Falling (Fading Series)

by Blair, E. K.

  “I don’t know. This is the first year that Jase isn’t here with me. We normally spend most of the break together when I’m not at my parents’.”

  “How’s that going?” I ask, knowing that the last time she saw them it ended badly.

  “It’s not, really,” she tells me. “I spoke with my father for the first time since Thanksgiving a few days ago, and he wants me to come over for dinner Christmas Eve.”

  “You haven’t spoken with them for all this time?”

  “No,” she says as we walk back out to grab some more logs.

  “So, you’re going over to see them then?” I ask, already feeling like I want to keep her from going. I know I have no right to say anything, but I can’t stand the thought of her being here alone if she winds up in another fight with them.

  “Well, yeah, I don’t really want to, but it’s Christmas and all. I’m just a little scared about how it will all go. The last time I saw them, we said some pretty nasty things to each other, and I have never gone this long without talking to them.”

  “What are they so upset about?” I ask, confused by what this girl could possibly be doing that they don’t approve of.

  “Everything,” she says as we walk into her house and into the kitchen. She grabs a bottle of wine that has already been opened and starts pouring a glass, adding, “Turns out I’ve been nothing but an embarrassing disappointment to them all along.”

  Taking a beer out of the fridge, I can’t help the sigh of irritation that comes out of me. I follow her into the living room, and when we sit down on the couch, I wrap my arm around her, just wanting her to be close to me any way I can get it.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” I say softly and immediately catch the slip and hope she isn’t freaked out by what I just said. But when she continues talking, I wonder if she even noticed that I called her ‘babe’ or if she did notice and is okay with it. Shit, I really hate this grey area.

  “Honestly, it’s nothing that I didn’t already know deep down, but it was the first time that it actually hit me that these were their true feelings toward me.”

  I feel it. It’s strong and causes a reaction I can’t control, and I act on it, demanding, “I don’t want you going over there.” She looks up at me, and there isn’t a hint on my face that I’m anything less than serious about what I just said.

  “Ryan, I have to,” she defends. “They’re my parents.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want you going over there for them to treat you like shit.” My words are hard, but they come out before I can even think to soften them up for her.

  She sighs and leans back into me, resting her head on my chest, and I enjoy the contact.

  “I have to go,” she whispers. “It’s Christmas, and I really should be there. I’m only going for dinner. That’s all.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “What?” she says as she pulls away and sits up.

  “I don’t want you going alone, Candace,” I tell her. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, but I’m not letting up on this.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re going. So we can argue about this, or you can just say okay.”

  Her eyes are locked on mine, stunned by my tone, but the feeling that I have to shield her from getting hurt again is powerful, almost uncontrollable. It takes her a moment, and I watch her brow twitch right before she turns and slowly leans back.

  “Okay,” she resolves with uncertainty.

  Certain or not, I don’t care. She said ‘okay,’ and I take it a step further, pushing her when I add, “And I don’t want you spending Christmas alone either, so why don’t you come home with me. I could use the distraction at the madhouse.”

  “What?! No. Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” she says in a high-pitched voice.

  “I’m sure you will be fine, but I don’t like the thought of you sitting here alone, so you’re coming with me.” I need her to come with me. I just need her . . . with me.

  “Ryan, it feels weird,” she argues.

  “Why?”

  “Because. It just does. I know you have a big family, and I just don’t want to intrude.”

  “It’s not an intrusion,” I assure her as I move to face her. “My family isn’t like that.”

  She drops her head and takes her time contemplating. Questioning. Shit, did I go too far? Did I scare her? As soon as I start to regret my words, she speaks.

  “Okay, but no gifts. It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know. It just always has. Please,” she says, almost begging, and I don’t push it any further.

  Excitement rushes through me, a feeling that’s all too new for me. But I can’t help it, knowing that I get to have her with me for a solid chunk of time.

  “Okay. No gifts,” I say with a smile.

  We both sit back, and when she gets comfortable in my arms, she asks, “So when did you start making all the rules?”

  “When you started making me worry about you,” I respond, completely transparent.

  Sitting there, I continue to hold her. We don’t talk at all. It’s quiet and peaceful, and having her warm body tucked in close with mine gets my heart racing. All I can think about is how I want to kiss her, touch her. Pick her up and make good use of her bed. But I know once that happens, I’ll never want to leave that bed. The thoughts alone turn me on, and I need to get control of myself.

  “Hey,” I whisper, looking down at her. When she tilts her head and peers up at me, she’s close. So close, that if I lean down slightly, I could kiss her. Maybe I should. But I know myself. I won’t want to stop. I don’t think I could with her, so instead, I say, “I should get going.”

  She nods her head, and feeling the movement against my jaw makes leaving so difficult, but that’s what I do. I stand, and she walks me to the door.

  “Thanks for helping me out tonight.”

  “You don’t need to thank me,” I tell her and then walk out to my car after she gives me another nod.

  The drive home is almost painful because all I want to do is turn around and take her, claim her as mine, but nothing about this girl is telling me that I should handle her in that way. I’m holding back, and I’ve never had to do that before. The anticipation drives me crazy, wondering when I’ll get to see her again, hear her voice when she calls, or read her words when she texts me.

  I need to talk to her. Be honest and tell her how I’m feeling. But I just got her to agree to spend the holidays with me, so I’ll selfishly take the time and won’t mention anything right now. God, this is killing me.

  When I wake up, I fix myself a cup of coffee before calling my mom to tell her about the change of plans.

  Taking my coffee over to the couch, I kick my feet up and call her.

  “Hi, dear,” she says when she answers the phone.

  “Hey. You busy?”

  “No. How are you?” she asks.

  “Good. Um, I have a minor change of plans for Christmas,” I tell her. “I’m gonna bring Candace with me.” I say this, almost cringing at what her reaction is going to be. I’ve never brought a girl home with me—ever.

  She’s surprisingly understated when she says, “That doesn’t sound like something minor. So what’s going on with you two?”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “But you’re bringing her here. Home. With the whole family. And nothing’s going on?” she pries.

  “She’s alone, and I don’t want her to be. That’s all,” I explain, but we both know that’s not all.

  “Alone? Where’s her family?”

  I take a long sip of my coffee before explaining, “She doesn’t have a good relationship with her parents. The last time she saw them, they wound up in a huge fight and they said some pretty bad things to her. She’s going back to see them for dinner on Christmas Eve, and I told her that I would go with her.”

  “
Oh. So, when are you coming home?”

  “We’re gonna drive down on Christmas, so I won’t be there in the morning with the kids,” I tell her, feeling a little guilty that I won’t be there when they wake up.

  “They’ll understand. I’ll talk to them,” she assures me. “I’m glad I finally get to meet this girl,” she says with excitement.

  “Mom, she can be really shy,” I warn. “I know she’s gonna be overwhelmed with everyone at the house, and I don’t want to make it any more awkward for her if anything was to be insinuated. It’s just not that way with us.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior,” she teases, and I know she will be. “Well, I should run out and get her a little something.”

  “No gifts.”

  “It’s Christmas, Ryan,” she says, annoyed by my demand.

  “She made me promise. Told me that gifts make her uncomfortable.”

  “Ryan, how much do you know about this girl?” I can hear the uncertainty about Candace in her voice.

  “Why?”

  She lets out a heavy breath before saying, “It just sounds like she has some issues going on, and I wonder what you really know about her.”

  I take a moment because all I want to do is defend this girl. Truth is, I know she has issues. I’m not blind to the odd behavior I catch glimpses of and the couple of things that Jase and Mark have said about her. But whatever is going on, I don’t think it could ever be enough to keep me away. So, I bypass my mom’s concerns and leave it at, “She’s special. I don’t know what’s going on with us, but she’s important to me.”

  I can almost hear my mother’s smile when she says, “Well, then she’s important to me too.”

  “She’s a good girl, but her walls aren’t that easy to break down.”

  “Sometimes it isn’t about breaking walls, dear. Sometimes it’s simply about proving yourself to the other person that they’re willing to just let them down.”

  My mom’s support is a constant in my life, and I’m grateful that I can depend on that from her.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  There’s no doubt she’s nervous when she gets into my car and I start driving up to Shoreline to her parents’ house. She doesn’t speak as she sits there, looking all proper in her plum, knee-length dress and black high heels. She hardly ever wears jewelry or makeup, she doesn’t need to—she’s perfect. But I don’t like seeing her so worried.

  “Relax,” I tell her.

  “Ryan. You need to know that—”

  “Candace, relax.”

  “They’re just very judgmental people,” she warns.

  “There is nothing that they can say that I haven’t heard before,” I tell her. If anyone can deal with people who degrade you, it’s me. I spent my whole childhood listening to a father telling me, every way he could, what a piece of shit I was. I’m sure I can handle whatever it is I’m about to walk into. But it isn’t me I’m worried about, it’s her.

  When I pull into the gates of The Highlands, an upscale affluent community, I look over at Candace and lay my hand over the two of hers that are clenched tightly together. I weave through the neighborhood and when she points to the house, I pull into the drive and shut the car off. She doesn’t open the door or move in any way. She sits, and I let her take her time.

  After a few moments pass, I ask, “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” she sighs and then opens the door.

  Walking up to the large, two-story home that overlooks the Sound, she takes a deep breath before opening the front door. We walk in, and I take in my surroundings. I knew that she came from money—I do too—but there’s a big difference between affluent and wealthy. This is wealth.

  “Bunny,” her father beams as he walks through the foyer with his arms out to pull her into a hug. From his demeanor, you would never expect the family drama that lies underneath the surface. My father was the same way. No one would ever suspect the violent man that he was behind closed doors.

  He takes a step back from Candace and turns to me. He wears a tailored charcoal suit and has almost polished, silver hair. “And you must be Ryan. Thanks for joining us,” he says to me, shaking my hand.

  “Good to meet you, sir.”

  “Come in,” he says as he leads us back through the formal living room and into the kitchen. He turns to Candace, and tells her, “Your mother is finishing getting ready. She should be out shortly.”

  She only smiles up at him.

  “What can I get you two to drink?” he asks.

  “A beer is good, Mr. Parker,” I say to him.

  “Please, call me Charles.”

  With drinks in hand we make our way back to their library that spans the two stories of the house with a large walk-in fireplace.

  I sit next to Candace on the tucked leather couch as her father asks, “So, Ryan, what is it that you do?”

  “I own a bar right off campus,” I tell him as Candace shifts nervously at my side.

  “Oh, how did you get into that type of work?”

  I briefly explain how I acquired the business after I graduated from UW, and he follows along, nodding his head.

  “What did you study in college?” he asks before taking a sip of his scotch.

  “Finance.”

  “Now that’s a respectable degree,” I hear, and when I turn my head, I see a petite woman with shoulder-length, brown hair, wearing a dress similar to Candace’s, only in navy. But where Candace is more reserved, there isn’t a question about her mother’s social standing by the way she carries herself in a much too proud manner as she walks across the room, almost demanding attention.

  Candace stands to give her mom a stiff hug.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Good to see you, darling,” she drawls before turning to me. “And Ryan, welcome.”

  I step closer and take her hand, saying, “Thank you for having me.”

  “Of course. It isn’t every day that our daughter brings a man home,” she says in a patronizing tone, and I look over to see Candace rolling her eyes as we sit down.

  “Ryan was just telling me about the bar he owns,” her father announces.

  “A bar?” she questions as if the words have a bad taste to them. She has no idea that the bar I own has afforded me an extremely comfortable lifestyle.

  Before she can continue, Candace jumps in and changes the subject, asking about her parents’ upcoming trip to Aspen.

  Candace and I sit back and listen to their plans before her father excuses himself and Candace takes me to show me around the house.

  We walk outside to the backyard and look at the view of the Sound.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Candace says softly as we take a seat on one of the benches.

  “About what?”

  She looks at me with apology. “They can be a lot. They’re pretty pretentious.”

  “Candace, no one has perfect parents. Everyone’s flawed in some way.”

  I slip my arm over her shoulders as she tightens the scarf around her neck.

  “So, you grew up here in Shoreline?” I ask.

  “Yeah. In this very house. The Kelleys, who live across the street, have a daughter that’s the same age as me. We used to be best friends when we were growing up.”

  “And now?”

  “And now all I really have is Jase, Mark . . . and you,” she tells me and knowing that she sees me as someone she can at least group with Jase and Mark gives me a little relief.

  “What about your roommate?”

  “Kimber? We used to be really close, but not so much anymore.”

  “So what happened to all your friends from high school?” I ask, curious as to why she secludes herself in a manner that prevents her from having more people in her life.

  “They’ve moved on. Applying to grad schools, getting married, making a life for themselves. Most of the kids here wind up becoming people like my parents. More concerned about their image and what social circle they’re in. It’s not me, so I never cared
enough to stay in touch with anyone.”

  I see how her parents could be upset that she doesn’t seem to follow suit with their expectations. That Candace would be driven enough to step out of that life to create a new one, a more comfortable one, for herself. She’s ambitious in a way that’s unique from her parents. Following a passion—dance—to build a life that she can find pleasure in.

  “We should go back inside,” she tells me, and when we walk in, her father calls from the other room, “Candace, could you come in here?”

  “Yeah, just a second.” She looks at me and says, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, it’s okay,” she assures before heading back to the library.

  I take this time to stroll aimlessly through the house. Walking into the formal living room, I scan the framed photos that are displayed on the black grand piano. Family portraits through the years. Candace as a young girl, wearing a frilly white dress with white gloves, searching for Easter eggs on the greens of a golf course. A picture-perfect family, but from what little I have picked up from Jase, she was miserable. But out of all the photos, none of her dancing.

  I’m curious to know what she would look like dancing. She’s so poised as it is, but to see how she would move intrigues me.

  My attention shifts to the library when I hear Candace yelling. I don’t miss a beat when I start walking through the house to where she is, concerned about what they’re talking about and what has Candace raising her voice when she’s always so quiet. I can draw my own conclusions about what kind of relationship she has with her parents and wonder if they are the ones she needs to be protected from.

  When I step to the closed double doors, I hear her father bark, “You have a name to uphold!”

  “I just don’t understand you,” her mother snaps. “You should be thanking your father, not pouting,” and the sound of her condescending voice irks the hell out of me.

  “You are unbelievable, Mother! I’m not a child!” Candace’s voice is strained as she yells, and I can’t bear the pain in her words. I barge in and see the annoyance on her mother’s face, so I lock my eyes on Candace, but she doesn’t notice as she continues shouting at her mom. “You can’t just step in and take away everything I have worked so hard for during these past four years! How can you call yourself a mother? You’re nothing! You say you’re embarrassed by me, well, it goes both ways.”