

  She stares up at me, an odd smile parting her lips. “Turkey on wheat? What’s that?”

  “That’s Mrs. Hopkins’s favorite sandwich,” I say. “Bring that to your lunch meetings and offer her half and she’ll be putty in your hands.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, you may have to throw in a few insights into your soul, but if you do that, I can practically guarantee those meetings with her will be more like a book club than the third degree.” She laughs, and the sweet sound is like a bolt of warmth against the wind. I want to hear her laugh again.

  “That’s all it takes, huh?”

  “I told you—not my first rodeo with that woman.” I’m just about to pull Paige tighter against my side when she abruptly stands, and whatever this is that’s between us washes away with the night air.

  “I think the game is almost over,” she says. “Time to swoop in.”

  I don’t move. Instead, I gaze up at Paige. She shoves her hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt, looking around uncomfortably like we didn’t just spill out our guts to each other.

  “That’s all I get? I think you owe me one more question.”

  “I think your math calculations are a little off,” she says.

  “I think you’re brushing me off. Which isn’t fair because it’s still my turn.”

  “Maybe next time,” Paige says softly.

  I raise my hands in offered submission, but surrendering isn’t part of my game plan. What I want is to know more about this girl. This mix of hurricane and humility that I’ve never experienced before. She’s sassy and self-reliant, tenacious and timid, and beneath her moments of boldness, deep down where she thinks no one can see, this girl is wounded.

  Pulling myself to my feet, I reach for her, sliding an arm around her waist. She draws in a sharp breath as my palms press against her lower back and pull her close. The tension in her spine releases, and she tips her head to meet my gaze. I take that as permission and lean in. With my lips just inches from her ear, I whisper, “Next time.” Then, as if to seal my promise, my lips skim over her temple before ghosting along her jaw. And as I find my way back to Paige’s parted lips, pressing my mouth to hers in a heated kiss, she melts against me.

  Releasing a shuttered sigh, she nods in agreement.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Paige

  “All right, spill it,” Quinn says. “All of it.”

  We left the party at close to two o’clock, and we are now s
itting in Quinn’s room as she, Sam and Zoey beg for information about Cade. Quinn unloads an armful of snacks that she gathered from the kitchen onto her desk, and Sam quickly rips into a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips. I catch Quinn’s eye, and she gives me a slight nod, confirmation that she’s checked on her mom and all is well. Well, as good as it can be, given what Mrs. Talbot is going through. But I feel better nonetheless.

  As I predicted, the girls are eager to analyze what my night with Cade means, in that sort of BuzzFeed quiz kind of way I’ve come to expect from them.

  “He so likes you!” Zoey says. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you all night!”

  “Are you going to see him again?” Sam asks.

  I flop onto the soft carpet and stare up at Quinn’s ceiling. The image of Cade’s dark eyes gazing at me beneath thick lashes as he gave me the sweatshirt off his body is burned into my brain. “He’s a nice guy.”

  A foot kicks me in the leg. “Oh, come on! That’s all we get?” Quinn asks. “Uh-uh. I did not sit through that whole party with Gio pawing at me just so you could say ‘he’s a nice guy.’”

  I sit up, and Quinn pins me with impatient eyes. “I thought you said you liked Gio.”

  “Nooo, I said he was cute. There’s a difference. Every time I tried to start a conversation with a college guy, he butted in. It was so annoying!”

  “We just talked,” I tell them.

  “That’s it?” Zoey asks, her tone smothered in disappointment. “Just talked?”

  “Come on, you guys. I just met Cade. And besides, Quinn had me convinced he might be dangerous, so forgive me if I was a little cautious.”

  “Is he?” Sam asks, her eyes twinkling. “Is he dangerous?”

  I laugh. “No. He’s—nice.”

  Quinn rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You said that already.”

  Before I can offer a rebuttal, the three of them launch into chatter, all talking over one another at once. Apparently, they no longer need me for this conversation.

  The truth is, I’m not entirely sure what to make of Cade Matthews. I never imagined for one minute that he and I would spend most of the evening together, or that he would be so easy to talk to. But more than that, I never thought I would share so much of myself with him, or that he would open up to me so quickly the way he did. It’s all a little strange—and exhilarating at the same time.

  “He did ask her to be his partner for beach tag,” Zoey reminds them.

  “And before they won the game by cheating—yeah, don’t think we didn’t notice,” Quinn says. “They were off together hiding for a long time. In. The. Dark.” She levels me with an expectant stare.

  “First off, we didn’t cheat. Our victory was entirely strategic. And secondly, you three are crazy.”

  “I knew it, you’re blushing! Something did happen!”

  “Okay!” I throw up my hands in defeat, pinking up all over again at the memory of Cade’s lips on my skin. “There is a good possibility that I like him. Okay? Probably more than I should. So, can we please stop analyzing this? It’s embarrassing.”

  “That’s so exciting!” Zoey leans down from her perch on the bed and gives me a contorted, one-armed hug.

  “Cade hasn’t been interested in any girls at school for a long time, and believe me, he’s had plenty of offers. So, the fact that Paige got his attention has to count for something,” Sam says. “Unless—” She has my full attention with that one, simple word.

  “Unless what?” Zoey asks before I can.

  “Well, unless the principal’s daughter is just one big conquest to him. Which I’m not saying you are,” Sam says quickly. “But maybe—just be careful. That’s all.”

  Is she serious? My eyes shoot to Quinn’s for confirmation that Sam’s warning sounds as far-fetched to her as it does to me. Her gaze narrows on me in thought, then she shrugs. Great. So much for the reassurance.

  Am I just a conquest to Cade Matthews?

  “When will you see him again?” Zoey asks, but she doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Make it soon. You don’t want to give this thing time to cool off.”

  “Your dad is gonna freak, you know that, right?” Quinn finally asks. “I’m happy for you, but I’m pretty sure you’re screwed.” Her words silence the room, like a metaphorical mic drop, and their trio of empathetic gazes swing like a pendulum between one another before landing squarely on me. She’s right.

  I’m still thinking about that when I finally fall asleep close to four a.m., and again on the drive home later that morning. The house is quiet when I unlock the back door. As I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the muffled sounds of a guitar coming from Tanner’s room. Leaving my things on the floor outside my own door, I head down the hallway. I’m about to knock when something heavy cracks against the door from the inside. I tap my knuckles lightly against the wood and cautiously push open the door. Tanner sits on his bed, apparently surprised to see me. He immediately puts down his guitar.

  “Keep playing,” I say. “It sounds good.”

  He rolls his eyes and snorts. “No, it doesn’t. I’m pretty much borderline between awful and suck fest right now.”

  He didn’t invite me in, but I step farther into the room. A music book lies crumpled facedown at my feet, its pages bent from where it hit the floor. The wall above his bed is covered with posters of athletes. Clothes are strewn about, obscuring half the floor, and an assortment of video game boxes and controllers are in a pile by the console next to a small TV on a corner table.

  “Cool room,” I say, scooping up the music book and placing it on the dresser. This is pretty much what my cousin Tyler’s bedroom looked like while we were growing up. Only he had a couple of posters of half-naked supermodels tacked up on his walls, much to the dismay of Aunt Faye.

  “Is that a Fender?” I ask, motioning to his guitar.

  Tanner shrugs. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “I have a friend who plays guitar,” I say.

  Tanner plucks a string. “I bet she’s better at it than I am.”

  I smile at the thought of Cade playing with his band last night. “Actually, he’s amazing,” I say. “But I’m sure you are, too. Play something for me.”

  If I’ve ever wondered what horror looks like on a thirteen-year-old boy’s face, it’s staring back at me.

  “Oh, come on. I bet you’re better than you give yourself credit for. Play something.”

  I take a seat in the chair across from him. Tanner calculates his options, then sighs and rolls his eyes again. If eye rolling was a measurable job skill, this kid would be destined for success.

  Finally, he scoops up the guitar with an exasperated sigh. His dark hair falls over his forehead as he stares down at the neck of the instrument. Placing his fingers just so, he lays his pick to the strings and begins to strum. Not bad. Not necessarily good either, but I remind myself that he’s just a kid and still learning. I will, however, give him an A+ for effort. He’s concentrating so hard, his scowl deepens each time he plucks the wrong string. When he’s finished, he shoots me an “I-told-you-so” look of disgust. “See? Suck fest.”

  “How long have you been taking lessons?”

  Tanner shrugs again. “About a year.”

  I press my lips into a tight line and nod. “Well, I think you’re doing great. It just takes practice.”

  “I do practice,” he says, his words laced with annoyance. “But at this rate, I’m never gonna get to play in a band.”

  “Is that what you want to do?” He nods. “I get that,” I say, and just for the embarrassment factor, I add, “Girls love guys who play guitar in bands.” I accomplish my mission; his face turns three shades of red. “Look, I think I can help you.”

  He deadpans, as if I’ve just told him there’s no such thing as bedtimes, homework or video games. “You play guitar?”

  “No, but my friend I told you about is incredible at it. I could ask him to help you.” I don’t know what Cade will think about my offer
, but I feel inclined to help Tanner. I’ve liked this kid since day one. He’s not always trying to cozy up to me like his parents.

  Tanner’s skepticism returns for an encore performance. “He wouldn’t mind?”

  “I’ll ask him. In the meantime, you just keep practicing.” Another eye roll. Superb.

  When I’m back in my room, I flop down on my bed, and it takes me only a few moments to realize I’m smiling. Smiling at thoughts of Cade offering me his sweatshirt and holding my hand as naturally as if he’d done so a million times. He’d asked me questions in a way that had seemed unobtrusive and yet had been so personal. When Sam’s words attempt to creep in and derail my euphoria, I quickly dismiss them. She doesn’t know Cade. Well, truthfully, I’m not sure I know him either, but he seems genuine.

  The gossip circulating about Cade’s past is more salacious and exciting than the truth could ever be, and I’m not surprised that the tall tales have had such a successful shelf life. Rumors are like biting into a doughnut, sweet and gooey, and no matter how many you consume, you always want more. The truth, on the other hand—it’s more like kale salad. Everyone knows it’s healthier, but it’s not nearly as tasty. It upsets me that people in this town judge Cade so unfairly. By his own admittance, he’s made mistakes, but we all have. No one is a saint, especially those who try to act like they are. Cade told me that the talk going around about him doesn’t bother him, but I don’t believe that. Hurtful gossip is difficult to brush off.

  Here’s the thing: I think I like this guy. I mean, really like him. If I had to do tonight all over again—lie to Jay and go to the party without his approval to see a boy he warned me to stay away from—I would. I wouldn’t think twice about it. And that’s not like me at all.

  There’s a light tapping on the door. I roll over and sit up. “Come in.”

  Jay appears in the doorway, a coffee cup in one hand and a folded-up newspaper tucked under his arm. “I thought I heard you come home. Did you have a good time?”

  “It was fun,” I say. “But we didn’t get a lot of sleep.”