Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

  The comment hits me unaware, and I fight to keep my face from betraying me. “I don’t.”

  My act is paper thin, and we both clearly know it. John leans in, affecting a stage whisper. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Button.” He glances down the hall where the kitchen lights glow in welcome and Corinne and Hank’s muted conversation flows. “But I think you do.”

  It’s dim in the hall, but I feel utterly exposed. “They have their own child.”

  A weak argument at best, but how can I explain to him that, even though I love Corinne and Hank, I cannot emotionally beggar myself by asking to be part of their family. It will feel like pity or charity, because they were there to see me abandoned. I love them; but I can’t need them.

  The silence grows stilted as I shift my feet and grasp for something to say. John watches me for a moment longer then pulls me into a hug. I stand stiffly in his arms, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He places a light kiss on my head. “Let yourself be loved, Stella Button. You deserve it.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer but takes my hand and leads me back to the kitchen.

  Dinner is served around the kitchen table, and I dig in, surprisingly hungry. Or maybe it’s just that it’s Corinne’s food.

  “You fly today, Stella?” Corinne asks.

  “I took John up for a ride,” I say between mouthfuls of pot roast and mashed potatoes. “Showed him a few tricks.”

  Hank grunts. “Bring any air sickness bags?”

  Across from me, John bites back a smile. He knows he’s being baited.

  “Actually,” I say, “I think I might have created a convert.”

  John nods. “You have. Shocked the shi—heck out of me, though. I had no idea Stella could do that,” he explains to Corinne mostly, since Hank still hasn’t stopped giving John the gimlet eye, as though he expects John to steal the silverware.

  Logic tells me it’s because he saw John and I mauling each other, but he’s not exactly parental toward me, so I don’t know why he seems to dislike John.

  “Stella’s a great pilot,” Hank says, all squinty-eyed. “Precise, clear-headed, but able to think outside the box when needed.”

  It’s the most Hank has ever complimented me, and I find myself wanting to sink under the table to hide my blush.

  “’Course, when she was sixteen, she just wanted to hurtle through ground school so she could get up there and do endless loops in the sky.” Hank snorts. “If she had her way, she would have looped herself across the Atlantic.”

  I grin. “What a way to go, though.”

  John chuckles. “What was Stella like as a teen?”

  “Shorter.” Hank winks at me.

  “Skinnier,” I say ruefully.

  Corinne touches my shoulder. “She was skin and bones.” A shadow passes over her eyes as her lips tighten a fraction, before her expression eases. “But we put some good meat back on those bones.”

  I realize she’s thinking about my dad’s distinct lack of parenting, which included forgetting about providing meals, and how I often came here starving for whatever food she’d give me. My dinner sits heavy in my belly and everything tightens. Am I shoving food in my mouth now because I’m truly hungry, or out of habit?

  Setting my fork down, I push a smile. “Corinne makes the best pies. Please tell me there’s pie for dessert.”

  “Lemon meringue.” She laughs softly when I do a little fist pump.

  John watches, clearly amused. “I can picture teen Stella now. You should come out here more often, Button.”

  I know I should. I know this every time I visit. But when I leave, it’s easier to stay away and not be reminded that I don’t have a real family of my own. I shrug lightly. “It’s hard to do without a car. But I’ve been saving up for one.”

  Hank helps himself to more of everything. “You should move out here. Save yourself time and money, instead of living in that noisy, overpriced city.”

  “Hank,” Corinne says in her low way, “what young woman wants to leave the excitement of Manhattan to come out here?”

  Hank grunts and shovels a forkful of roasted carrots into his mouth.

  I sit back and rest my hands on my belly. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about it.”

  John stills, his dark brows lowering in a frown, but he doesn’t interrupt.

  “My apartment went condo, and I’m thinking of a career change.” I don’t know why I’m spilling this to Corinne and Hank. But it feels good to talk to people who know what that apartment meant to me. Maybe I view them as parental influences more than I’d realized. Either way, I’ve opened my mouth, and I have to continue. “I’m not saying I’ve decided anything, but moving closer to the airport has crossed my mind.”

  “Good,” Hank says, setting down his fork. “You want a job at the school, you know it’s yours. As soon as you get an instructor certificate,” he adds, as if I didn’t know.

  “Thanks, Hank.”

  “You love the city,” John says quietly. There’s a look in his eyes, disappointed and a little bit pissed off, but he’s trying not to show it. “I thought you loved your job too.”

  I poke at a carrot with my fork. “I think my time as a professional friend is coming to a close.”

  “Ridiculous job,” Hank mutters under his breath.

  “Hank,” Corinne chides, slapping at his arm.

  Again, I fight the urge to slip under the table. Why, oh, why did I bring this up? Big mouth strikes again. I clear my throat. “The fact is, I’ll soon need a place to call home. Killian isn’t going to be gone forever.”

  John blinks like he forgot I’m not really his neighbor but just a pet sitter who will soon leave him. The groove between his brows grows, but he doesn’t say a word. A heavy silence descends over the table, and I don’t miss the look that passes between Hank and Corinne.

  Corinne puts on a bright smile and turns to John. “Are you working on a new album?”

  John starts, his fork halting halfway to his mouth. “You know who I am?”

  “Jax Blackwood,” Corinne says in her matter-of-fact way. “Hank here is a big fan.”

  “Corinne!” Hank hisses. His expression is mortified. I snicker, which earns me a hard glare.

  “Well, it’s true,” Corinne insists, completely unfazed. “He has all your albums.”

  I swear the table rattles as though kicked.

  John, smartly, does not smile. “We’re between albums at the moment.” There isn’t an ounce of smugness in his tone, but I know he’s laughing on the inside. I can feel it humming along his skin. “I’ve been working on a few songs, but they aren’t ready for recording.”

  Hank stares at his plate for a long moment before straightening and meeting John’s eyes. “Saw you at Madison Square Garden last summer. I could have done without the gyrating, but your voice has improved.”

  A glint lights John’s eyes. “Oh, has it?”

  “Mmm.” Hank cuts a piece of roast. “More soulful now, less showy.”

  John blinks, and I can’t help it—I finally lose it and laugh.

  “Sorry,” I say between snorts, “but Hank’s a fan. I’m dying.”

  “Shut it, you,” Hank says without much heat. His lips twitch. “I like all sorts of music.”

  John’s lips twitch as well. “I cannot lie. That was pretty much the shock of my year.”

  After that, Hank drops his grumpy curmudgeon act and starts grilling John on music, which he happily rambles on about. We eat, and Corinne serves up pie, and John is the perfect guest. But I don’t miss the way he glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s upset and trying not to show it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  John

  It’s three in the morning and the rain pelts the big picture window in Hank and Corinne’s den. I focus on this instead of the big-ass bar running under the mattress of the pull-out couch that’s digging into my back. I’ve slept on couches before—wasted and passed out, and sometimes waking up with a woma
n or two draped over me. This experience is so far removed from any of that, my old self would have never believed it. Old me would have left Stella with Hank and Corinne, and driven back to Manhattan in the rain.

  Old me was a prat. Old me would have missed out on Stella entirely. I know I wouldn’t have bothered to notice all that she is.

  No. Don’t think about Stella right now.

  Better to watch water run in rivulets down the glass than imagine Stella all soft and tucked up in her bed somewhere upstairs.

  I’m horny as hell. Even though it’s uncomfortable, I can get past horny. Horny can be dealt with by Mr. Helping Hand. My hand hasn’t been taking care of business this much since my youth when it felt as though I walked around with a stiffy all day long.

  What I can’t shake is this push to seek Stella out just to be near her. Even though the rain hasn’t let up since we got here, I’d wanted to go back to the city so we could be alone. But it soon became clear that wasn’t happing. Fucking motorcycle. I should have called a car service. Then there was Corinne and Hank, who asked us to stay over, concerned for their girl’s safety. What could I say to that? They obviously mean a lot to Stella. I’d be a total ass to say no.

  Taking the long hallway to the den, in the opposite direction that Stella went tonight, physically hurt. My balls and lower abs actually hurt. I’m off-balance and this damn bed is growing less and less comfortable.

  Cursing, I flop onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. The only sound reaching my ears is the patter of rain and my own heart beating. Hell, she’s thinking about moving out here? When Stella had mentioned moving away from Manhattan, it cut the legs out from under me. I’ve deliberately pushed aside the fact that she’s a temporary neighbor who will be gone as soon as Killian and Libby return.

  I don’t even know why I’m shitting over this; I’m hardly in New York for more than a few months at a time. I move around a lot.

  So where does that leave me and Stella? Why hadn’t I thought about this before?

  You were too busy having fun and wanting her.

  “What the hell am I doing?”

  My irritated whisper drifts through the darkness, highlighting the fact that I’m alone and talking to myself when I could be in Stella’s bed, talking to her, touching her. Except I’m in Hank’s house. Hank, who will absolutely cut off my balls if I lay a hand on Stella here. Which I’m not going to do. No, I’m going to be a good boy and keep my dick in my pants, even if it kills me.

  My hand is clammy when I run it over my face. I don’t recognize myself anymore. The guy I used to be would have been in Stella’s pants a week ago. Who am I kidding? Jax would have followed Stella right out of that store and seduced her on the spot. Why do I keep thinking about old me?

  The fact that I even think of my old self as Jax and my current self as John is messed up. Somewhere along the way, I separated myself. I pushed Jax into the shadows with this mad idea that I could put all the blame on him and everything would be fine.

  Yes, I was out of control and arrogant when I was Jax the rock star. Yes, I’d hit rock bottom when I was Jax. But there isn’t Jax and John. There’s just me. Stella is right, I’m both. She thinks both sides of me are worthy. Fact is I felt more like myself—whoever the fuck that may be—today than I have in too long a time. Because I’d been with Stella. She makes me feel alive.

  Then what the hell are you doing alone in here, mate?

  You promised to take things slow, remember?

  Slow is one thing. You promised you’d give her proper attention. Bad form, Blackwood.

  You absolutely can’t do anything tonight, so shut it.

  “And now I’m arguing with myself.” With a snort, I run my hands through my hair. I’m so irritably tense that the second the den door creaks open, my heart skips a beat. Rising on my elbows, I peer into the shadows.

  “Stells?” It had better be her. I really don’t want to consider anyone else creeping in here or why they would.

  A slim form slips out of the gloom. Stella’s bright curls are the color of rust in the darkness as she comes up to the side of my bed. “Hey,” she whispers.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper back. “Do you want Hank to neuter me?”

  Her snort is a ghost of sound. “He’s not going to neuter you.”

  “Oh, yes he is. He distinctly said he’d rip my balls off and feed them to me if I laid an untoward hand on you.”

  “Untoward?” She laughs at me. “Why, Mr. Darcy, how gallant of you to protect my honor.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You know what I mean.”

  Stella inches closer, and the floor creaks loudly. I swear, I jump out of my skin. I glace at the door. Thank God she at least had the sense to shut it.

  In the gloom, her smile is a glint of white teeth. “Hank said no such thing. I saw him go straight to his room before you closed the door to the den for the night.”

  “Oh, he said it all right,” I mutter. “He said it with that death glare he’s been giving me. Trust me, his message was received loud and clear, little miss detective.”

  “Even if he did, that’s ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. Do you have any idea how archaic it is to put us in separate rooms?”

  “Yes. And I agree one hundred percent about you being a woman grown, fully capable of making her own decisions. But I’m a guest in his house, so out you go, love.” I make a shooing motion toward the door.

  Her snort says I’m being ridiculous. Of course, it isn’t her ass in danger of being annihilated by an angry ex-combat pilot. I know this because Hank told me stories, being sure to include how he knows guys who can make people disappear. I’m only half certain he was joking.

  “He’s not even my father, for crying out loud.”

  “Tell that to Hank.” I hold up a quick hand. “In the morning.”

  Her thighs press against the mattress, gleaming white and bare, and, oh fuck me, I can smell the perfume of her skin. She’s so close, all I have to do is reach out and slip my hand between her legs.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Have a heart, Stells. I’m trying to be good.”

  “I know. It’s really annoying.”

  I husk out a quiet laugh. “Go back to bed, you brat.”

  She grins, leaning in a little, her face a pale moon hovering above me. “I can’t sleep.”

  I have something to make you sleep better. No, wait, that’s a horrible quip; women don’t want to be put to sleep while you’re fucking them, you moron.

  I run a hand over my eyes and try to clear my thoughts. “Why can’t you sleep? You feeling okay?”

  “No. I’m lonely. Can I sleep next to you?”

  Next to me, on top of me, under me. As long as you’re with me.

  Clearing my throat, I find my voice. “Stella, we’re not having sex.”

  “Did I offer?”

  I stare up at her because we both know if she gets into this bed, we aren’t keeping our hands off each other. She stares back for a few beats but then relents with a waggle of her brows that makes me laugh. I don’t want her to leave. She’ll take all the joy out of the room.

  “Can I get in, or what?” She’s all tumbled curls, big pleading eyes, and pouty lips. How am I supposed to resist? I’m not sure why I’m even trying. I can worry about dying tomorrow.

  Grumbling, I scoot over and lift the covers. Stella scrambles in. Instantly, my bed is a better place, filled with her soft, warm, wiggling body. And I do mean wiggling. She reminds me of a puppy as she burrows under the covers and claims a spot as close to me as she can get. I laugh softly and slide an arm under her neck, bringing her head onto my shoulder.

  Stella rests her hand on my chest and sighs. “That’s better.”

  Understatement. Smiling, I press my lips to the top of her head. “Comfortable?”

  “Yes.” She wiggles again, and the pullout couch screeches in protest.

  “Shhh!” I swear, I’m freaking sweating. “Quiet.”

  St
ella rolls her eyes. “My God, you’re acting like an agitated cat.”

  I glare down my nose at her. “Did you not notice the actual swords hanging over our heads right now?” Hank has a collection of them. Along with a fair number of hunting knives. He made sure to show them to me.

  Her cheeks plump. “They’re only for decoration.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure, they are. Tell me, Button, you ever bring a guy over here? Are their bodies buried in the garden?”

  “You’re the first. But I’ll be sure to tell your story if you don’t make it out.”

  “Your concern is touching. Really.”

  Stella softly laughs, a breath of sound that makes my heart trip. Yes, my freaking heart is fluttering over a laugh. I seriously don’t recognize myself. And I don’t care.

  “You’re really going to end the friend service?” The words are out of my mouth without forethought.

  Her fingers tense and press into my chest before relaxing. “I love helping people, making them feel less lonely.” A light breath gusts across my skin. “But it’s getting to the point where my job makes me feel lonely. I’m starting to resent it, and that’s never good.”

  “What, then? You’ll be a flight instructor instead?”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers trace an idle pattern on my chest. “I’d have to become certified. The job doesn’t pay very well, and it isn’t easy getting here from the train station, so I’d definitely have to move out of the city.”

  I will myself not to tense, but I can feel my muscles stiffening anyway. Stella clearly feels it too. Her palm smooths over my skin. “I don’t want to leave the city. It’s my home.” She glances up at me. “Is it ridiculous to cling to an area I can’t afford just because it’s familiar?”

  “Button, you said it yourself—it’s your home. More than anyone I know. Why would it be ridiculous to want to stay?”

  “I’m thirty years old, and I haven’t got a clue. I just wish I knew what to do with myself. I was always so focused on having fun in the now that I never planned for the ‘what now?’”