Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

  I remain in my fog until we enter John’s apartment. The cool space holds his scent and comforts me on a visceral level. Not bothering to look at my dad, I march to the fridge and pull out a bottle of iced tea. I can feel him watching me as I turn the cap with a snick and gulp down long pulls of cold, biting tea.

  “Nice place you have here,” Dad says.

  John’s jaw bunches but doesn’t respond.

  “Seems to me,” Dad drawls, “you were being a bit cheap by ignoring my initial offer.”

  “Shut up,” John snarls. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  Cold washes over me. “John?”

  He glances my way and instantly cringes, guilt stamped all over his face.

  My hands begin to shake. “You … He …”

  “It was only a bit of insurance, Stella girl,” Dad says, almost sweetly.

  John’s nostrils flare, and he looks a second away from exploding. “Leave it be.”

  “Why don’t you want her to hear?” Dad asks, glancing at me in sympathy. Does he really think this is all somehow brought on by John? That I would fall for his little act?

  I can only stare back, my eyes smarting.

  “She is your daughter. Why do you want to hurt her?” John grinds out before looking at me with wide, pained eyes. “Stella …”

  “He tried to get money from you,” I cut in, my throat hurting so badly, I can barely get the words out. “Didn’t he?”

  John ducks his head, then rolls his shoulders and faces me. “Yeah. And I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

  Dully, I nod.

  “It was only business, ducks.” The sound of my father’s voice has me hunching. I’ve wanted to hear it for so long, and now it grates against my skin.

  “Sure it was,” I say, still dull, still hurting. I can’t quite meet his eyes. “It’s always business. How much did you try to get?”

  “A mere ten grand.” He lifts his hands. “A drop in the bucket for the likes of your mark.”

  I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “My mark. That’s what you think he is? Of course, you do. Everyone is a mark to you.” Even me.

  John takes a step in my direction, his expression twisted with regret. But I hold him off with a glare. If he touches me now, I’ll shatter.

  “What was the shakedown?” I ask my dad.

  “It was for your protection, really. Thought he should know about your time as an escort.”

  At this, John pales, his whole body vibrating like a struck tuning fork. His eyes meet mine, and I see his need to defend me, his absolute outrage.

  “You’ve been seen with him enough,” Dad says. “It’s only a matter of time before someone talks. Better if he’s prepared.”

  “You miserable fuck.” John stalks toward my dad. “You sleazy shit …”

  “John,” I snap loud enough to cut through his fury. He halts and looks at me from over his shoulder. “Please don’t. Hitting him is exactly what he wants you to do.”

  “So let me oblige,” John grits out. “I can take the fallout.”

  “But I can’t.” I take a deep breath. Then another. “Can you, ah, give us a minute?” I gesture to my dad.

  John shifts his stance, his fingers opening and closing, clearly fighting his instincts. It isn’t a normal thing for him to hold back. Whether he acknowledges it or not, he is a protector. “Stella.” It’s a low plea. “Let me—”

  “Please,” I whisper, at the end of my strength.

  He gives a short nod. “I’ll be in the other room.” He levels my dad with a hard glare. “If you’ve done your homework, you already know who my family is. From the cradle on, I’ve learned how to play dirty. I can end you as easily as snapping my fingers. Hurt her, and I will.”

  Shocked, I watch John turn heel and stalk into his media room.

  “I like him,” Dad says in the silence. When I shoot him a look, he quirks a brow. “He’s right, you know. His family are the worst kind of crooks—rich and powerful enough to get away with anything.”

  “So maybe you should heed his warning and back off.”

  Dad strolls over to the marble mantle and examines the pastoral oil painting above it. “He won’t hurt me. He’s too afraid it will hurt you if he does.”

  “Unlike you.” I slam down the bottle I’ve been holding with a death grip. “Years you’ve been gone. Years I’ve searched for one word of your existence, and nothing!”

  He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all. Just stands there, fingering the onyx obelisk that stands on the mantle, and I know he’s thinking about stealing it.

  I move toward him in halting, uncoordinated steps. “Years of being alone, having no family, only to have you return, not because of me, but because of him.” I fling my arm in the direction John left. “For money.”

  “I did you a favor,” Dad says without inflection. “You don’t need me. Truth is, you thrived once I left.”

  “Not one ounce of remorse,” I go on, “not even now.”

  He shakes his head. “Never felt remorse. Never felt much of anything, if I’m honest.”

  His eyes are the exact shape and color of mine, but they’re flat. It hits me that I’ve always thought of them as mirrors, reflecting, never showing any depth.

  He rubs a finger over his beard. “No, that’s not entirely true. I’ve always been proud of the way you learned so quickly to take care of yourself.”

  I snort. “I had to. You certainly didn’t.”

  “As I said, you were better off without me.”

  “And yet here you are. For money.” My insides shake so hard, I have to wrap my arms around myself and hold on tight. It’s an uncomfortably familiar process. I’m always holding myself up.

  “Just a drop. I’m in a pinch.” Dad moves his attention to a silver box on John’s antique coffee table. “It isn’t like this guy will miss it.”

  “You’d risk destroying the closest thing I’ve had to true happiness for a ‘drop’ of money?” An ugly sound gurgles in my throat, and I swallow hard to keep from being sick.

  “Come on, Stella girl. I taught you to read people better than this. There is no risk. That guy looks at you as if the sun rises and sets by your smile. You were never in danger of losing him. Made certain of that before I approached him.”

  Sweet Jesus, he actually believes he’d been doing right by me. I stare at the man responsible for my existence. I’ve been wanting to find him for so long, I’d forgotten how it truly felt to be near him. He is an illusion, always was. Nothing of my dad feels like love or security. I’m hurt and angry, but I have no more love for this man. There is nothing between us. Only the pain of finally knowing that I have no family left. I am all alone in this world.

  “I want you to leave,” I say through numb lips.

  He stares at me, assessing all the outcomes and possible responses. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Stay away from John and anyone connected to him, or I will call the police. Understood?”

  My dad’s weathered features draw tight, but he nods. “Understood.”

  We stand there in silence, neither of us moving. This is the last time I will lay eyes on him, and I find myself relieved. Hurt for what I never had, but it’s all tied up in my own feelings of abandonment. When I try to think of missing him, or wanting him back, I feel nothing.

  With a small dip of his chin in acknowledgment, he sets the silver box back on the table—Jesus, when did he pick it up? Straightening, he inclines his head again. “Right. Then I’ll be off. Remember what I’ve taught you. You were alone when you were born and you’ll be alone you die.”

  In other words, the only person important in this world is yourself. I’d heard that so many times from him, I’d lost count. Bitterness washes over my tongue and down my throat.

  “Good-bye.” I want him gone. He has to go before I lose it.

  There’s no final hug, no apology. He simply turns and walks out. As easily as he did the last time.

  * * *
/>
  John

  I’ve fucked up. Badly. I forgot to tell Stella about her dad. I forgot. Why do I forget so many things? Important things. Things that will be deeply hurtful to other people when I forget. Why do I do this to people?

  I run a hand through my hair and pace, cursing myself. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Stella. She’s out there with that fucking piece-of-shit excuse for a father. I thought my parents were cold. This guy is arctic. A functioning sociopath if I had to guess.

  It’s clear he has little to no empathy or thought for others. But he can turn on the charm like a switch—all flash, zero substance. I’ve met people like him all through my career. They chill me to the bone. The worst thing is they usually get away with destroying everything in their path, only keeping around people they can successfully use.

  That Stella had him to rely on growing up and still glows with such life and light is a bloody miracle. I know all about being alone in a loveless household. But I’ve had my mates by my side. I might not have always fully appreciated that, but I do now. True, Stella had Hank and Corinne, but it’s clear she never fully leaned on them.

  God, she’s out there hurting. Helplessness plucks at my gut. I glare at the door, wanting to slam it open and throw her dad out on his ass. Stella’s voice was rising and falling, indecipherable but clearly angry. From her dad, I’d heard nothing. Now it’s silent.

  Why is it so silent?

  I’m about to say fuck it and go find out when the door opens. Stella stands in the shadow of the hall, her face pale, her blue eyes glassy. “He’s gone.”

  “Are you okay?” She has to be. She will be.

  “I’m fine.” She doesn’t sound fine; she sounds hollow. All the light has been drained out of her pretty face.

  “Baby …” I walk slowly. She’s holding herself so stiffly, I’m afraid I’ll break her if I move too fast. With each step closer, she gets twitchier.

  Stella licks her lips and blinks rapidly. “I want to say something first.”

  “Okay.” She can say or do anything she wants; I’ll take it.

  “When I was eighteen, my dad came to me with a job. He said it was easy money. All I had to do is hang on the arm of a guy he was working with and make the guy look good.”

  My insides flip, sick dread filling me up.

  Her eyes shine and a tear slips free, but she ignores it and stares at me unblinking. “I should have known, you know? But I was so …” She sucks in a shaky breath. “I wanted his approval.”

  “Button,” I whisper. “I know. Believe me, I know.” I’d lost count of how many times I’d hoped my parents would show any glimmer of interest in my life. Eventually, disappointment wore me down and it was easier not to care too deeply—about anything.

  A humorless laugh escapes her, and she looks up at the ceiling, blinking to contain her tears. “It soon became painfully clear the guy expected me to put out. Hell, he told me my dad promised him I would.”

  Sick, fucking fuck. I suck in a sharp breath and blow it out to keep from turning around and hunting him down.

  “Anyway,” she says, trying to sound lighter, “I got out of there. When I came home, Dad was gone. He left me a couple thousand dollars, an apology of sorts, I guess. I never saw him again. Until now.”

  It takes two steps to reach her. She’s cold and stiff when I wrap my arms around her, but she doesn’t resist when I nestle her against my chest. “I’m so sorry,” I say into her silky hair. “I’m so sorry, Stella.”

  She trembles and then sags into my hug, her arms slipping around my waist. “When you asked me if I was an escort, I reacted with more anger than I would have because, in a way, for one night, I had been.”

  “Shit. Stella, I was a dumb ass.” I squeeze her tight. “We both know that. You think I’d shame you over sex? My pestering was never about the sex; it was just my lame way of wanting to know all about you.” Dipping my head, I find the shell of her ear with my lips. “I know you now, Stells. You’re wonderful, perfect, exactly as you are.”

  Her muffled snort sounds dubious. “If only everyone felt that way.”

  I hug her with all the tenderness and love I can, curling my body as far as I can over her smaller form as though I can somehow cover up all her hurts and take them away. I hold her until she becomes warm and soft, her breath slowing. I’ll hold her forever if that’s what she wants.

  My eyes close, and I’m sinking into the feel of her when her grip on my waist tightens. “When did he first show up?”

  Hell. “Right before we went flying.”

  Stella jerks in my arms but doesn’t try to leave me.

  I swallow a hard knot of remorse. “At first, I couldn’t believe that your dad would actually …”

  “Be such a thoughtless dick?” She says it so bluntly, like he didn’t just punch a hole through her heart.

  “Do that to you,” I say, pained. “I should have told you immediately. I know that. But I didn’t want to upset you and we were going out … Shit.” I hold onto her, not sure if I’m doing it for her or for myself. “It was completely selfish of me. I should have told you. I was going to tell you afterward, but I forgot.”

  She doesn’t say a word, which feels somehow worse. She should be yelling at me, but instead she’s still leaning against my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my back. I swallow convulsively.

  “I swear to God, Stells, I didn’t mean to forget.” Licking my dry lips, I force myself to finish. “I saw him walk toward and it all came tumbling back. I can’t believe I did that to you.”

  Stella takes a step back and stares up at me without expression. With my thumb, I wipe a silvery trail of tears from her cheek, and she leans into my hand.

  “You have a problem with remembering things,” she says.

  “Yeah.” It’s worse when my mind is cloudy with other things. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

  Those clear, lake-blue eyes, full of hurt and regret, hold mine. “I’m guessing you beat yourself up pretty badly for it.” When my hand goes stiff and I try to draw away, she wraps her fingers around my wrist, keeping me there against her cheek. “You have a good heart, John. That counts for a lot. Maybe I should be angry, but I can’t find it in myself to care. Not when he …” She bites her lip hard. “He only came back for money.”

  A sob breaks free, and then she crumples in my arms. I gather her up again and hold on as she cries. Stella doesn’t weep silently. She is loud, her entire body quaking. This is rage and hurt and despair. I’ve heard this sound inside my own head, felt this type of pain many times, and it never gets easier.

  She’s struggling to keep it contained, swallowing her cries down in great gulps. “I’m so angry, John. It’s stuck inside me, and I can’t get rid of it.”

  I run my fingers through her sweat-dampened hair. “Use me, honey. Take it out on me.”

  This stops her cold. Her face is red and swollen from tears. “No. I will never use you. That’s not the way it is between us.”

  Her ferocity makes me smile. “It’s okay. I can handle it. Besides, I want to do this for you.”

  With a sigh, Stella presses her lips to the center of my chest, and her hands slide down my back as if she’s taking comfort in touching me. “I don’t know how to let go.”

  But I do. I grab her hand and squeeze it. “Come with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  John

  “What is this place?” Stella asks as I let her into the massive loft in SoHo.

  She walks around, taking in the open space, the few scattered deep couches, and then sees the stage toward the back.

  “Practice space.” I shut the door and the sound of silence envelops me. The loft has been designed for optimum acoustics. “There’s a couple of recording booths over there.” I point to the glassed-in rooms where our producers will come and work now and then.

  “Cool.” She glances up at me with wide, blue eyes. “What are we doing here?”

  “Come
on and see.” Taking her hand in mine, I lead her to the stage where all Kill John’s equipment is set up.

  “You’re going to sing some songs?” An excited light illuminates her face and she kind of jumps in place. “Yes!”

  I give her a quick smile. “No. We’re going to do them together.”

  Her happy expression falls. “What? We? No …” Laughing, she shakes her head. “I don’t know how to play any instruments. And believe me now—I can’t sing. Not even a little.”

  With a hand on the small of her back, I guide her up the stage stairs. “Doesn’t matter, babe. It’s just us.”

  “No, really. I can’t. As in, I sound like a cat is having sex with a cow. It’s scary.”

  I laugh while turning on the mic. “That’s something I’ll never get out of my head. But I’m willing to risk worse. Now, stop making excuses.”

  Stella huffs, setting her hands on her hips. “How is this supposed to make me feel better? I should be getting a bubble bath, not humiliation on a stage.”

  “You’re arguing,” I deadpan, going for my Strat. “That’s a good start on the road back to Stella normal.”

  A smile tugs at her lips but she’s fighting it. “God, you know how to push my buttons.”

  “You are my button.” I blow her a quick kiss.

  Stella laughs and flips me off. But she comes over to where I’m tuning my guitar. “I think you should just play me a song.”

  “I’ll do that too.” I kiss the tip of her freckled nose. “If you’re good.”

  Sticking her tongue out at me, she wanders off and flicks a cymbal on Whip’s drum kit. A tiny hiss rings out over the room.

  “Go ahead and try them out,” I say.

  She startles like a kid who’s been sneaking around and just got caught, and tucks her hand behind her back.

  “Seriously, Stells. Whip won’t mind.”

  Shooting a shy glance, she eases onto the low stool and picks up a set of sticks. Whip has stores. She gives the snare a soft tap.

  I blow a raspberry. “Weak. Whale on it, babe. That’s what it wants.”