Before I Fall

by Jessica Scott

  "My life is kind of a disaster, that's all." I want so badly to lean on him. To pretend that I could lay all of my problems in his lap, and he'd just hold me while I talked to him.

  It's a stupid fantasy. The world doesn't work that way for girls like me. I'm not quite from the wrong side of the tracks, but I don't fit in with the women here who come from money and are looking for a husband with the right pedigree.

  No, for women like me, the story is dramatically different. It usually involves a cat or six, and many beloved nieces and nephews if we have siblings.

  Since I have neither, I'm leaning toward cats. Except that cats cost money, and we can't really afford another mouth to feed at the moment. Maybe when I get insurance.

  "Want to get some coffee and tell me about it?"

  My stomach takes that moment to rumble. Loudly. I want to crawl into a hole and die because Noah looks down in the vicinity of my belly. "Or I can buy you lunch."

  "You don't need to buy me lunch," I say. But there's not much protest in my voice because I'm not prone to lying to myself or others. I am hungry. The apple and yogurt I'd had for breakfast didn't hold me over very long.

  "I'd like to." His hand is still on my shoulder.

  There are a hundred different reasons why I shouldn't go to lunch with him. Why I should go finish my assignments for the week and get prepared for our next tutoring session. I've got four more hours before Dad should be sober enough to take to the emergency room.

  There are so many things I should be doing instead of going to lunch, but for one blindingly stupid moment, I want nothing more than to be normal.

  And so I let my stupid need not to be alone take the lead. I nod and offer a warm smile. "That would be nice."

  Noah

  The mystery that is Beth Lamont continues to deepen. I half expected her to say no. The redness in her eyes is gone now, but the fatigue is still there.

  "Where would you like to eat?"

  "Whatever's easiest," she says.

  "You’re going to have to help me out here. I’m not over the getting-lost-on campus part of this operation." But she doesn’t smile so I pull out my phone and look up local restaurants nearby.

  She falls into step next to me, which is good because I have the strongest desire to pull her into a hug. She looks like she's about to fall over. I've seen people look like she does. Coming off of long ruck marches, they do everything they can to stay upright, but the march has taken every ounce of energy they've got. They either sit down on their own or they collapse.

  I'm hoping she'll make it to my car before she crumbles.

  "So what led to the rough morning? Fight with the doctors?"

  She sucks in a quick breath. It's subtle, but I notice because I notice everything about her. She's more pale than normal.

  "Something like that," she says.

  "Are you sick?"

  "No." Her response is quick. A little too quick.

  "Family?"

  A quiet sigh. "My dad."

  We enter the parking garage, and she follows me up the deadly stairwell to the second floor where my car is. I’m good at hiding it. I fucking hate parking garages. The stairs, man, the stairs are a fatal funnel. There's no defending yourself. One disciplined shooter can control the entire approach.

  I pause at the top of the steps, looking into the cavernous parking garage. I'm not insane enough to think there's actual danger lurking in the shadows, but try telling that to my nervous system that reacts to every parking garage like I’m back in Iraq. I'm paranoid enough that I'm alert to the possibilities. Criminals tend to seek out the weak, and at approaching six feet tall, I'm not weak. But I’m also unable to relax.

  Beth's hand is gentle and strong on my upper back. "Hey, where'd you go just then?"

  I try to shake off the question. "My PTSD flares up in parking garages. Just checking to make sure there're no bad guys hiding in the dark."

  She makes a sound that's somewhere between skeptical and amused. "That explains why you checked on me when I was walking home," she says.

  "Bad guys like to hide in the dark," is all I manage. She's caught me, but I'm not sure if she realizes that she's seen a good chunk that remains wrong with me.

  I've come home from the war pretty normal, all things considered. I'm dealing with the anxiety and the sleep problems. I'm actually considering trying to get my doc to wean me off the pain meds for my shoulder, but I'm going to hold off until after the fall semester. I don't want to be dealing with pain and trying to pass Stats. I've got more than enough to worry about without adding to the chaos of my first year as a civilian.

  "Some of the worst of the worst, though, are hiding in broad daylight," she says as she climbs into the passenger's seat.

  "True enough," I say. My throat is dry. Goddamn it I hate the parking garage. "How hard is it to get a parking pass somewhere else on campus?"

  "Depends on how much money you've got lying around. Why not take the bus?"

  I pause, taking my hand off the shifter where I was going to put the car in reverse. I twist toward her, wanting to get closer. "You know that whole parking garage issue I've got? I'm worse about buses."

  "Fair enough. You could park off campus and walk in, though."

  "How far?"

  "Not too far. I usually walk to campus each day. There're lots of places just off campus you can park for a small daily fee. It's probably cheaper than parking in here every day anyway."

  A half-assed idea forms and it escapes before I think better of it. "I could park at your house and walk you to class every day."

  "But then I'd have to explain you to my dad, and he's made me swear off boys until I graduate from grad school."

  "Seriously?" I'm suddenly really curious about this mysterious father of hers. He's sick but dictating her life…

  "I'm kidding, Noah," she whispers.

  I’m struck by the sound of my name on her lips. It’s something smooth and sensual and my mind detours into a decidedly not comforting place. "That's the first time you've said my name." I like it. A lot more than I probably should.

  It was a whisper across her lips. I want to hear her say it again. I suddenly want very much to see if she'd let me kiss her. I wasn't lying when I told her I had a thing for her eyes. The green is intense and lined with grey but it’s her mouth that draws me closer. It’s wide and full and the perfect shade of pink against her skin.

  I sound like a romantic, and maybe the war has made me appreciate beautiful things. There's not a lot of beauty at war. Terrible things. Ugly things. Anything good ends up destroyed. Violently.

  She hasn't moved since I spoke. Silent and still, she’s so quiet I can hear her breathing. "I've said your name before." A hushed whisper.

  "No, I'd remember." I'm closer now. Close enough that I can feel the heat from her skin, the quiet huff of her breath against my mouth.

  This could ruin everything. If I'm wrong, she could run out of my car, and I would have to let her go.

  But I lean a little closer. Until my lips brush against hers. She's so much softer than I imagined. I nudge her gently, searching for permission before I go any further.

  Her lips part, and then I'm not thinking anymore. I'm feeling. The soft glide of her tongue. The warm press of her lips against mine. The mingling of breath until I can't tell where she ends and I begin.

  My hand shakes as I slide my palm over her cheek, cupping her face gently. Her skin is soft, so soft compared to the hard calluses on mine.

  And I kiss her like she's my first taste of salvation.

  Because she is. She just doesn't know it yet.

  Chapter 8

  Beth

  I won't say that kissing Noah is a mistake. It is a breath of something beautiful in the dark fatigue of my life. I love the feel of his mouth on mine, his taste. He's spicy, like cinnamon mixed with citrus. Warm and clean and fresh and a thousand other things that are pure and good.

  The kiss ends after a moment. It could have b
een me, maybe him. I can't tell. He rests his forehead against mine, and we sit there silently, simply trying to catch our breath.

  "I'm not sure what to say," I finally manage, giving voice to the thoughts swirling inside me.

  There are darker thoughts. Ones that involve the slide of skin against skin, the fantasy of having time only to myself.

  "Me, either." A gentle brush of his lips against mine. "Still hungry?"

  "Starved." Not only for food, but I'm sure he's already figured that out. I want to kiss him again already.

  I wish I were more creative. I might suggest some wild double entendre. Make him laugh. But I'm not that good.

  He releases me, and I sink back into my seat. He drives us out of the parking garage and heads off campus, checking his phone for directions. I want to ask where he's taking us, but I'm willing to let him surprise me. Because I’m living dangerously, right? Being selfish for one fleeting moment.

  "So what's wrong with your dad?" He's heading into the nice part of town. The really nice part of town that has all the great local restaurants that I've heard my classmates talk about. There's a social aspect of business school that I know is hurting my chances of getting into graduate school. It’s part of why I’m not even sure about applying. The social scene is something I have neither the time nor the resources to participate in. I'm counting on a recommendation from Professor Blake because I damn sure haven't made the contacts that I should have been making. And I don’t think we can afford it.

  Which isn’t to say I don’t have friends. I do. But I shelter my life from them. The clothes I wear are from the secondhand shops in the wealthier parts of town. I look like I belong, or at least I try to convince myself that I look like I fit. I have Abby to thank for teaching me how to pass here.

  I have no idea what's being said behind my back, and if I spend too much time thinking about it, I'll go crazy. I focus on my grades and my work. Everything else can't matter.

  "He got hurt in the army. He's got two herniated discs in his mid-back."

  "My first platoon sergeant had something similar. Screwed it up on a jump." He pulls into a parking spot in front of a brightly colored Mexican restaurant. "Do you like Mexican?"

  "It's my favorite." The truth. It isn’t expensive to make at home, and usually at the first of the month when Dad's check comes in, I buy and freeze fresh ingredients to use throughout the month. Some months, depending on the medications my dad is running low on, are better than others.

  My stomach is clearly in the mood for Mexican. I still have time before Dad will be sober. It’s kind of pathetic that I know how long it takes. Part of me feels like I’m enabling him but what else are we supposed to do?

  I'll drive him to the ER and they'll give him some medication that will make him okay until the follow-up appointment. Sometimes, there's a steroid injection they can do that works miracles but it isn’t often. Some docs disagree about whether or not they're necessary or if they're making things worse. It’s not the real injection he needs anyway. Just a temporary fix, but so long as he’s sober, the ER will treat him, as opposed to diagnose him as an addict and refuse to prescribe. It’s another medical bill to add to the pile, but he won’t be in pain for a little while and that's what matters.

  It’s a sad state of affairs but that’s my life, right?

  Noah holds the door for me as we step inside. His hand drifts to the small of my back. It’s warm and solid and comforting. He asks for a small table away from the high traffic areas. I've noticed that about him: he always sits with his back to the wall. Part of me wants to ask about it; part of me doesn’t want to put him on the spot.

  I figure if he wants to talk about it, he will.

  Right now, I am going to enjoy lunch. Lunch with Noah. A completely impractical escape from reality. Lunch can’t hurt anything, right?

  The echo of his mouth on mine, the warmth of his touch tingles on my lips.

  Heat crawls across my skin as I lower my hand. He’s watching me. His eyes darken as he watches me. Warmth slides through my veins. His gaze drops to my lips then slips back over my face. I’ve never felt caressed by a simple look before but there’s something about the way he watches me.

  "I would really like to kiss you again, sometime," he murmurs after our waiter leaves.

  I sip my water, desperate for a distraction. Not because I don't want to kiss him again, but because I do. Because the man sitting across from me with the rough, gentle hands is such a complex variation from the guys I deal with every day. He's been out in the world. He's really lived; he's gone to war. He's done so much more than just being a college student.

  And while I want to pretend that this might be something different, I’m wary. I've been burned before. My hormones might be all “hurray for penis” but my brain knows better than to jump into bed with the first guy in a long time who gets me a little stirred up.

  Then again, he's only said he wants to kiss me again. That doesn’t automatically mean we're going to be getting hot and sweaty any time soon.

  "You know you could say something," he says. "Your silence is hell on the ego. Did I have bad breath?"

  He catches me off guard. I laugh and it feels good. "No. Sorry. Lost in thought."

  "Good ones or...?"

  Because I can't help myself, I meet his eyes. Warmth looks back at me. He covers one of my hands with his. "You've definitely made the day a little brighter," I say.

  He strokes his thumb along mine, sending little shivers of pleasure across my skin. "That's good to know. I'll have to come up with other ways to make your day a little brighter."

  I shake my head. "Another euphemism?"

  "Maybe. Though clearly I need to work on them."

  We sit there talking about nothing and everything. About classes and how the basketball team won their last game and nonsensical things that don’t matter. It’s a completely normal afternoon in my abnormal life.

  The whole time, his hand covers mine, his thumb stroking slowly. A light, teasing caress. No pressure. Just…connection. A human touch when I wasn’t looking for anything but a paycheck.

  It looks like I've gotten way more than I bargained for.

  Noah

  "So your dad. Why hasn't he been seen at the VA?"

  She leans back as the waiter brings us chips and salsa and our drinks. She dips a chip and takes a bite. She's stalling, but I'm not sure why.

  "We should try to keep this conversation light and enjoyable. If you get me started on the VA, I may start using creative profanity."

  I lean a little closer so I can whisper in her ear. I’m tempted to bite her earlobe but I’m trying to behave. My restraint is damn near superhuman "I'm dying to hear what you consider creative profanity. I can't picture you swearing."

  "The VA is one of the few institutions that gets my blood pressure up that high."

  "Why?" I haven't been seen by the VA yet. I'm still on Tricare for a few more weeks and then I'm taking advantage of the student insurance. I've heard enough horror stories about the VA that make me skeptical at best. I won’t be able to avoid it forever, especially not with everything that happened to me during the war. But I’m content to avoid it for now.

  Beth sips her water then takes a deep breath. "They cancel more appointments than they keep, and he's been scheduled for surgery five times in the last year. Because he’s not 100-percent disabled, he doesn’t have full coverage at local hospitals. And because of his rating, his back problems are treated as elective as opposed to medically necessary." She takes a deep breath. Her voice is laced with tension. “It’s complicated.”

  "Shit, I'm sorry."

  "Thanks." She snags another chip. "So what's your story? You're a junior?"

  "I took a lot of courses after work when I was down at Bragg. School accepted most of my transfer credits. I get to use my GI Bill to finish up my BA and then I'm applying to grad school."

  "My dad gave me his GI Bill," she says after a moment. "He’s the reason I
can even begin to afford to go here."

  There's something else there, beneath her words but I don't push her on it. "I'm glad I went to school while I was active."

  "How did you have time? If you got promoted so quickly you had to be working a lot."

  "I was, but I carved out time. I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up so I joined the army."

  "You joined the army on a whim during war?" Her words are laced with sarcasm.

  I laugh and almost choke on a chip. How’s that for romantic? Smooth, Noah, real smooth. "When you put it that way, it does sound kind of foolish," I say when I’m done hacking up a lung.

  "I don't know too many people who would join the army because they didn't know what they wanted to be when they grow up. A couple of guys I went to high school with joined because they wanted to blow stuff up or because their dads wanted them to."

  She's avoiding my eyes now, but she hasn't pulled her hand from beneath mine. I hope she doesn't feel the tremble in my hand. The anxiety is back, squeezing my lungs. Making me want to retreat into the shadows and comfort of the medication. Anything to take the edge off. I consider ordering a beer to get me through the rest of the day, but I don't make it a habit of drinking and driving.

  No, my other vices are plenty. No need to add criminal offenses to my list of sins in this life.

  "How did that turn out for them?" I ask.

  "I don't know. My dad moved with me here once I got accepted, so I lost touch with a lot of people from high school."

  "You don't sound like it's much of a loss."

  She shrugs, swirling her tortilla chip in the salsa. Her hand tightens beneath mine. "I've always had a hard time fitting in."

  "You seem like you're passing pretty well here. The professors like you."

  "The professors continually tell me they've never had a student work like me. And I'm not sure if it's a compliment or not," she says.

  "Why wouldn't it be?"

  "Maybe my working too hard makes my class background obvious." She rolls her eyes with a funny smile on her lips. "Like my freshman year, my friend Abby pulled me aside and basically said, ‘I'm your fairy godmother. Here's how you pretend you belong here just like the rest of them’."