Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

  His smile fades. “Yeah, you seemed a little … irritated.”

  “You think?” I grip the doorknob like a lifeline. “Not a word for weeks, then a series of bizarre gifts without a note will do that.”

  John shifts on his feet and eyes me from under his lashes. “You figured it out, though?”

  I will not smile. Nope. Not going to do it. I bite the corner of my lip. “Yes. You’ve watched that movie, right?”

  “Ah …” He scratches the back of his neck, biting the bottom corner of his lip. “I mean, I’ve seen the classic Stella shouting bit. Very emotional.”

  Despite my best effort, a smile struggles to break free. “He’s shouting for her because he’d hit her in a drunken rage the night before. Later on, he rapes her sister.”

  Color drains out of John’s face. “Fuck. Really?”

  “Not the greatest guy to pretend to be.”

  He sighs and slumps against the door frame. “Fucking hell. Why does pop culture try to make that bit look romantic?” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. Brown ends stick up wildly as he looks at me with wide, green eyes. “I really suck at this.”

  The soft contrition in his voice weakens me, and it’s hard to stiffen my back. But he’s finally addressed the sad gorilla in the room, and it rubs against all the raw and weepy parts of me. “At what, John?”

  “I was trying to make you laugh, distract you enough that you’d open the door for me.”

  “Well,” I admit, “I did laugh, though it was more from incredulity. And the door is open. So technically you accomplished what you set out to do.”

  “I did. But it isn’t enough.”

  “No.” My hand is slick and clammy against the cold steel of the doorknob. “What do you want?”

  His gaze moves over my face, taking in every line of pain and wariness. “To talk to you.”

  It occurs to me that Brenna is somewhere behind me, but a glance back finds the living room empty. I don’t want to bring this into her space.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I tell John. He gives a tense nod and then waits as I find my shoes and keys.

  My hands are shaking as I slip on a pair of sunglasses. It’s probably a coward’s move, but I need to protect myself as much as I can, and John is too good at reading me. He gives me a pained but understanding smile as we head out, both of us silent and staying far enough away from each other so there’s no inadvertent contact. All of the ease and the way we’d naturally gravitate closer is gone now. It hurts worse than when I hadn’t heard from him at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  John

  I can’t stop looking at Stella. She’s rich, hot cocoa after trudging through a blizzard. She’s ice-cold beer after a sweltering performance. Every inch of her enthralls me, from the wispy whirls of her glorious sunset hair to the scattered constellation of her freckles. I’ve spent hours mapping those tiny cinnamon dots, nights curled up on the sofa sliding my fingers through her silky hair, happy to simply pet her as she told me things that made me laugh.

  Her jaunty walk has me fighting a smile; only Stella walks with a stride that is both a determined march and a sensual sway of hips and ass. But she’s tense and pinch-lipped, and I know I’m responsible for that. God, I want to see her smile again. I was a jackass for ever thinking my life would be better, safer without her in it.

  We walk in silence for a while. It’s awkward, but I don’t mind; I’m simply soaking her in.

  I guide her to Central Park. We pass a couple sharing a large shake. Memories of seeing her on a friendship date at the Shake Shack fill my head. I should have known I was a goner back then—the very sight of her smiling at another guy had caused my heart to flip within my chest and a knot of pure, base envy to surge through my veins. I’d wanted to be that guy sitting across from her. I’d wanted to be the one to earn her happiness.

  She stops on the Bow Bridge and rests her arms on the balustrade to stare down at the glassy lake. “So.”

  I’ve gone over what I want to say in my head, practiced it on the walk over to Brenna’s apartment. Except what comes out of my mouth is not what I’d planned. “I don’t need you.”

  Stella recoils as if slapped, and I take a step closer. “Wait. That came out wrong.”

  She snorts out a laugh, and then pulls off her sunglasses. Hurt tightens the corners of her eyes. “I don’t think there’s a way to say it that would sound good.”

  “I know. Shit.” I rake my fingers along my head. “I would have been here sooner, because God knows I’ve missed you, Stells. I’ve missed you so much, it’s like I’ve lost my hands or my voice. But I had to do something first.

  “I’ve been going to see Dr. Allen, talking things out and doing a lot of thinking. I came to the conclusion that you can’t fix me.”

  Stella stares at me with hard eyes, but she doesn’t say a word. I know she’s about ten seconds away from walking. My words rush out, desperate to keep her here. “No one can. But for so long, I thought of myself as broken, and I hated that.” Licking my dry lips, I force myself to tell her the bare truth. “But what I hated more was the idea that others wanted to fix me too.”

  Her expression softens. “I never thought you were broken, John.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “Pride is a funny thing, though. Sometimes it refuses to listen to logic. I’d see the cracks in my existence and feel weak. I wanted to be your rock, the one who you could rely on.”

  With a shuddering breath, she turns her head, no longer willing to face me. “You were.”

  Until I wasn’t. My fists clench to keep from pulling her close. Not yet. “I freaked out and pushed you away.”

  The gentle sweep of her jaw tightens. “I know.”

  “You told me that’s what I was doing, and I didn’t listen.”

  “I know this too.”

  God, she sounds so distant, so done with me.

  My cold hands tremble so hard I have to shove them in my pockets. “I know it’s not enough, but I’m so sorry.”

  Blinking rapidly, she gazes up at the sky, and the wind tosses strands of hair into her eyes. “I know.”

  “Jesus, Stells.” I move closer, ducking my head to get her in my line of sight. “Stop saying ‘I know’ and—”

  “And what?” she snaps, glaring. “What am I supposed to say to make you feel better?”

  I blanch, horrified that she’s right. My shoulders slump. “I deserve that. That and more.” Slowly, I reach out and gently tuck back a lock of her hair that’s been dangling over her eyes. I need to see those eyes; they hold my world. “I love you.”

  The impact of my words makes her visibly flinch, and she looks away, giving me her profile. She seems so small just now, delicate as fine crystal. Which is weird, because Stella has always seemed unstoppable to me. Her strength, her light—she can take on the world and own it. She owns me.

  I can’t stop myself from touching her—the tips of her penny hair, the sweet edge of her jaw. “But that isn’t enough, is it?”

  “No.” The word drops like a stone.

  I’ve never faced rejection. Stella has only been rejected.

  I shove my hands back in my pockets and keep talking. “The second the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them, wanted to take them back. But I didn’t, couldn’t. It’s hard sometimes, getting out of my own head.”

  “John …” She takes a deep, unsteady breath like she’s going to speak but then abruptly stops. Pearly white teeth dig into her bottom lip. When she speaks again, her tone is wary. “Why am I here?”

  A lifetime of evasion tells me to charm her. A smile tries to grow on my lips, but I’m don’t let it bloom. I’m nervous as hell and worried I won’t be able to take away her hurt, or get her to understand, but she deserves straight honesty.

  “I don’t need you to fix me, Stella. I need you for everything else. I need your smiles, your laughter. I need you to be my best friend, my lover, my all. I need to take care of you, touch
your skin, make you dinner, give you pleasure whenever you’re in need.”

  I lean in, emotion clogging my throat. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I’d happily spend the rest of my life trying to be the best thing that has ever happened to you too.”

  My speech ends with the sound of kids laughing in the background and a distant horn blaring. Stella blinks at me, her eyes glassy, her lower lip caught in the snare of her teeth.

  “John …” Her voice breaks for a second. “That’s all I ever wanted. I wanted to take care of you too, not because I thought you are weak or messed up, but because I loved you and wanted to spoil you that way.”

  My heart turns over in my chest, threatens to jump the fuck out of my body. “Button …” I reach for her but she takes a step back, holding up her hand.

  “It’s hard for me to trust,” she says. “I’ve never been able to do that before you. And then you go and …” A tear slips free, and she inhales sharply like she’s pissed she showed any vulnerability. “What’s to say you won’t do it again?”

  “I won’t,” I say swiftly.

  Another tear escapes. “But how do you know? You panicked, and your first instinct was to cast me aside. How can I take that risk?”

  God. I have no answer; I just know I won’t. I might mess up in other ways, but I won’t leave her. I can’t. But that won’t work for Stella. Pressure builds along the backs of my eyes and in the hollow of my chest. I dig my fists deeper into my pockets. “I don’t know what to say to make you stay.”

  She nods, tears running freely down her smooth cheeks. “I don’t know if there is anything you can say.”

  We stare at each other, and I feel the space between us growing. Had I hurt before? This is worse. This slices through my skin and crushes my hope. I won’t get over the loss of Stella.

  With another nod, she turns and leaves. Throat closed tight, I watch her walk away. My heart shouts “no, no, no” with every step she takes, but I can’t move. I don’t know if I’m supposed to let her go, give her space, or fight for her, plead …

  She halts, and my breath stops with her. Slowly she turns around. Face red and blotchy from crying, she looks at me with eyes wide and pained. “You know,” she says brokenly, “Maddy told me a story about her husband. She’d rejected him, you see.”

  I shake my head, because I don’t see. But she keeps talking.

  “She said he’d call her every night. He’d ask her one question. Was it worth it? Being without him,” Stella explains. “Was it worth it?”

  She’s not talking about Maddy anymore.

  I clear my throat, but my voice is still a thick rasp. “Was it?”

  “I know how to be alone,” she says. “I’ve done it more than half my life. I can do it again.”

  The burning behind my lids grows hot and itchy. I grind my teeth together, trying to hold it all in. “I know you can. You’re … you’re so strong.”

  Her expression crumples. “I’m not.” And then she’s striding toward me, almost a jog. Before I can say a word, she’s knocking into me, stealing my breath. Her arms wrap around my neck. A choked sound escapes me before I clutch her close and bury my face in the silky tumble of her hair.

  I’m trembling. Tears burn down my cheeks. I can’t stop them. Stella holds me up, holds on tight.

  “He asked the wrong question,” she says, her voice muffled in the hollow of my chest.

  “What was the right question?” I ask into her hair, because I’m not willing to let her go.

  Stella presses her lips to my chest. “Is being with you worth living with the fear of eventually losing you?”

  “You won’t lose me. You won’t.” I kiss the damp corner of her eye, just once because I can’t help myself, and taste her tears. “I can’t promise you perfection. I’m a moody bastard sometimes. I’ll have down days. But I tried living without you, and it was the worst feeling of my life. You’re part of me, Stella.” My fist thumps against my chest where it still feels hollow and incomplete. “You live here. Always.”

  She leans back then and her hands cup my jaw, wiping at my cheeks with her thumbs as I wipe at hers. “Perfection is a myth. I’m not remotely perfect. If you love someone, you have to be willing to accept the flaws as well. I was walking away when it hit me that you don’t know how to trust either. Yet here you are, wanting to try again.”

  “I do.” My forehead rests on hers. “Is it worth it, then?”

  Her smile is tremulous. “Hear me well, John Blackwood, because I know how hard it is for you to take a compliment. You talk of my strength? You are the strongest person I’ve ever known. You are a survivor. Every day you fight for a better life. I am in awe of you. I adore you. I have since the beginning. Fear isn’t an easy thing to shake. But for you? I will be right there fighting by your side and never regret a day.”

  I can’t speak. I can only haul her close and hold onto her. She hums softly beneath her breath, smoothing circles on my trembling back until I calm. “Thank you,” I say when I can find my voice. “For trusting me. For falling for me. I promise, Stella, I’ll always be there to catch you.”

  Her voice washes over me like a song. “You already caught me. You did the second you stole my mint chip.”

  A grin breaks out as I sling an arm over her shoulders and we walk off the bridge. “Come on now, Button, we both know you were the thief.”

  “I was not! You knew I was going for The Mint.”

  “And the kiss?”

  She pinks. “Ah, well. But, I mean, have you seen you? How was I supposed to resist?”

  My laugher rings out over the park, and I pick Stella up, carrying her the way I once did over a puddle. “I love you, Stella Grey.”

  She rests her head on my shoulder. “I love you too, John-Jax Blackwood.”

  Epilogue

  Stella

  It’s autumn now, my favorite time in New York. It’s crisp and cool, the air carrying the occasional scent of roasted chestnuts in the stiff breezes that rush down the avenues. Leaves are burnished orange and gold but the expansive lawns carpeting Central Park are still emerald green. Not that you can see much of that lawn now. People cover it, an undulating mass of humanity, all facing the stage set up under the fading sky.

  That crowd starts to chant, calling for Kill John. The chant grows into a roar as John, Killian, Whip, and Rye jog out onto the stage and give them a wave.

  John slips a guitar over his head and steps up to the mic. God, my man is sexy onstage, all swaggering hip and impish smiles. The olive green T-shirt he wears hugs his lean muscles, and when he grips the mic, his biceps bunch. I swear, half the audience goes wild over that sight—made larger than life on the huge screen set up behind the stage. In that moment, he becomes Jax Blackwood.

  Jax’s smile grows, and someone in the audience screeches her undying love for him. His rich voice echoes over the park. “Hello, New York City!” More screaming. He pauses until it dies down a little. “Tonight is special. Tonight is for the beautiful ones we have lost, and for all the beautiful ones who suffer in silence.”

  A few people whistle, but it’s gone so quiet that you can hear the rough emotion in Jax’s voice now. “We’re raising our voice tonight to let the world know that it no longer has to be silent when it comes to mental health. To let them know that they will be loved.”

  Tears blur my vision, and I press a hand to my chest. Months in the making, my first project with Kill John was to help put this concert together. Dozens of artists have donated their time to perform to raise awareness for mental health and suicide prevention. Kill John will go first, mostly singing songs by idols we’ve all lost.

  A heavy guitar riff slices through the air as Killian starts to play; Whip and Rye join in. The crowd goes wild. Jax begins to sing Nirvana’s “Drain You.” It isn’t sentimental or sweet, but Jax said it was one of Cobain’s favorites, so that’s what Kill John picked.

  They don’t sound like Nirvana, though. They sound
like themselves, perfect in their own way. I dance along, watching my man lean into the mic, all at once tight with power yet loose with confidence. As soon as the song ends, Killian and Jax start a duet of Soundgarden’s “Fell On Black Days.”

  I love watching them together, the way they feed off each other, and how they’ll fall back and give it to Rye or Whip. These guys are a seamless machine, and yet they still have a raw enthusiasm. I know they feel total joy up there, and it’s contagious.

  When they play “Apathy” and “Rush Love” a newer song of theirs, their energy lights up the night. Then Jax, sweaty and now gloriously shirtless, sets down his guitar and adjusts his mic. “You’re going to hear a lot of classics tonight. This one is a bit different. It’s for someone special to me.” Somehow, his eyes meet mine and he gives me a smile, that secret smile that belongs to no one else but me. “For Stella, ‘The resolution of all my fruitless searches.’”

  My heart turns over in my chest, and I blow him a kiss.

  Killian, though, leans in and laughingly asks, “Are you sure you want to do this? It doesn’t always go as expected, man.”

  Whip drums out a campy, “da-dum-dum” on his drums. The audience laughs. Every Kill John fan knows that Killian once infamously dedicated Prince’s “Darling Nikki” to Libby, not realizing the context of the song wasn’t exactly the message he’d wanted to send.

  Jax smirks at Killian. “Unlike you, I pay attention to the lyrics.” He glances back at me, his heart in his eyes, then turns his attention to the crowd. “I’m hoping you know this song enough to help me out and sing along.”

  Despite their banter, the band has clearly planned this. Rye moves to a keyboard, and they start as one. It takes a few notes for me to get the song, but when I do, I smile wide, tears welling in my eyes. At my side, Brenna leans close, nudging my shoulder with a happy grin.

  Jax sings Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.” His voice is rough with emotion, his gaze mostly on me. The crowd sings with him, thousands of voices lifting up as one. Shivers break out over my skin, and I know in that moment what it means for Jax to be on that stage, how it feeds his soul and how he gives it back to the world. I sing too, return the words, meaning them with all I am.