After I Fall: A FALLING NOVEL

by Jessica Scott

  Does she really believe that she's…she can’t?

  She's got to be fucking with me for turning her down last night. Girls like her aren't used to being told no, so she's screwing with me out of revenge.

  Has to be.

  Because the alternative…it just doesn't line up with the sum of all of my interactions to date with the flora and fauna of this rapidly gentrifying North Carolina town.

  I catch Deacon looking at the clock. “No sign of Kels yet?”

  Kels is…unpacking a whole lot of stuff from the war. And about the only thing I, or any of us can do is be there when she stumbles and falls and help her back up again.

  And hope she's strong enough to get up just once more.

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Not seeing that she’s read my texts, either.”

  I glance down at my watch. I've had it since I was a cadet—it was the first thing I bought with my own money at the Cadet Store. It's nothing fancy or super expensive, but I've kept it because I've gotten so used to wearing it, I would feel naked without it.

  “Gonna be a busy night then,” I mumble. I need to go through the applications and hire new staff. I can afford it. I’ve been delaying for a couple of reasons, which doesn’t make sense now that I’ve finally brought fresh blood on in the form of Parker.

  “You looked like you were having a good chat in the hallway,” Deacon says, firing off a text and slipping his phone into his back pocket.

  “She was asking about the Army.”

  He looks at me like I’ve grown horns. “And you were entertaining those questions?”

  “Well, she didn’t start talking about how she’s a level fifty-two or whatever on Call of Duty so she’s got that going for her.”

  He grins. “That’s a bonus, all right.”

  We open the doors in another hour. I’m holding out hope that Kelsey is going to show up as we prep for opening. Parker walks up from where she’d been setting out the small jars with candles in them.

  "Deacon is putting me on the floor. Should I be worried?"

  When I don't answer and make a show of looking at my phone, she keeps going, not taking the hint that right now, I can't deal with her being in my space, in my head. I need to focus. One problem at a time. I have a really hard time doing that when Parker is around. "Texting Kelsey?"

  "She won't answer. She never does." I slide my phone back into my pocket. "If none of us hears from her by midnight, I'll send someone out to her place. Just to be on the safe side."

  She frowns. "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why would you send someone to her place?"

  I frown slightly. "To check on her. Why else?"

  "But that's not your job. You're her boss, not her father."

  I scrub my hand over the back of my neck, unsure how to respond. "I'm just looking out for her. Making sure she's okay. That's what we do."

  A strange emotion fills Parker's eyes. Something that reminds me not of loss, but of longing. "Oh."

  It takes me a moment to realize that it's not her question that catches me off guard. It's that she can't conceptualize a world where something as basic as checking on a friend is not a unique and foreign concept.

  Parker tips her chin and looks up at me, catching me watching her. There is an awareness now, a wariness in her light green eyes.

  "What?" I ask quietly.

  Whatever passed between us earlier is gone now, leaving simmering sexual tension writhing through the air between us.

  Parker presses her lips into a flat line. "Just trying to figure you out, that's all."

  "Not a lot of mystery."

  "Oh, I beg to differ." There is something sharp and biting in her words. Sharper than I expect from someone as light and fluffy-looking as Parker.

  "What, just because I wouldn't fuck on demand the first night we met?" The words are out before I can stop them.

  She doesn't flinch away from the harshness of my words. "Maybe you're right about me. Maybe I'm not used to being told no."

  Sharp, biting words. I can hear the real pain hiding behind them, cowering in the dark. I take a step closer to her in the dim light. She is pale and soft and prim and proper. She lives in a world that I've run hard and fast from and never looked back.

  And yet, like the life I've tried to forget, she's followed me. Into the dark spaces in my head, she's there. Something pure and light amidst the dark, twisted memories I've tried so hard to pretend are anything but.

  Unable to stop myself, I reach for her. Her skin is soft beneath my touch. Soft and warm and real. It's been so long since I've touched a woman for pure pleasure. But this woman…I keep my touch light, deliberately so.

  She doesn't pull away. She leans into my palm, almost nuzzling against it like a kitten waiting to be petted.

  Her need to be touched is the single most erotic thing I've ever experienced. It would be so fucking easy to take her back into my office. To lock the door and lower her to my desk and sink inside the welcome I see in her eyes.

  But I can't do that. Because it's what she thinks she wants.

  It's what she thinks she deserves. And I won't do that to her.

  She's worth more than a quick fuck in my office or in the alley behind my bar. "I don't know who made you think you're worth so little," I murmur, "but you're not what they say you are."

  I want her to hear me but I don't think she does. She simply turns her lips into my palm and presses them to the rough calluses.

  And then there is space between us and my palm is cold and empty without her filling it.

  She catches me off guard with her next sentence. "Where does it come from?"

  I frown, struggling to find my bearing. "Where does what come from?"

  "This profound sense of responsibility for the people around you."

  "Maybe it's just how I'm wired." I'm uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is heading. I do the looking out and looking in. People don't look into me.

  "I've never met anyone wired like you are."

  "You don't know me." My throat is tight. I need to get back to my damn end-of-month reports, but instead I'm standing there, worried about one of my employees and under inspection by another.

  I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like she can look at me and see my sins. Some I committed. Others I failed to prevent.

  I am hiding in plain sight. Out in the open. Hoping no one ever digs deep into my background, beyond "served in combat”. I don't owe the world beyond my commanders any explanation for my time in the service, and yet standing there, so close to a woman I refuse to touch, I feel a thousand unwanted emotions.

  "You're right. I don't." She takes a step back. "And I think you like it that way. Keep everyone at a distance. Always keep the focus on others, never on yourself." She smiles sadly. "In that, you're just like everyone else in my life."

  She slips away, back toward Deacon, where he's waiting to continue briefing her on how to work the floor and place orders with the bartenders.

  I'm not exactly sure what just happened here. I feel like I just got my punk card pulled, stamped, and handed back to me.

  A shiver of uncertainty slides over my spine as I watch her. I hope Deacon is wrong. That there is nothing more complicated to Parker than a rich girl slumming on Daddy's money.

  But I can't shake the feeling that there is more to Parker Hauser than she's let on.

  And she might be the biggest mistake I've made since I came here to rebuild my life after leaving the Army and the war behind.

  Chapter 10

  Eli

  * * *

  Kelsey walks in thirty minutes after we open, and for the first time in my life I’m glad the bar is slower than it should be. I’d be pissed but I’m too relieved to see her. She flips her glossy black hair over her shoulder and smiles brightly as she immediately gets to work behind the bar. "Hey. Sorry I scared you. Food poisoning."

  I fold my arms over my chest, trying to look like a pissed-off boss. "Yeah? From
what? I’d like to avoid praying to the porcelain gods if at all possible."

  "Not sure. I ate off one of the new fusion food trucks, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up passed out on the bathroom floor." She looks up at me. "And before you say anything, no I wasn't roofied and yes, I'm sure."

  "Well, as long as you're sure." I grin, hiding my worry. "So everything is okay? Did you get that appointment at the VA you were trying to get?"

  She slices up an orange with a violence that has me wanting to protect my junk from her rage. "That place is becoming the place that shall not be named. Would it be considered temporary insanity if I just snap one day and burn the entire fucking building to the ground?"

  "Since you're discussing it, that qualifies as premeditated, so probably not."

  "If I get called ‘honey’ and asked for my husband’s social security number one more time, I'm going to cut a bitch."

  Kels would probably do it, too. "I'll start a jail bond fund in your name. Why is it so hard for you to get seen there?"

  She cups her breasts and wiggles her hips. "See these? I've got the wrong plumbing for this VA. Turns out, they only know what to do with the boys, and even then, they can't get appointments.”

  "Keep trying. And keep records of all of this. You might need to testify before Congress about this."

  She looks at me like I'm fucking cross-eyed. "Sure. And I've got a bridge in Arizona to sell ya. Speaking of which, I might need to adjust my schedule for next semester."

  "Sure. Just let me know and we'll make it happen."

  She smiles brightly at someone over my shoulder. "Hey! You ready for your first night?"

  I follow her gaze to see Parker approaching. She's wearing a plain t-shirt that hugs every curve, and I'm struck by how bright she is in the dim light of the bar. Her hair is tucked behind one ear in a lopsided braid. She must have done that in the bathroom or something because it damn sure wasn’t braided an hour ago.

  There are a million filthy things I could do with that braid. I have the sudden urge to lift that braid off her neck and press my lips to her skin. To feel her tip her chin to one side and trace my tongue over her pulse and capture her sigh.

  I want this woman. I want the promise I see in her eyes. I want to feel her need…me. Just me.

  Not the owner of The Pint. Not the former soldier. Not the tatted-out bartender.

  Just me.

  But I won't do that to her. Because she wanted to fuck for the wrong reasons. And until I'm sure she's looking at me, really me, I can't…I won't cross that line, no matter how badly my dick might resent my principled stance.

  “I’m ready. I hope,” Parker says brightly. She’s not even dealing with customers yet.

  “You’ll be fine. Just remember no one has the right to put their hands on you. Standing order in this place.” She points to a sign behind the bar and Parker’s eyes widen as she just notices it.

  “How about that? That’s pretty cool.”

  “There’re a lot of cool things about this place,” Kelsey says. “I’ll be right back. We need more Jack Daniels.”

  Kelsey disappears into the basement leaving me alone with Parker. Her smile fades just a little, and just like that, I see the girl in the alley once more, asking for things that she doesn't really want because she thinks it will fix what ails her.

  I hate that I can't fix it. That I can't lift her chin and kiss the sadness from her eyes. And I don't want her to see this side of me. The helplessness that twists inside me when I can't fix what's wrong with the people in my life.

  "Are you okay?" It's almost a statement rather than a question. Almost.

  She looks away. "Just things I'd rather avoid not letting me avoid them."

  "Things like the cause of this?" I reach across the bar and brush my thumb gently, so gently beneath the bruise that she's done a better job of concealing today.

  Her lips twist into a humorless smile. "You're a pretty good guesser."

  "I'm good with people. It's part of the job description."

  "Is that bartender or soldier?" she asks softly.

  "Both. The Army is a people business."

  "So's running a bar."

  "Pretty much." She brushes her braid off her shoulder, exposing the shimmering skin of her throat. I am drawn to it, to her. To the vulnerability in her. The strength.

  "You're glad she’s here," Parker says quietly.

  “Obviously. Otherwise, tonight was going to be really hectic.”

  “Nice try.” She slips her hands into the front pocket of her jeans, angling her body slightly toward me. “You’re glad she’s safe. You’re genuinely glad.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? She works for me.”

  “That’s not it. There’s something more. You love her. But not sexually. Like she’s one of your soldiers.”

  I open my mouth, then close it again. I’m not used to having someone poking around inside my head. “So?”

  Her smile is shielded. “It’s nice. Seeing that you care about your people.”

  I clear my throat. “Comments like that make me want to get you drunk and hear your life’s story.”

  "Well, I was thinking about getting drunk before my shift really got going."

  I can't help but grin. "Nervous?"

  "A little bit. I'm not nearly as good with people as you are."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  She toys with the edge of her braid. "A little alcohol goes a long way to loosen a girl up." Her eyes widen and her mouth forms a surprised “O”. "That came out wrong. What I meant was…"

  "I know." I don't want to think about her that first night. About how soft she was against the hard, wet brick. About the want I felt in her body.

  Or the revulsion I felt when I realized she was trying to hurt herself to hurt someone else.

  "You never asked me for any references," she's saying when I can focus on her words. "How do you know I'm not some klepto-arsonist-in-training?"

  "You don't look like a klepto-arsonist."

  "And you know what one looks like?"

  "Funny you should mention it, but yes, actually I do." She's smiling now, and the sadness I saw in her eyes earlier is fading beneath her rampant curiosity.

  She leans forward on the bar, braced on her elbows. "Oh, do tell."

  "This kid, Meyers, was in my platoon. Things started turning up missing out of the barracks a few weeks after we deployed. He was a skinny little fuck. Got hooked on meth, started stealing and eventually caught his entire block of the LSA on fire."

  "I'm sorry, you lost me at ‘LSA’."

  "Life Support Area. Sorry. Where everyone lived on the big bases overseas."

  She makes a noise. "And what happened to young Meyers?"

  "He ran away. Went home on midtour leave and never came back. We ended up dropping him from the rolls."

  She flinches, then frowns. I tuck that little piece of information away for later. "You just let him go?"

  I shrug. "Sometimes it's easier to let people go than to fight to make them do something they don't want to. Or, something you don't want to do. I would have had to court-martial him if he hadn't gone AWOL. Him leaving saved us both from doing something we didn't want to do."

  She runs her index finger over the edge of her thumbnail thoughtfully, as if she's contemplating whether I'm telling her the truth or not. It’s amazing how much energy and motion is contained in such a small package.

  She finally looks back up at me. "What a fascinating life you must have led in the Army," she whispers.

  "You can't make up the stories we tell." The funny stories, the shit people won't believe, those I don't mind talking about. The rest?

  The rest I want to leave buried in the moon dust of the desert sand.

  Chapter 11

  Parker

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, you need a what?"

  "A blowjob."

  "I'm pretty sure I'd need to know your name before we get that intimate." H
alf of me can't believe I just said that. The other half can't figure out why on earth I'm still standing here.

  Oh yeah, because I'm a waitress. Which apparently means pretending I'm fuckable to half the clientele in The Pint tonight. I thought I wanted to get tips as a point of pride. Now they just feel like dirty money.

  Now if he'd asked for a hundred-dollar bottle of whiskey, I could have at least had a point of reference for what he was asking for. But right now, I'm pretty far out of my league, and I'm not entirely sure the guy isn't screwing with me.

  He's like a real-life dick pic standing in front of me, offering himself up like some kind of prize at the carnival freak show.

  I'm really wishing that the missing waitress had shown up and that I wasn't running the entire floor my first night on the job.

  Mr. Blowjob grins up at me and it's half a leer. "It's a drink, Tits."

  I roll my eyes. "Last time I checked, my name wasn't Tits McGee."

  Mr. Blowjob rocks back on two legs of his chair and grins. "I'm impressed you got the reference. Most girls around here wouldn't lower themselves to watching Anchorman."

  "Yeah, well, that just goes to show you what you know about the girls around here." I sniff and resist the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. I don't need the tip but I do need my self-respect. "About that drink?"

  He chuckles. "I'll pass on the blowjob. Glenfiddich 14 Year Reserve if you have it." I lift both eyebrows and say nothing as I scratch the word “blowjob” from my notepad. My life has gotten so strange.

  "I'll be right back with that," I say. "Anything else?"

  "A menu? I think I want something to eat."

  Since he didn't say he wanted me for dinner, I won't throw a salt shaker at his head. I can't quite get beyond the whole rapid transition between the blowjob comment and his normal ordering of high-end Scotch and food.

  Maybe I'm just new and I'll get used to the ADHD customers. Or something.

  I walk up to the bar in time to see Kelsey stalking off. Deacon looks like he wants to hit something. Or someone.