Breaking Gravity (Fall Back Series #2)

by Autumn Grey

  His voice is so low, I wouldn’t have caught the words if my senses weren’t on high alert, breathlessly waiting. I’m not even sure he meant to say the words out loud, given the mystified look on his face.

  “What did you say?” I whisper now, wanting him to say it again.

  He pulls his arm from around me and sits up, then drags trembling fingers down his hair before gripping the nape of his neck like it’s a lifeline. “I changed my mind.”

  “Nate,” I start to say, but stop to gather my thoughts.

  “Look. Let’s just enjoy whatever this is. At least for as long as you want me.” He reaches for my hand on top of the sheet and kisses the knuckles, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. “I’ll go clean up.”

  He stands and strides to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Seconds later, I hear the sound of the shower running. Images of him leaning his forehead on the wall while rivulets of water cascade across his broad shoulders and down his strong back flash inside my head. I moan and punch the pillow twice in frustration. I hop out of bed and march to the bathroom door, then remember that hours ago he was in pain and needs to rest.

  I spin on my heel and take my lusty ass back into bed and pull the sheet up to my shoulders, then wait for him to finish taking his shower.

  After the shower, I leave the bathroom, rubbing my hair with a towel, and return to bed to find Elon lying on her stomach, her loud snores filling the room.

  After toweling myself dry, I unhook the one on my waist and toss them on a nearby chair, but they slide and fall on the floor. My Little Wolf would have a seizure if she saw that.

  I crawl on the bed, feeling refreshed and my body free of pain, and lie on my back, then pull Elon to my side. The towel she had wrapped around her after the shower now lies beneath her body. She burrows her face in my neck, curling her tight little body around mine and throwing a shapely leg over my thighs. My cock, already semi-hard, rises eagerly to the occasion.

  “God, you smell so good, I could eat you right now,” she says in a husky voice, lifting her head and giving me a sleepy look that’s all kinds of sexy with her hair mussed up and falling around her shoulders. The tip of her tongue peeks out as she licks her lips, and that primal part of me imagines grabbing her head and guiding her down between my thighs.

  Something holds me back though. My head and my dick are at war, and as much as I want to spend the night inside her and make up for the last few days, I can’t. Not when my feelings have been all over the place from the moment I stepped into Starbucks and our eyes met from across the room, sending shocks of awareness all over my body.

  Seeing Elon waiting for me was like inhaling a lungful of air after being underwater for years. At first I thought I was going through the motions because I hadn’t seen her since she left Jacksonville. But after spending the day with her and watching her eyes light up and hearing her addictive laughter, chasing the traces of shadows in her face, I knew I was screwed. I realize that “Whatever we want this to be” just got really fucking complicated.

  “These are so cute,” she says, tracing her pinkie along the purple friendship bracelets Makayla made for me.

  My lips pull in a smile, remembering her delighted face every time she sees her gift around my wrist. “My niece made them for me.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Makayla. Or Kaylie.” I reach for my phone on the nightstand and notice several messages from Bennett—nosy fucker—and two missed calls from my mom. I make a mental note to call back my mother tomorrow and ignore my brother-in-law’s messages for now.

  I tap the screen and pull up a couple of images, then angle the phone so Elon can see the screen. I point to the ray of sunshine with curly hair framing her cherubic face sitting next to Matthew, who is staring at the camera with a smirk similar to my own, his hair a riot of wild curls. “Here she is. And that is her brother, Matthew, next to her. Izzy would likely kill anyone who tries to cut Matthew’s hair.” I chuckle. “There’s this one time Bennett wanted to take his son to get a haircut. My sister stopped him with just a look.”

  She snort-laughs, and my arm instinctively tightens around her.

  I’ve fucking missed that sound.

  “They are so adorable! How old are they?”

  “Matthew is six and Kaylie is four.” I swipe a finger across the screen and a different image appears. “That’s Izzy, and of course you know Bennett,” I point to the second, and then the third one. “And my mother and father.”

  In the photo, Izzy’s lying on a couch and Bennett is leaning forward, his lips pressed on his wife’s swollen belly while flashing a thumbs up to the camera.

  “They’re a goofy pair,” I say with a chuckle.

  She laughs softly, the sound a siren’s song to my soul.

  My gaze wanders to my mom. Her chestnut hair is littered with white streaks, grey eyes like mine staring into the camera, smiling. Standing behind her with his arms around her waist, hugging her to him, is my father. Tall, dark-haired, greying on the sides. People say I resemble my father, which is true. He was one good-looking man.

  Elon flashes me a cheerful smile, but I see the lines straining the corner of her eyes. “You have a beautiful family.”

  After everything she has told me about her family, I now understand the glimpses of sadness I see in her eyes. She doesn’t talk about her mother a lot, which gives me the impression that she is much closer to her sisters than the woman who gave birth to her. Then there’s that twisted motherfucker of a father and the shitty ex-boyfriend.

  I pull her tighter into me, my chest burning with a powerful need to protect her from anything that could harm her. I lift her chin, slanting her face up and kissing her savagely, pouring my feelings in the way my tongue tangles with hers. She moans, her breathing growing erratic.

  I slow down the kiss and take in her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips. “Now that’s the look I was going for. Look at the camera for me, sweetheart.”

  Slightly, I lift my left hand holding the phone and take a photo of us, then toss the phone on the nightstand.

  We settle back in the bed, and she pulls the sheet to cover our naked bodies.

  “Can I ask you something?” she inquires in a timid voice, which is unlike her. My Little Wolf is quiet, but never shy.

  “Sure,” I agree, feeling uneasiness slither down my spine. I shake it off, kiss her hair and squeeze her ass. Christ, I love her ass. “Go ahead.”

  She clears her throat. “Um. . .Camille—” She stops abruptly, probably feeling my body tense beneath hers.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as the guilt and pain that has been simmering just below my skin explodes to life. After the last month and few weeks, I thought I’d managed to sort out those feelings.

  I was wrong. They just boiled over at the mention of Camille, scorching my veins, tearing down every single barrier I’d put up the past three years. My head starts to pound with the restrained memories until I feel as if it will split in two.

  My hand leaves her ass and I rub my temples, hoping to ease the pain. Behind my closed eyes, I see her.

  No, not Camille.

  Elon.

  I see her terrified face as she opens herself to me, telling me about her life, her pain. And yet, she still manages to stand strong and positive, even after everything she has gone through.

  I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.

  “What would you like to know?” I find myself asking her.

  “Whatever you are comfortable telling me.”

  I blow out a deep breath and wet my lips, not sure where to start.

  “The first time we met, I just knew she was who I was meant to be with. She was my first. . .” I trail off as I try to gather my next words. “We were inseparable. Elizabeth—her mother—despised me from the beginning.”

  She looks up at and murmurs, “Elizabeth. . .Elizabeth Masters. Camille’s mother.” Understanding shines in her eyes. “I saw the two of you talking in the hallway a few we
eks ago. It looked intense.”

  “It was. She said I looked at you the way I used to look at Camille.”

  She jolts up on the bed and quickly sits up. “What? Mrs. Masters knows about us?”

  “No. But I have a feeling she suspects something’s going on.”

  “Shit,” she mutters under her breath, hopping out of bed.

  “Elon.”

  She starts to pace as if she didn’t hear me, halts next to the towels scattered on the floor and starts folding them into a neat pile. Then, she places them on the chair, marches to the bed, snatches her towel and walks to the bathroom.

  Elon strides back, paces up and down twice before stopping and facing me. “Okay, I’m calm. I’m calm. Continue, but let’s leave Mrs. Masters out of the story for now, please.”

  I nod and hold out my hand to her. She crawls back on the bed and curls her soft body into my hard one.

  Once she’s settled down, I let myself go back in time for the first time since the night my life changed.

  Three years ago

  “Stop scowling, Nathan.”

  “I’m not scowling,” I say, swiping the screen with a finger to exit the message on my phone, then lift my gaze and meet Camille’s bright blue eyes while shoving the phone inside my pants pocket. Her eyebrows bunch up in concern.

  I planned this evening down to the tiniest details. Now, just one small issue and everything is unraveling fast. I clench my fist, annoyed. I should have planned everything myself before we left home.

  “Uh-uh. That look on your face can only mean one thing. Something beyond your powers of control happened, and you have no idea how to fix it.”

  I wipe the irritation off my face and smile at her. Then I slip my arm around my girlfriend’s waist and pull her flush to my body. Automatically, she angles her face to mine and lifts on her tiptoes with her lips in a pout, waiting for a kiss.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are when you smile?”

  I roll my eyes, my lips twitching, unable to fight the smile. “So I’ve heard. Happy birthday, Camille. Did you enjoy the opera?”

  She hums softly under her breath. “It was perfect. Thank you for this, Nathan. I’d been dying to attend La Traviata.”

  I grunt. “You really loved it?”

  She nods, grinning.

  “Even though she dies in her lover’s arms in the end?”

  “Don’t you dare spoil it for me. It was rather romantic, you know.” She smiles shyly before brushing her mouth to mine in a kiss.

  Unable to resist her sweet mouth, I wrap my fingers around the nape of her neck and claim her lips. She melts into me like she always does, kissing me like the fucking world is ending.

  “Good enough for me to make you come over and over tonight?” I mumble against her mouth, moving my lips down her cheek, her jaw. She inhales sharply when I nip her neck with my teeth.

  Her cheeks turn pink, and she buries her face in my chest. “Oh God, Nathan. We’re in public. People are looking at us.”

  I chuckle, cupping her face in both my hands. “Still so shy, even after all this time.”

  “And you love me for that. Come on. Let’s go home so I can thank you properly.”

  “Fuck, yeah,” I agree, linking my fingers with hers and tugging her toward the cloakroom. I subtly slide my right hand inside my pants pocket and wrap my fingers around the velvet box in there.

  Tonight, I plan on asking her to be my wife, just like I’ve been doing every year since we first met when we were nineteen. My gut tells me she’ll finally accept my proposal.

  After putting on our coats, we leave the Chicago Opera Theater. Flurries of snow swirl downward as we step into the December evening. I wrap my arm around Camille’s shoulder and pull her close to me as we hurry toward my car parked two blocks away.

  Minutes later, we’re standing in front of my silver BMW. I pull the keys from my pocket and drop my gloved hand to quickly brush the snow off the windshield.

  Behind me, I hear Camille’s teeth chattering as she mutters, “It’s freakin’ freezing today.”

  I unlock the passenger door and turn around. “I could warm you—”

  My blood freezes in my veins as stare at the man standing five feet away with a gun aimed toward us.

  “You couldn’t wait until we got home to make some dirty remark, could you?” Camille giggles, swatting my chest, unaware of the looming danger. Her smile fades when she notices I haven’t moved. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your purse, lady,” the man dressed in a long, black trench coat demands in a slurred voice. “And you.” He points the weapon at me. “Don’t fucking move, or I’ll put a bullet through your little lady over there.”

  Camille gasps and spins around, her eyes wide.

  “Get behind me,” I whisper, my gaze never leaving the asshole in front of us.

  She doesn’t. Her breath is coming fast, and she whimpers.

  “Cami—”

  “I want the fucking purse!” The man shouts, the hand holding the gun trembling in his unsteady grip. He shakes his head, then squints as if trying to focus on us.

  Shit. I need to keep his focus on me.

  After quickly glancing up and down the deserted walkways, I turn back to face him.

  “Easy there, buddy,” I say in a soothing voice while raising my hands in the air. “I’m going to bring the purse to you, all right?”

  He licks his lips and then uses his free hand to steady the one holding the gun. “Your wallet, too, mister.” His jittery gaze jumps to the car behind me. “And the keys.”

  Not on his fucking life.

  “The purse and wallet first, right?” I subtly lower my hand and pull my wallet from my coat, then Camille’s clutch from her hand.

  He nods, taking a step forward, his greedy eyes focused on the items I’m holding in my hand. Suddenly he stops and glares at me.

  “Throw them in the car and give me the keys.”

  I nod, shifting my body around while shielding Camille, then toss the items inside the car. My mind is racing, calculating the ways I could disarm him without his drunk ass killing us.

  He’s holding the gun loosely now, probably more focused on the purse and wallet.

  When he’s two feet away from me, I launch myself on him and grab the wrist of the hand with the gun. The smell of stale alcohol and unwashed body slams into me, causing me to gag. His eyes widen in surprise before he begins to fight back, twisting his arm and trying to get out of my grip. He’s surprisingly stronger than I thought.

  Swinging my arm, I grab him in a choke hold with my back on Camille, grip the hand with the gun and twist it around on his back, hoping to disarm him. I hear her fumble with something inside the car, and seconds later, she’s talking to the police.

  I tighten my hold, but the asshole’s hands flail around as he tries to remove himself from my grip. The hand holding the gun slips from my grasp, and I watch in horror as it forms an arc toward my face.

  One. Two. Three.

  Three seconds filled with uncertainty of what is going to happen next. Three long, life-altering seconds for the wild look in his eyes to shift to resolution. He staggers back as the gun fires two shots before he falls down on his ass.

  That’s when I feel a burning hot sensation rip through my shoulder and right upper arm.

  Fueled by adrenaline and the need to protect Camille, I dart forward and bend over him. I lift my right arm and land blow after blow with one thing in mind: decimate the threat. Then, I step around him and kick the gun, sending it sliding across the snow and stopping several feet away.

  I spin around and see Camille standing behind me with her hand clasped around the side of her neck, looking at me with so much hope, love and trust in those baby blues. I exhale in relief, but my reprieve is short-lived when I see blood running down her fingers. She lets out a choked sob threatening to split my world in two.

  “Nathan,” she whispers in terror. Her knees buckle and her fingers leave her neck.
She falls to the ground and blood spurts over the snow around her shoulders and head.

  Ignoring the pain tearing through my body, I sprint toward her, adrenaline and the fear of losing her fueling my body. I drop to my knees and lift her head into my hands.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Stay with me, okay? The paramedics will be here soon.” Her eyes fall shut and panic shakes me to the core. “Please look at me.”

  Her eyes flutter a few times before they open again and lock on mine.

  “Don’t cry, baby,” she whispers before her eyes fall shut again.

  “Open your eyes,” I roar. “Look at me, Cam. Please. Stay awake for me,” my voice breaks as I desperately try to think of something that will make her stay here with me until the paramedics get here.

  Carefully, I shift her head on my lap and support it with my left hand, then dig the little velvet box from my pocket. “See? I never gave up even when you turned me down every year. Camille Masters, will you marry me?”

  The corners of her mouth quirk in a smile or maybe it’s my imagination.

  “My p—purse. Check. . .inside.”

  “What’s inside your purse, baby?”

  Her mouth parts, but no words come out. “Check. Now,” she insists. Begs.

  Carefully, I shrug off my jacket, wincing as I pull it down my right arm. I fold it and place it under her head, then stumble toward the car. Just when my fingers wrap around the purse strap, pain shoots up my arm. My knees buckle, sending my body crashing on the ground. A dark cloud of nothingness threatens to render me unconscious.

  Camille’s heartbreaking sobs tear through my head, and I inch up on all fours and crawl toward her.

  If I had known the night would be ending this way, I’d have done everything in my power to stop it before it even began.

  “Don’t leave me,” I beg, my gaze fixed on hers, watching as life waxes and wanes in her blue eyes.

  She blinks once, then blankly stares at the starless, dark sky. For just a second, I think I’ve lost her, and my heart stops beating.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t imagine living without her.