Falling Away

by Jasinda Wilder

  What do I do? Let him go? Respect his privacy?

  Fuck that.

  I go after him.

  SIX: How It Happened

  Ben

  Everything inside me is at war. My body wants one thing, my mind something else, my heart a different thing yet. And that's all aside from the guilt.

  God, the guilt.

  I can still feel Echo's lips on mine, feel her hands on my skin lifting my shirt up and off, feel her soft lush sexy body on mine, on top of me, kissing me and demanding more, attacking me and exploring me.

  And holy fuck do I want her. I want her more than I've ever wanted anything or anyone. Or...almost anyone.

  My heart aches, telling me I'm not over Kylie, telling me Echo is a rebound, telling me I'm still a fucking mess and I'm reaching out for anything to calm the furious emptiness inside of me. And my mind is telling me Echo is using me as a way to avoid dealing with her grief, and it's telling me that if she knew what Cheyenne had been doing out at two-thirty in the morning...if she knew what had happened moments before the crash...

  I have to get away from her. I can't think when she's right here beside me, when I can smell the shampoo on her blond hair and the soap on her skin and the beer on her breath, when I can feel the heat radiating off her tanned silky flesh. I can't think when she kisses me, can't manage anything but to kiss her back and kiss her hard and beg silently for more.

  I find myself out in the parking lot, leaning over the hood of my truck. I'm gasping for breath because I walked too fast and the pain in my knee is excruciating.

  I don't hear Echo approach. She's just there, behind me. I feel her hands on my back, and then she's leaning her backside against the bumper, one hand on my shoulder, comforting me even though she had no clue why I bolted.

  "Ben?" Her voice is soft and low with a musical lilt to it.

  I don't even know how to respond or where to start, because I don't want to tell her anything. I don't want her to know. I don't know how to go about baring all my secrets. So I don't respond at all, which is just shitty as hell on my part.

  She waits, and then twists and leans sideways against the hood, ducking down to try and catch my eye. "Benji?"

  Oh hell no. That name...it hurts so bad, but coming from her it's new and strange and sweet and I can't help but shift my gaze to hers. "I'm sorry, Echo."

  "What's wrong, Ben?"

  I shake my head. "It's--just me."

  "Look, you've got to give me something here, dude. You can't kiss me like that, and then just...shut down." She sidles closer, bumps me with her hip. Her hand is warm and small on my bare back, sliding in soothing circles. "I mean, I know I didn't imagine that. I know we don't know each other very well, but a kiss like that...we've got serious chemistry, if nothing else."

  "Don't ask, Echo. Just don't. You don't want to know."

  "Yeah, okay," she says, her voice dripping thickly with sarcasm. "Let me just pretend nothing happened real quick...oh, wait, no. I can't. So yeah, I am asking, because I do want to know."

  "What if I don't want to tell?" I ask, my voice harsh now, unfairly so.

  I pivot and walk away again, because I'm a coward, apparently. Back to my apartment, snatch my shirt and put it on, snag another beer and go out my front door and sit on the low step. A few seconds later, Echo is sitting beside me, a beer in her hand.

  "Well, now I'm really curious," she says. "So you're gonna have to tell me something."

  I guess I might as well get it over with, let it out.

  I sigh. "It happened right over there." I point with my cane at the intersection, the left turn lane.

  "What did?"

  I swallow hard, set down my beer before I drop it. "The accident. Your mom's accident."

  "Wh--what?" She's up and backing away, off the step and into the grass. She looks at me, and then twists and looks at the intersection. "What do you mean, Ben? How--? I don't even know what to ask. What was she doing here?"

  I look up at her, because she deserves to see my eyes and see the truth. "She'd...she gave me a ride home after my session. I usually took the bus, but I'd tripped during therapy and my knee was hurting too bad to even walk to the bus. So she drove me home."

  Echo is as still as a statue, staring at me, her brows pinched together, a million emotions warring on her face. "But...they said she died at--in the middle of the night. At like two-something, or three."

  "Two-thirty-six. She died at two-thirty-six." It comes out as a whisper.

  "How do you know? Why was she here, Ben?" Suspicion, now. The beginnings of anger.

  "It's not what you think--"

  She crosses the space between us in a few short angry steps, crouches in front of me, hands on my knees. "Then what was it, Ben? If it's not what I think, then what the fuck is it?"

  I swallow hard, clench my fists. "She was my friend. She...I'm alone here, you know? And I'd just gotten injured, my knee..." I rub at my knee. "Football is all I know. And I'd just found it was over, that I'd never play again. She'd told me about how she'd been a dancer, how she screwed up her ankle and had to stop dancing competitively. I guess it was something we had in common."

  She shakes her head. "No. Ben...come on, no. No." Her hand covers her mouth, her eyes shining with tears.

  "She dropped me off, and I--I asked her if she wanted to come in. We watched a movie. That's it. That's it. I swear."

  "Jesus, Ben. That's my mother."

  "I know. God, I know." I try to look at her, meet her eyes, but she shakes her head again and backs up, falls to her ass. "But I told you, we watched a movie and that's it. We both fell asleep on the couch, and then she left."

  Echo's eyes pierce me, pin me in place. "You're lying. You're fucking lying to me. Don't lie to me!"

  I push myself to my feet; walk past her, toward the street and the intersection. I stop at the curb and stare out at the left turn lane, the light shining red. "I'm not lying."

  She's there beside me because I can't seem to get away from her. "There's something else. I fucking feel it, Ben." She grabs my arms and turns me, stands chest-to-chest with me, looking up at me, her hands on my biceps. Her brown-gray-green eyes plead with me for the truth. "What happened, Ben? Just...just tell me exactly what happened. Please."

  I don't know how to tell it. I don't. I swallow hard and sigh hard and think hard. "I...we...we almost kissed."

  Echo doesn't move away, doesn't let go of my arms. She just blinks up at me. "What? What do you mean, 'almost kissed'?"

  I duck my head and stare at the green grass beneath my bare feet. "We fell asleep, I told you that. When we woke up, there was this...moment...Cheyenne and I--we...almost kissed. We didn't, though. She...she backed off and said she couldn't. Because I was her client, and because she had a daughter my age." I try to breathe, try to force words past my lips. "She got up to leave, and I could tell she was tired. I didn't want her to go, because I could tell how sleepy she was. I was worried for her. She tripped, walking out the door, and I tried to get her to stay, and I swear it was just to keep her safe, to keep anything bad from happening. In the doorway, she stopped and turned around, and that moment almost happened again, but she repeated what she'd already said, that she couldn't, that it just wasn't right. She couldn't. And I got it. I really did. And it was more than that...because I was so lonely and had been for so long, and with everything else I've--she was my only friend, and she was...your mother was a beautiful woman, Echo. A beautiful person. And...I tried to keep her from leaving, but she said she was fine, she'd be fine." My voice breaks, there.

  "Fuck. Ben...you almost kissed my mother? My mom? And then you kiss me?"

  "Now you get why I stopped." I choke out the words. "I watched her drive away. I stood right here on this step and watched her pull up in that left turn lane. The light was red, and I watched her car sit there until it turned green. The whole intersection was empty. I mean, it was two-thirty in the morning, and she was so tired...so she didn't check for oncoming tr
affic. She just went. And this car...this red Mustang. It ran the light. It just...it didn't even slow down, even though the light had been red for so long, you know? And...and fuck, I watched it happen. I watched that Mustang smash into her door. It came from her left. I don't know how she didn't see it. I saw it happen. I saw her door just...crumple. Saw her truck roll, and I ran over to where she was, and she was already--already dead."

  Echo just stares at me. "Ben..." she whispers, her voice cracking.

  I shake my head. "I tried to stop her from leaving. I tried, Echo. I fucking...I couldn't do anything--" I can't take her silence, can't take the agony in her eyes, can't take the weight of my own guilt. "I'm sorry, Echo. I know that doesn't mean shit, but...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  Echo blinks, then scoots on her backside away from me, and I know how truly I deserve the anger in her eyes. She stands up, stumbles, rights herself. "I need...I need to think. I've got to--I've got to go." She starts walking, just walks away.

  I force myself to my feet. "Echo. Wait." She stops but doesn't turn to look at me. I go inside and get my keys, bring them back out to where Echo is waiting. "Here. Take my truck."

  "I don't know where I'm going--" She has the keys clutched in her hand, though. "I don't know where I'm going, or when I'll--I just need to think--I can't be around you right now. I'm too upset."

  "I know. I get it. Just...take the truck."

  She does. I watch her climb up into my truck, hear the engine turn over with a throaty rumble, and then she's gone.

  I go inside, after a while.

  It's all too easy to give in to the exhaustion. I don't know what time it is, and I don't even care. For the first time in my life, I give in to lethargy. I collapse on the couch, and even though I can't fall asleep, I just lie there, consumed by guilt and regret and the ache of Echo leaving.

  All my life, I've been active, restless, energetic. Up early before school to hit the gym, and then practice after school. Even off-season I was in the gym early in the morning and I'd usually run a few miles in the evening. I was never idle. Sitting around and doing nothing made me crazy, and crazy made me feel useless and lazy and made my body buzz with unused energy.

  But now, there's no more running, no more football. I could find a new therapist, but I don't see the point. I can walk. The knee will heal.

  So I just lie there and pass the hours doing...I don't know what. I flip through channels, watch reruns and syndicated programming and sports clips. At one point, I even watch old grainy football games from the seventies and eighties on ESPN Classic.

  Beyond the drawn blinds of the sliding back door, darkness fades to light, and eventually my eyes close.

  *

  When I wake up, sunlight shines bright and blinding. The TV is off. I sit up slowly, swing my feet to the floor, and scan the living room. I spot my keys on the round table that fills the space between kitchen and living room. I spot her sandals on the floor by the front door, her purse on the kitchen counter.

  She's in my bed. Her jeans, T-shirt, and bra are in a neat pile on top of the dresser, and she's curled up on the very edge of the bed. The blanket is rumpled low over her hips, and she's got one hand tucked under her cheek, the other under the pillow. She's on her left side, facing the doorway, and I'm afforded a mouth-watering view of the fact that she didn't bother putting on one of my T-shirts.

  My hands curl at my sides, and I have to force myself to stay in the doorway rather than going over to the bed. I want to stare at her, want to touch her, want to kiss her. In this moment, that's the only thing in my mind. Touch her, kiss her, slide into the bed beside her and hold her.

  But I see her face, too, not just her breasts, and even in the relaxation of sleep, it's clear she's in pain.

  I rip my gaze away, move to the bedside and draw the blanket up over her shoulders, more to cover her from my greedy gaze than anything else. But when the blanket touches her shoulder, she makes a cute little noise in the back of her throat, twists on the bed to face the other way, tucking the blanket more tightly around her, her feet shifting under the covers as she seeks a new position.

  Her eyelids flutter, and I catch a slivered glimpse of her eyes. "Ben."

  I tug the blanket higher around her. "Sssshhhh."

  "I'm in your bed."

  "It's fine. Go to sleep."

  "'Kay." Her eyes flicker and flutter, and then her thick black lashes sweep against her cheek and she's asleep again, her breathing immediately going deep and even.

  I leave her sleeping and hop in the shower, let the scorching hot water ease the knots in my shoulders.

  When I leave the bathroom, a towel cinched around my hips, I find her fully awake, lying on her back with the blanket tucked under her arms, scrolling through her newsfeed on Facebook. As I emerge, dripping and hair mussed, she clicks her phone off and sets it aside, her eyes going to me.

  "Hi," I say, moving past the foot of the bed toward my dresser, trying to act casual. Being essentially naked in a room with an essentially naked girl is anything but familiar to me.

  She just stares at me, and I can tell she's hunting for words. "Ben...I drove around for a long, long time, thinking. And...I realized something."

  I glance at her, a pair of underwear gripped in my hand. "What's that?"

  "You think it's your fault."

  "It is."

  "No, it isn't, Ben. It's not. She was an adult. She made her decision. You expressed your concern, you offered to let her stay."

  "I should have insisted. I should have...I don't know. Made her stay. She had no business driving."

  She sits up higher, bringing the blanket with her. "Ben, she knew the risks. She was an ER nurse for ten years. She handled her share of patients injured in accidents just like hers. It's not your fault. She made the choice to drive, not you. What else could you have done, physically prevented her from leaving?"

  "But if it weren't for me, she wouldn't have even been here."

  Her gaze finally wavers, flits away from mine. "That's the part I'm still having trouble with." She touches the bed at her side. "Come sit."

  "I'm not dressed," I protest.

  "Me neither."

  So I perch on the edge of the bed and swing my legs up, crossing my legs at the ankles and keeping the towel pinched between my knees.

  Echo smirks and then slides over closer to me. "Modest, huh?"

  I shrug, blushing. "I guess."

  "It's cute. It's not like you haven't seen me in all my nearly-naked glory already."

  I just shrug again and she sighs. "I just don't know what to think, Ben. I really don't. It's so hard for me to reconcile the idea of you kissing my mom with the fact that she was my mom. I mean, I get that she's...that she was a beautiful woman. Intellectually, I get that. But she was my mother. But I also know she was...lonely. I guess I'm only realizing that now, thinking about how something like that could happen. I mean, I know Mom, and I know she's not...I know she wasn't a cougar. She had class and standards, you know?"

  "Wow. Okay." I can't help the sarcastic tone.

  Echo groans. "God, that came out really judgmental, didn't it? I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that she was twenty years older than you. Twenty years, Ben. That's a significant age difference. It's an entire generation, literally. But like I said, I'm trying to figure out, just for my own understanding, how she would even let herself get into a situation like that. And I realized, like I said, that she was lonely. I never knew my father, and I have no memory of my mom ever going on a date. Not one. Not in my entire life. She was dedicated to me and to work. I mean, maybe she went on dates or whatever while I was at school? I don't know. Somehow I don't think so. And I guess that makes me sad, I mean...everybody wants love, and...and sex, right?" She winces. "It's even harder for me to think about my mom in that context, but she was a woman, and she had to have those needs, right? So for whatever reason she let her guard down with you. I don't know. I mean, god, I get it. You're a great guy. Yo
u're easy to talk to, easy to be around, and shit, I'll be honest...you're hot as hell. But there just...there had to have been someone more age-appropriate at some point, right?"

  I don't answer right away. "Well...I don't know what to say to all that. We didn't talk about anything like that. It never went there. We talked a lot, but it was always...surface stuff, you know? Or it was about my motivation, my injury, my interests and what I'm going to do with myself now that football is off the table. We didn't talk about you, or my past or hers, or anything except that initial conversation about her dance career." It's supremely awkward and difficult talking about this, for both of us. I bite the bullet and resign myself to being totally clear. "Look, it was...not something either of us were looking for. Certainly not me. I was here in San Antonio to play football, and that's it. I wasn't looking for anything. But then I got hurt and the only friends I had were guys from the football team. It became too hard to be around them, so I didn't really have any friends.

  "And Cheyenne understood that. So, yeah, there was a level of attraction on my part. I never said or did anything, and I never really knew what she thought about me in that sense. I mean, I knew she was older than me by a good bit, but I didn't know how much until...until that day. And I mean...I was lonely, and I guess like you said, she was too. It makes sense, I guess, why a woman like her would even give the time of day to a guy like me. Because, like you said, she was twenty years older than me. But we were both lonely, and I invited her in, partly just to be polite and partly because, yeah, I wanted the company. I wasn't...thinking about...trying anything. Like I said, it just...sort of happened. But it didn't actually happen. You want the uncomfortable details? We were sitting on the couch, and in the process of watching the movie and then falling asleep, we'd gradually gotten closer and closer. And then we woke up, and there was just this strange moment of...what if...I guess. It was late, and we were both tired and just waking up, and...our lips touched for a fraction of second. Not even. And then she backed off and I guess she just realized all the different, very valid reasons why that couldn't and shouldn't happen. And it didn't. It was just this one weird moment, and I guess it was probably mostly just me."