The Falling of Grace (The Falling Series Book 2)

by Marisa Oldham

  “I’m not trying to be perfect and I’m anything but perfect. I’m just telling you what I want. Are you ready to go to sleep?”

  “Yeah, I’m tired.”

  “Me too,” he says. “Come here, baby.” They turn on their sides, his arms wrapped tightly around her, he slides his leg between hers, and they are an entanglement of love.

  “And I run, and I run, and I run from you.” The words and haunting melody float into Grace’s ears, awakening her body and her soul. She turns and looks at the alarm clock on her nightstand. 2 AM, she thinks, as she lifts herself up onto her elbows.

  “But, the fear it beats over and over and over and over again, and over again.”

  The keys are lightly pressed and Ian’s voice is only a whisper. He is clearly trying not to wake her, but there is no possible way she could sleep through such magnificence. Grace swings her legs over the side of the bed and rises. In the dark, she searches for her robe, patting the furniture as she goes. Finally, she finds it hanging over the partition. She pulls it over her body and ties it taking careful steps out of her bedroom.

  “Ian,” she calls to him.

  With his fingers still in motion, he turns. His naked body glistens in the moonlight. He has his hair pulled back into a ponytail, which allows her full view of his face.

  “You’re so handsome, Mr. Taylor.”

  He smiles, with sadness behind his eyes.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep again?”

  Ian takes his fingers from the keys and closes the lid on the piano. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Grace takes a seat next to him and places her hand on his bare leg. “How long have you been dealing with insomnia?”

  “Years. I don’t have trouble falling asleep, but—”

  “But what?”

  “I have nightmares. They’re so real sometimes. So vivid. I swear I can even smell the things I see in them.”

  “Nightmares of what?”

  “The past. When I was lost. The places I would end up in. The people I would meet and some that my mind creates. I dream of my death a lot. I dream of you. Your face. The way you looked when you caught me—”

  “We don’t need to go there, Ian.”

  “My mind seems to disagree with us.” Ian stands and walks to the kitchen.

  “The moon sure is shining bright in here tonight.” Grace jokes, attempting to lighten the mood. She hates to see Ian hurting.

  “Funny,” he says, walking back to the bench with a bottle of water in his hand.

  “You’re sweating.”

  “It was a bad nightmare.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  He sits next to her, so close that she can feel heat radiating from him. “It was dusk and I was running through this endless desert, but it seemed like my feet weren’t moving. It was hot and I was sweating worse than I really am. I was thin, dark circles under my eyes, greasy hair, and the smell that came from me. When I think of it now, it makes me sick to my stomach.” Ian takes a drink of water and then exhales.

  Grace runs her hand across his face and smiles, trying to bring him some type of comfort.

  “I must’ve been using again in my dream. I kept looking behind me and you were standing in the middle of the road, looking like an angel, one of your hands reaching out to me, but I just kept running away from you. You appeared just like you used to when I would hallucinate when I was high, except in those illusions you were pretty scary. I was filled with fear. Regret. Anger. Then the road turned into sludge and I couldn’t lift my feet from it. I was trapped. The sky started to crackle and lightning bolts started crashing around me, barely missing me. I closed my eyes before I turned my head back to look where you were standing, and you were gone. I was overcome with feelings of loss.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Ian. You never have to worry about that.”

  “I know, babe. I woke up soaking in sweat so I came out to get a drink and when I saw the piano the lyrics just came.”

  “Play it for me. Sing what you wrote.”

  Ian places his water on a coaster that sits on the piano and folds open the lid. The first chords bring goose bumps over Grace’s entire body. She closes her eyes as he sings, every emotion he is feeling seeps from the music. When he stops, she opens her eyes and catches him in her stare.

  “That’s intense. Really beautiful, but really intense. You have such an amazing gift.”

  “Sometimes I feel like it’s a curse because a lot of my songs were my therapy and when I play them, I’m forced to deal with everything all over again.”

  “Then promise me something?”

  “Anything.”

  Grace takes his hand into hers. The strength, the roughness of it does nothing but comfort her. “Promise me that you’ll write me a love song that doesn’t hurt you to sing. A song that fills your heart with happiness. Not one that hurts and causes pain. Put the feelings you have for me right now, in this exact moment, into a song. Make it a song you play when you have nights like this. Your new therapy.”

  The smile that crosses his face lights her soul as if a million fireflies swarmed into her heart and lit it on fire. “That’s a good idea.”

  Grace pulls him into her bosom and folds her arms around his neck. She kisses the top of his head and then takes his face into her hand. “I love you so much.”

  His eyes blink and a few tears trickle from them. “Whenever I look into your eyes, I see the man I want to be. I see the future I want to have.”

  “It’s the same for me. Minus the man part.” She laughs.

  “Come here,” he laughs, as he grabs her by the waist and pulls her close to his body. “I’m going to miss you so much, Gracie. More than I think you know.”

  She shakes her head. “I know because I feel the same way. The only thing that is going to hold me together is knowing that soon you’ll be back, for good.”

  “You’ve got that right, baby. This time. Nothing is going to stand in our way. Nothing is going to tear us apart.”

  Chapter 8

  Grace and Ian stand on the rain-soaked sidewalk, the lights from the surrounding cars reflecting in the puddles, as they stand in front of the airport. A warm breeze lightly brushes across Grace’s chilled skin. Grace looks up at Ian and her tears fill her eyes. “I’m going to miss you,” she cries.

  “I’m going to miss you, too, baby. It won’t be long till you’re in my arms again. I promise.”

  “I know, I just…I just got you back. I can’t stand losing you so soon.”

  “You’re not losing me, Grace. I just have to go take care of my business back home. Important things for us to spend our future together.”

  “I know,” she says, reaching up and placing her hand softly on his chiseled face.

  “I gotta go, babe. I’m going to miss my flight.”

  She squeezes him tighter and he returns her warm embrace. He drops his luggage and takes her face into both of his hands, “I love you, Grace. With all my heart. I’ll see you very soon, okay? Please don’t cry.”

  She cannot prevent her mind from flashing back to almost the same scene with Jaden a few years ago.

  “I’ll see you sooner rather than later.” Jaden’s smoky voice soars through her mind with the memory of saying goodbye to him at this very airport. Jaden made the same promise to her, that he would return to her, and he never did. It sends a stabbing pain into her heart, not because she still loves Jaden, but because now she is afraid the same thing will happen with Ian. For a moment, these memories remind her why she closed herself off to falling in love again, and then she looks into Ian’s eyes and all her fear washes away.

  Ian grabs both her arms. “I gotta go. I don’t want to.” He kisses her on the forehead. “I’ll call you when I get home.” He bends to grab his suitcase.

  Grace reaches for him and pulls him back into her arms.

  “Awe, babe, you’re making this so hard on me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says,
nuzzling into his chest. “I miss you already.”

  “Me, too, baby.”

  She knows she has to let him go. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she pushes away from him. “Have a safe flight.”

  “I will. Drive safe. I don’t like you driving in this rain.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “So will I, except for the pain I have here,” he says, as he points to his heart.

  Grace snickers. Ian grabs his suitcase, kisses her on the cheek, and then darts inside the airport. Grace stands in the same spot for a moment as light rain falls. Putting her hand over her heart, she sighs. See you soon.

  ~ ~ ~

  The stewardess’s voice comes over the loud speakers of the airplane and it pulls Ian out of his thoughts of Grace. He can only translate a few of the French words, before she repeats what she said in English. “We now call your attention to the video screens located throughout the cabin, which will demonstrate the safety features of this Boeing 747 aircraft.” A screen on the back of the chair in front of Ian flicks on and a safety video plays.

  Ian focuses his gaze on the shiny, wet pavement of the airport outside the water droplet covered window. He can see the airport lights twinkling like stars in the distance. His heart sinks when he thinks about the look on Grace’s face when he said, “Goodbye.” Ian lets his head fall back against the chair and closes his eyes. The vision of her standing there, tears streaming from her eyes, only becomes clearer.

  Fourteen hours later, Ian steps out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk in front of his high-rise condominium in Hollywood, the loud, obnoxious sounds of city traffic buzzing in his ears. He tilts his head back to look up at the enormous building. He takes a deep breath and turns to retrieve his luggage from the taxicab driver. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dials Grace.

  The sound of her voice sends chills over his skin and the desire to be with her crushes him.

  “Hi, baby.”

  “Are you home?”

  “I just stepped out of the taxi.”

  Grace sighs. “I miss you already.”

  “Me, too, babe. But, I’ll be home soon.”

  “I love that you call Paris home.”

  “Home is anywhere you are. I better get upstairs. I’ll call you once I get settled, okay?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “I love you, Gracie.”

  “Je t’aime.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye, my love.”

  He greets the doorman who opens the door to the building with a heavy-hearted, half-smile. His boots make a loud tapping sound as he walks toward the elevator in the luxurious lobby. The loud ping that signals the elevator has arrived echoes throughout the building's modern and elegant expansive entrance. Ian always thought that it more closely resembles an office building than a home, so clean, sterile, and unwelcoming. He steps into the elevator and pushes the button for the sixteenth floor.

  The elevator doors open and he steps into the quiet hallway. He walks down the bright, stark white corridor with light gray carpet, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. He reaches apartment 1624 and pauses before he slides his key into the door. The door opens and he steps into his spacious condominium. Stylish and modern, white walls and black furniture pepper the apartment. He pulls his suitcase through the doorway and the door slams behind him.

  “Ian!?” a woman’s voice calls from the other room.

  Shocked, he turns his head to the sound of her voice. He can hear the patter of her feet as she runs from the bedroom to the entryway.

  “Oh, Ian, I missed you so much!” she says, as she runs to him and throws her arms around him.

  “Emma? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Emma, his ex-girlfriend, stands before him in her nightgown. What reason did he have to tell Grace about Emma, when he broke up with her before he left for Paris?

  Ian pushes her away gently to escape her tight hold.

  “What, you didn’t miss me?” she asks, her eyebrows tightening together. Her brown eyes look at him curiously.

  “I thought I told you to get out before I got back from Paris?”

  Emma bats at him. “Oh, Ian, you didn’t mean that. Want something to drink? I was just about to fix myself some tea.”

  Still in shock, Ian watches as Emma struts to the kitchen like she still feels completely at home in his place. He clears his throat. “I meant every word of it, Em. We broke up. It’s over.”

  Emma bends over, her ruffled panties poking out of the bottom of her nightgown. “You just got home. I missed you. Can you just stop being a dick for a minute?”

  Emma could be venomous at times, and her toxicity had gotten to be too much for Ian. After three years of putting up with her crap, the day he found Grace’s photograph and letters, he told Emma he wanted to end their relationship.

  “What’s the matter?” she presses.

  “I’m tired. It was a long flight and I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

  He walks over to the sliding glass doors and looks out, his gaze falling on the city landscape. It is such a different view than the one he had for the past few weeks in Paris. Smog covers the city and lurks over the tall buildings. Car horns blare below and people shout at each other.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, as she comes up behind him and lays a hand on his back. “You didn’t give us time to work things out before you just took off to Europe.”

  He flinches away from her.

  “What’s wrong Ian?” Emma lets out an exasperated and annoyed breath. “This is still my home, too. You can’t just kick me out of my own place.”

  The way she says his name makes him cringe.

  “We have to talk, but I need to use the bathroom and get a drink.”

  “Okay, whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Just have a seat,” he says, motioning to their couch. “I’ll be right back.”

  She huffs again before she takes a seat on their black leather couch.

  In the bathroom, Ian has each of his hands on either side of his sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He cannot believe that Emma has not moved out. I was a fool for buying this condo, as if moving in with her would fix our fucking relationship.

  Emma flips through the channels on the television when he returns to the living room.

  “Can you please turn that off?” He sits down on the couch at the other end, as far away from her as he can get.

  “Sure,” she says, as she flicks the television off. “You’re acting weird, Ian. I haven’t seen you for like four weeks. I thought time apart would make you realize the mistake you made when you asked me to move out.”

  “No, it hasn’t. I haven’t changed my mind about us.”

  Emma’s smile fades. “You can’t be serious.”

  “For the past year and a half things haven’t been right between us. I think you know this.”

  “Ian, what do you mean things haven’t been right between us? We moved in together. Now you spring it on me that things haven’t been right between us. What the fuck?”

  “I don’t love you anymore. I told you this before I left. It wasn’t a lie then and it’s not a lie now.”

  Her head whips around and she glares at him. “What! Can you repeat that?”

  “I do not love you anymore, Emma,” he says slowly and clearly so there is no room for misunderstanding.

  “Really? You’re going to come home after you’ve been gone for four weeks—four weeks that I’ve missed you—and tell me you don’t love me anymore? What the fuck, Ian?” she yells.

  “I think it was a mistake for us to move in together. I thought that if we did, things would work out because they weren’t. When I told you it was time for us to go our separate ways, I meant it.”

  Emma leaps up from her seat on the couch and walks over to the windows, folding her arms across her chest. She stands there silently staring out of the glass doors. Moment after moment passes by and she says nothing. Ian does not know wh
at he should say to her, beyond what he has already said.

  “Ian,” she says, as she abruptly turns to face him, her voice tender, like speaking to a child. “I think that you need to hear my news before you go demanding for me to leave again.”

  “Okay? What news?”

  Emma walks to him. “Ian, I’m pregnant.”

  Ian’s mouth falls open.

  She sits on the couch with a smug look on her face. “So, you’re telling me that you’re going to kick me out of our home when I’m knocked up,” she says, rubbing her belly and looking down at it.

  “I need a drink,” Ian says, as he gets off the couch and walks over to the bar. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and slugs it back into his throat.

  “You need to be careful with that, you know. You have a nasty little history,” she says in a snotty tone.

  Ian lets out a deep breath. “How long have you known?”

  “I found out last week.”

  “You could’ve called me and told me.”

  “I did try to call you, Ian! You haven’t answered my phone calls for weeks!”

  Ian’s words choke out of him. “I was busy with the interviews and band stuff, and…how far along are you?”

  “I’m six weeks,” she says, rubbing her tummy again. She slinks off the couch and walks over to Ian, who is still standing at the bar, his empty glass in his hand. Laying her hand on his shoulder she says, “I don’t think that your little vacation was very good for your head. You need to ground yourself back at home with me and our unborn child.”

  Ian pours more whiskey into the glass and swigs it down. His mind whirls with the blow she has just delivered. He tries to remember the last time he slept with Emma as he lets the alcohol burn his insides. His stomach sinks when the numbers add up, but he wonders if her birth control failed accidentally or by design.

  “That’s it!” Emma grabs his glass. “You have problems with addiction.”

  “I’m just trying to deal with all of this, Emma.”

  “What are you going to do, Ian? Leave us?” she asks, forcing his hand onto her stomach. “Or are you going to stand up and be a real man and take care of me and your child?”