by J. Daniels
When I Fall
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by J. Daniels
WHEN I FALL
Copyright@2015 J. Daniels.
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, storied in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover design ©
Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
Interior design and formatting
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
To Beth Cranford, for loving Reed since he joked about fingering Mia underneath the table.
This is for you.
Beth
I NEVER THOUGHT A PHONE call could change my life.
Clothes are flying everywhere as I ransack the bedroom, grabbing everything I own and stuffing it into the open duffle bag on the bed. I don’t care how messy I pack right now. I don’t care if every article of clothing is wrinkled beyond recognition. I don’t want to stay here another second, and now, I don’t have to.
“What are you doin,’ baby?”
I look up at Rocco, standing in the doorway of the bedroom, self-righteous smirk in place.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re boltin.’”
Genius.
“Yeah, I’m boltin.’ I should’ve never come here in the first place.”
He grins and leans his shoulder against the doorframe. “Where you gonna go, huh? Back to sleepin’ in your car? You ain’t got nobody, Beth. No family . . .”
“I do have family,” I bite out as my bottom lip begins to tremble. It ceases with the sharp breath I take in. “Turns out my momma has a sister, and she told me I can live with her. That’s where I’m going.”
He shakes his head slowly through a laugh and I look away, grabbing my Kindle off the dresser and lying it on top of my balled up T-shirts.
“You takin’ that with you?”
I freeze with my hand on the zipper, slowly lifting my head to meet his icy-blue stare.
I’d never beg for anything from this man. But this, this I might just beg for.
“Go ahead,” he says, pushing off the frame and straightening up. “What the fuck would I do with it?”
“Thank you,” I reply sincerely, as he turns and heads back down the hallway.
I am grateful for a lot of things Rocco has given me. Food, shelter, money when I wanted a nice headstone for my momma. But there are other things he’s given me that I wish I could give back. Things I wish I could leave behind.
Zipping up the duffle and securing it over my shoulder, I step into my old, tattered Dr. Martens, grab my keys off the dresser, and tuck my cell phone into my back pocket.
I’m almost to the front door when Rocco puts his body in between me and the only family I have left.
“Where you goin’?”
“None of your business.”
His chest shakes with silent laughter. Mocking. Always mocking me. He tilts his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be walking back through this door eventually.”
I reach up and adjust the strap on my shoulder, just as the whore Rocco picked up from God knows where giggles from her spot on the couch. I don’t need to look to know she’s naked. Rocco is, so why wouldn’t she be?
“I’m never coming back here,” I say through a clenched jaw, swallowing down my emotions. “You said you would never keep me here, Rocco. You said once I had a place to go . . .”
“Beth,” he says in the softest voice I’ve ever heard him use, “I ain’t keepin’ you here. I don’t need to, baby. Fact is, it’ll be real sweet when you come crawlin’ back to me. I’m lookin’ real forward to that.” His smile hits me, the same smile that lured me in three months ago, and I fight against my heart’s automatic response to this side of him. But it beats wildly in my chest, desperate for this type of connection with someone.
I don’t want it with you.
His hands mold to my face, and I brace myself for his next words. I know this mind-game he works on me. I’ve heard countless versions of it. It’s his way of keeping me here, because he would never force me to stay against my will. He’s never forced me to do anything.
Rocco gets off on your need for him. Not the other way around.
“No one will ever love you the way I do. No one, you hear me?”
I don’t respond. I don’t give him anything except my cold stare.
“Those fake pricks you read about on that fucking tablet of yours don’t exist. I’ve told you that. If they did, do you know what they would do?” He leans closer, brushing his nose against my temple.
I close my eyes to shut him out, to keep these words from staying with me.
“They’d fuck you cause you got a hot pussy, then they’d toss you out ‘cause they wouldn’t want you. No one will want you, baby.”
No. I don’t believe that. I’ve never believed that.
I jerk my head out of his hands and move past him, swinging the door open with enough force, the hinges shriek.
His laughter fades in the distance behind me, and I pray I never hear it again. It’s almost as bad as the words he uses to break me down with. But I’m not broken, and someone will want me. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and dial the number I programmed a few hours ago. The one I didn’t know about until today.
“Hello?” A sleepy voice answers on the second ring.
“Aunt Hattie. It’s Beth.”
I hear movement, covers rustling, then a soft, “Sweetie, it’s Beth,” before she speaks into the receiver. “Are you coming, darlin’?”
I smile, my first real smile in months.
“I’m coming.”
Reed
I WAS IN LOVE ONCE.
Once. One time too many.
I don’t remember what it feels like. I won’t let myself remember it. I’ve burned that part of me, stepped away from the ashes so that I don’t have this constant reminder of how pathetic I’d let myself become. That’s what love did to me nine years ago. It made me pathetic.
Vulnerable.
Blind.
So fucking blind.
I know what kind of man I am. I know exactly what happens when I allow some piece of ass to become anything more than what I need them to be, and I won’t make that same mistake again. I fell fast and hard with her, but that shit was something I couldn’t control. What’s worse was I didn’t even want control.
I wanted it desperate. Thoughtless.
But that’s how I am. It’s how I still fucking am, and it’s what makes anything other than mindless, detached fucking out of the question now. I won’t leave myself helpless
for someone again, not when I know how it’ll end for me.
So, I keep my heart out of it. I have to.
I’m a smart guy when I’m thinking with my dick, but when I allow the weakest part of me to get involved, I’m the dumbest motherfucker on the planet.
My heart isn’t mixed up in this. It’s not even in the damn state right now.
“I won’t fuck you again after tonight.” I drop my head and my voice, speaking against her hair. The scent of berries and cigarettes invade my senses. Not the most appealing combination, but my dick got past it enough to be interested.
She shifts her attention off the bar and looks up at me from her stool. Waiting.
“This is it. And it’s not a date. I don’t do that shit either,” I continue, needing to clarify this before I take her out of here. “Do you get where I’m going with this, baby?”
I never used to have this speech rehearsed. I figured most women were keen to have casual sex, but unfortunately, I’ve brought one too many of them home who seemed okay with this arrangement, only to have them clinging to me like damn Saran Wrap the next morning, begging to hang out for the day.
Hang out? No. Fuck. No.
She nods, keeping her lips firmly, seductively, teasingly wrapped around her straw, which I’m pretty sure is only sucking up air now that she’s been at it for a good ten minutes.
“One night. Just sex,” she affirms, leaning closer to give me a better advantage of her cleavage. I take notice, and she smiles. Her thumb and finger begin stroking up and down the length of the straw. My cock appreciates the innuendo.
“I can do that. I’ll even promise I won’t fall in love with you.”
I stand, dropping a twenty dollar bill on the bar top. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” I say, staring down into her eyes. The corner of her mouth twists into a smile as I stop her from jerking off the straw. “I hope you don’t think that’s anywhere near what you’re going to be feeling.” I flick my head in the direction of my hand as it wraps around hers, forcing all her fingers to grip the straw with enough pressure, it begins to bend in her palm.
She watches me out of the corner of her eye.
“This is how I like it.” I stroke her hand up and down, slowly, pressing against her skin. “Firm. You got it?”
She laughs, and it’s a nervous one, but I prefer that to some chick who thinks she knows what she’s in for. I don’t like it to feel familiar, not for me, or whoever it is I’m taking home. We’re not going to be getting acquainted. This will never be more than just meaningless sex to me. An empty connection, one that gets my dick wet, but keeps this shit as impersonal as possible.
“Ready?” I ask.
She grabs her clutch off the bar, and spins on her stool to face me. “Ready,” she echoes, tugging at the bottom of her skirt as she stands. Her lips go for mine, but I tilt my head and let her full mouth graze my jaw.
“No kissing,” I tell her, watching the curiosity spread across her face.
An eyebrow raises as she waits for an explanation.
“I don’t do that. Sorry. I’ll fuck you until you have trouble walking, but I won’t kiss you. That’s not part of it.”
“I’ve never had sex with someone and not kissed them. Isn’t that weird?”
“No,” I answer flatly. I lead her out of the bar to the parking lot, releasing my grip from around her waist when I get close to my truck. “Follow me. I don’t mind if you stay the night, but you have to leave first thing in the morning. I have shit to do tomorrow.”
I don’t. I have absolutely zero plans tomorrow.
She gives me a quirky look as she walks backwards toward a vehicle. “Have you always been this way when it comes to sex?”
“Yeah,” I answer, dropping my head into a nod as I open my driver’s side door. I watch her from over my shoulder, catching the limp shrug she gives me in response to my answer before she turns to get into her vehicle.
I climb up into my truck, my head now throbbing along with my dick.
This better be the extent of her questions tonight. The only other response I plan on giving her is “no, you don’t have to swallow.”
This is just sex, and the only thing this chick needs to know is how I fuck, not why I fuck the way I do. I’m not getting personal. My dick is. End of discussion.
“HEY. YOU GOTTA GET UP.”
I kick the edge of the mattress, jarring the lifeless body slumped across it. She doesn’t move, not even a slight stir to let me know she’s heard me. I move the coffee cup I’m holding to my other hand and reach down to pinch her bare ass. She squeals.
“Ow!”
“Sorry,” I say as her head slowly turns, her eyes peering through the dark hair that’s covering her face. “Remember . . . shit to do today? You need to get dressed.”
She makes a protesting growl in the back of her throat. “What time is it?” she asks, rolling onto her back and stretching her limbs out around her. Her tits threaten to break free from the rest of her body as they protrude unnaturally high off her bony sternum with the arch of her back.
Christ, she’s skinny as fuck. I shouldn’t be able to see the outline of every damn rib, but this chick doesn’t have any fat on her. Instead of fucking her last night, I should’ve force-fed her some carbs.
I look down at my dick.
Standards. Let’s re-think those.
In the morning light, she’s doing nothing for me. Nothing. I prefer soft women with hips and shape, who look like they eat more than a piece of lettuce for a meal. I’m also partial to real tits, as opposed to the cement filled ones I had in my mouth last night. I get it. It’s their bodies, and women can do whatever they want to them. But I don’t know a man who doesn’t have a preference. Mine just doesn’t happen to be hers. Even as this chick turns on her side, propping her head on her hand and gesturing at me with a crook of her finger, her tits dart out in the most unnatural way possible. Like they can defy gravity, or the opposite, sink her to the bottom of an ocean.
“Come here. Play with me,” her throaty morning voice attempts to bait me.
I shake my head, taking a step back to evade the hand she’s holding out for me. “Were you not present during our conversation last night? I told you, you gotta go first thing. Get up.”
She drops her hand to the bed. “Really? You’re going to kick me out right now instead of sliding between my legs?”
“I’d never kick a woman.”
“But you will spank her.”
I cock an eyebrow, staring down at the proud gleam sparking back to life in her eyes.
She thinks she has me as she waits expectantly for me to pounce, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
She never had me. I made sure of that.
I bend down, pick her pile of clothes off the floor, and toss them onto the bed, covering most of her body up. “Like I said, I’d never kick a woman, but I will carefully, but very efficiently, remove you from my house in ten seconds if you’re not out of here. Clothed or not.” I raise my wrist in front of my face, staring at my nonexistent watch. “Time starts now. I’d get moving if I were you.”
“Shit! What’s wrong with you?” she grumbles as she throws her body out of bed, fisting her clothing in her hands. “You’d do it, too, wouldn’t you? Throw me out half naked.”
“Obviously. I’m counting.”
She frantically slides into her skirt, fastens two of the buttons on her blouse, and clutches her panties and bra in her hand as she steps into her heels.
“Nice hustle. You might make it.”
“You’re a dick,” she scolds as she grabs her clutch off my nightstand and heads out of the bedroom. “What the hell kind of guy passes on morning sex?”
“The kind that specifically said you weren’t getting any last night. Two seconds.”
And the kind who no longer has any desire to fuck a skeleton.
She flings the front door open with a loud grunt, cranks her head around to glare at me, and fli
ps me off.
I smile behind my coffee mug. “See, now this is why I didn’t fuck you this morning. My cock only gets hard for ladies.” I lean out onto the porch and watch her storm across the grass, fury in each step.
She hates me. Most of them do after our one night together. I don’t fucking get it. I’m clear, really fucking clear about not wanting anything to do with them the next day, and in the moment, they are more than willing to agree to those terms. But shit happens the next day with women. They forget all about our little pre-fuck chat, and I’m left throwing their asses out, looking like the bad guy.
I’m not a bad guy. I just can’t give them anything more than this.
This is how my Saturday mornings usually start. Sundays too.
Stripping the bed after I get whoever-the-hell out of it, taking a hot shower to remove any trace of sex, sweat, and pussy off my body, and hovering over my Keurig like a strung-out junkie, consuming cup after cup of caffeine until I feel alert.
I can’t do this shit during the week. My job requires my ass to be out of bed by 5:00 a.m., and after a night of fucking, I’m usually dragging until noon. More importantly, I need to be focused while I’m at work. My job isn’t dangerous, not in the same way as Ben or Luke’s, buddies of mine who are both cops, but if I’m not paying attention to what I’m doing, someone could get seriously fucked up.
I’ve been working construction since I was eighteen years old, but I knew how to operate a backhoe long before that. In fact, I knew how to work almost every piece of heavy machinery on the site before I could drive a car. That’s what happens when you’re forced to spend every summer at the shop from the time you can take an order to go fetch a tool. I didn’t complain. I wanted to be there. While my friends were swimming at Rocky Point, I was following my father and grandfather around, soaking up as much knowledge from them as possible.
I loved it. The smell of grease, sweat, and earth. The calluses hardening my skin after lugging around equipment.
Being outside, getting my hands dirty, climbing on all the machinery. I knew I wanted to learn the trade by the time I was thirteen. After getting a taste of working outside all day, the feel of the sun beating down on my back, I knew I’d never be satisfied with a nine-to-five desk job. If I had to wear a suit every day, I’d punch someone. I’d go fucking stir crazy in an office building, and I’d probably end up being admitted into some psych ward somewhere if I had to work in one of those fucking cubicles.