Waterfall Effect

by K. K. Allen

  As much as I’ve always wanted to leave Balsam Grove to travel the world, I still love everything this town has to offer—its simple lifestyle, the familiarity of it all. And with Aurora wrapped around me again, I find myself drifting in and out of memories. Memories of waking up every morning with a kick in my heart at the thought of spending time with her. Of our adventures together. Of teaching her how to paint until eventually the mentor became the pupil. And of how easy it was to fall in love. Deep, soul-crushing, heart-murmuring, mind-bending love. I’m not even sure when the switch went off in my heart, but I’ll never forget the way she made me feel about my own art when she was just eight years old. Maybe it started then. The seed was planted. And every summer after would bring me closer and closer to delivering her first heartbreak.

  I’ll never forgive myself for that. For shunning her at Hollow Falls when she was fifteen. For making her think I wanted anyone but her. I didn’t. I wanted no one else, and that scared the shit out of me. She was four years younger, and her feelings for me weren’t subtle. Around my friends, especially Tanner, that was dangerous. That night haunted me for two damn years—until I saw her again and could finally make up for everything we’d lost. Can we do it again? Yet another tragedy has brought her back to me—first her mother’s death, and now her father’s.

  But will she stay this time?

  I’m lost in all things Aurora when I see oncoming lights rounding the bend up ahead, highlighting the sway of the fir trees that line the road. Aurora tightens her hold around my middle, causing my heart to jump in my chest. Why is she holding on so tight? Is she scared? Excited? Does she remember how she went from clinging to me in fear when she was fifteen to hollering into the wind at the thrill two years later? She changed so much over those two years, growing more and more beautiful while sprouting wings of her own. Her love for the mountains grew. Her art flourished, and her level of stubbornness was far superior to anyone I’d ever seen before. I loved it all.

  I loved how she soared despite the pain of her mother’s passing. She flew, and I fell madly in love.

  My fingers unwrap from the left handle as I place my palm against the back of her hand, pressing it into my abdomen. I want her to know I remember. I want her to know I could never forget. Her fingers curl into my shirt, and I wish for a moment there was no fabric between us.

  I exhale heavily, closing my eyes just for a second, embracing every bit of this moment before it’s ripped away from me like before. There’s so much to say.

  The headlights up ahead are growing brighter, forcing me to squint from their blinding light. Shit. My heart jumps up my throat as I realize how much distance we’ve closed since I first spotted the car in the distance. The gap is closing…and the car is not in its lane. It’s in mine, barreling too close and too fast.

  “Jaxon, watch out!” I hear Aurora scream just as I swerve right to avoid the oncoming vehicle. It zooms past us, missing us by inches as pebbles fly out from behind the tires. Aurora grips me tighter, slamming her cheek between my shoulder blades as my breaths punch the air.

  I pull over onto the dirt shoulder, as far away from the road as I can get, and I follow Aurora as she scrambles off the bike and clutches her chest.

  “Are you okay?” I bend down, assessing her under the half-lit moon. “Hey,” I say, taking her hand in mine. She’s shaking. “Look at me, Aurora.”

  She looks up, and it’s as if she’s squeezing my heart in her tiny, innocent hands. Her eyes are thick with tears, red from trying to hold them in, and so incredibly panicked. Every urge and feeling I’ve ever had for Aurora comes rushing back at once.

  My thumb catches her first tear, but my heart catches the next. I’m reminded all too well of the Aurora that came back after her mother passed away, the girl who quickened to a panic at any loud noise or sudden movement. She changed after her mother’s life was taken too soon. Over the next summer, as she fought to take control back from her anxiety, her father’s behavior grew more and more erratic, hindering any chance for Aurora to heal herself. As Henry June began to steadily slip from one reality to another, Aurora’s energy went toward him.

  Aurora’s panic attacks aren’t new to me. I’ve seen the suffocation in her eyes. I’ve held her through them, just like I did the other night after the explosion of wine and glass in the studio. I’ve done it dozens of times, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with now. I hate seeing Aurora in pain.

  I press her cheek against my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around her as she breathes through the panic.

  When I feel her breathing return to normal, I pull away to get a good look at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize they were in our lane until we’d rounded the bend.”

  She looks back to the road with concern. “I’m fine. Do you think they were drunk?”

  I shake my head, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. It’s like they didn’t even see us.” I don’t want to admit the discomfort in my chest at the fact that the driver never even swerved out of the way. Either they never saw us, or they were trying to hit us. I shudder. I can’t think like that, and Aurora doesn’t need any other reason to worry.

  “Should we call it in? Did you get a description of the car?”

  “I didn’t see much, to be honest. But I’ll call it in.” I whip out my phone and call the station. No one’s there, so I wait for the transfer and get Brooks’ voicemail. Frustrated, I shove my phone back in my pocket and look around at where we are. “You okay to get back on? We’ve got maybe a mile or so until we’re there.”

  She nods. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  A couple minutes later, we arrive at an inconspicuous dirt trail. I know it’s here because it was my buddies and I who paved the path to Mountain Look, a secluded clearing that looks out over the edge of a cliff. Yes, we did it with dirty teenage intentions, but I only ever took Aurora there.

  I park the motorcycle near a tree and let the headlight beam toward the cliff. After grabbing two blankets from the storage compartment, I take Aurora’s hand to lead her down the short trail to the edge of the cliff. Her warm hand in mine feels natural, familiar, like we never stopped holding on. A chill sweeps through me. Clearly, I never stopped.

  “I can’t believe you’re bringing me to Mountain Look.” She laughs when she makes the connection. I smile.

  “You fell in love with the stars out here.”

  “That’s not all I fell in love with out here.”

  I swallow and turn toward her, my chest thick with the weight of her words. How can someone who exited my life so coolly still warm me in the only place that matters?

  We lay a flannel blanket down over the dirt and stone a few feet from the edge of the cliff. I sit beside her, close enough to let my knee brush against hers as we stare into the wide-open space.

  “Try not to let them get to you.” I glance at her and catch her face flash with doubt. “I know it’s easier said than done, but they don’t know shit, Aurora. What you’ve been through, the reasons you’re here… It’s no one’s business.”

  She sighs and kicks off her sandals. “I’ve told myself the same thing, but it still hurts, Jax.”

  Jax. I think that’s the first time she’s called me that since she’s been back.

  “I can’t win with these people.”

  “It’s not a competition, and you have nothing to prove. You’re not him.”

  I cringe at my own words, knowing exactly how a similar conversation like this went years ago. The last thing I want is to dredge up a bunch of bad memories and move backwards. Aurora’s here. We’re alone. And we’re talking. But she needs to understand what I’m telling her, and I’m not sure she does.

  “Yeah, well. I may not be him, but I have my own issues. These panic attacks are no joke. Before my dad was sentenced, they got pretty bad. I tried to learn how to control them naturally. Meditation, yoga, exercise—but I couldn’t get a handle on it. I finally gave in and we
nt on medication, but I haven’t taken a single pill since I got here.”

  “Why?”

  I see the hesitation in her silence. “I left them by accident, but that’s not the only reason.” More silence. “I wanted to see how it felt to go without them after so many years.”

  “And how has it felt?”

  “It’s felt…okay. So far I’ve mostly been able to control the attacks on my own.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  She shrugs. “I think so. For the longest time, I was happy to numb it all and forget. I don’t want to be numb anymore.” Her eyes flick up to mine like she’s scared. Like she thinks maybe she’s doing something wrong.

  “I get it.”

  “You do?”

  I nod. “Sometimes it feels like six years have passed, and all I’ve done is stand still against the rush of time.”

  She glances up, her eyes scanning me like she’s curious about all those years, those passing moments. What has she missed? Who am I today? I want to know those same things about her.

  My eyes lock on hers. “Ask me anything.”

  She inhales sharply. “I’ve seen how women practically fling themselves at you. I guess I’m surprised you haven’t settled down with anyone by now.”

  There’s a question in there somewhere, but she hasn’t asked it. When I don’t respond, she sighs. “Has it ever been the same for you? What we had together? Has there been anyone—?”

  A fire builds and licks against the walls of my chest. Does she really think another woman could come into my life and compare in any way to her—to what we had?

  My jaw hardens again, because as much as I want her to know there’s only ever been one love of my life, I’m not sure she deserves that peace of mind.

  “Never mind,” she whispers after too much silence. “I don’t want to know.”

  “I’ve dated others,” I tell her anyway. “Casually. But nothing like what we were. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  Her expression softens and she tilts her head as her hand finds mine in the dark. “It’s never been the same for me either.”

  “But you’ve dated?”

  I hate myself for asking. Of course she’s dated. She’s beautiful and smart and sweet. She’s talented too, but if she’s given up her art, then she’s most likely hidden that fact about herself. Men would go crazy for Aurora if she put herself out there. I don’t want to find out that she has.

  She starts to let go of my hand, but I grab it tightly. She looks down, then back up at me, the most heartbroken expression on her face.

  “Shit, I wish I never asked.”

  She scoots in, her face inches from mine as her free hand moves to my face. I love the way her fingers run against the hair on my jaw like she doesn’t know what to do with the texture. The scruff is new for her, but the feeling in my chest as she grips me is the same. Like my heart is breaking and falling for her all at once. The intensity of wanting her mixed with the fear of losing her all over again is incapacitating.

  “There was someone else. We were friends and then dated.”

  Her words are a punch in the stomach. “Like us.”

  Her mouth opens again, and her brows scrunch like she’s in pain. “No, nothing like us. Jax, I left him to come here. I didn’t even tell him where I was going.” She swallows, and I try my best to stay quiet so I can hear her out. “After my dad died, I realized how much of myself I’d lost. I didn’t want to settle. I didn’t want to feel numb anymore. So I came back. And it’s the only thing that’s felt right in years.”

  I need to be careful around Aurora. I realized this when I saw her standing in the café, looking more beautiful than ever. I could fall again so easily, and it would take nothing to get there. She’s everything I remember and more. There’s a sophistication about her now that’s hidden well behind her mountain roots. She reminds me of her dad in that way. The good parts of him.

  “Do you think you made the right choice coming back here?”

  She nods without any hesitation, filling me with relief. My head closes the gap between us to rest against hers.

  How does she do this to me? After seven years, she’s still my everything. Despite the pain, the loss, and the agony of being apart, my love for her has only grown.

  And for reasons only I know, that makes everything harder.

  He’s been here for two hours nursing the same black coffee, flipping through the June edition of the same magazine he always had rolled up in the back pocket of his shorts when we were younger: Art World Magazine.

  “See something you like?”

  I inhale sharply and turn to face an amused Claire. She doesn’t miss a thing, I swear.

  “What? No.” I shove off the counter and turn around to the sink to wash the remnants out of the last blender concoction I got stuck making. Claire was right to warn me away from these things. Addicting in the worst way and a nightmare to clean up after.

  She doesn’t approach, but I can feel her eyes on me. “You’ve been awfully quiet since you clocked in. I thought you’d willingly fess up to where you and lover-boy revved off to last night, but I guess I’m just going to have to coax it out of you.”

  I shut off the sink and dry my hands before turning and tilting my head at her. “He took me to Mountain Look.”

  Her eyes grow wide as saucers, and I bite back a laugh.

  “I know. Crazy, right? It was like we’d never been apart.” I sigh dramatically and watch as Claire’s eyes narrow at my sarcasm.

  “I hate you.”

  “What?” I laugh. “That was what you wanted to hear, wasn’t it? You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you we took a drive up the pass, almost got run over by a damn drunk, and then spent the next two hours just talking up at Mountain Look.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes accusing. “Nobody just talks at Mountain L—”

  “See!” I exclaim, hopping onto my toes and then letting out a laugh. “Told ya you wouldn’t believe me. But it’s true. We used real words. He didn’t even try to cop a feel.”

  Claire’s face bunches in annoyance and she whips the white rag in her hand at me. I manage to turn away, but it still swipes me across the cheek. “You’re such a brat. You can tease me all you want, but don’t even try to tell me you weren’t just undressing Jax with your eyes, you little perv.”

  The bubble of laughter that bursts from my throat comes as a surprise. I clap a hand over my mouth to stop it, but it’s too late. Jaxon’s eyes find mine as I’m trying to control myself. His expression softens, his cheeks lift, and a twinkle appears in his eyes. My heart gives a little kick in response, and as cheesy as it is, I wouldn’t be surprised if his could feel it in return.

  “Oh my God,” Claire says in a scolding whisper after Jax turns back to his magazine. “You two are like cats in heat. And don’t deny it. I’m pregnant. I know how babies are made.”

  She’s ridiculous. “Claire, really. Stop. Things between Jax and me are complicated.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  I sigh and cross my arms across my chest. “Feelings like what Jax and I had don’t just go away. Seven years is a long time, but he’s still my first…everything.” I feel a blush coming on, but I ignore it despite the amusement that appears on Claire’s face. “We hurt each other, and we were young. People change, you know? There’s a lot to work through.”

  “So, you’re working through it?”

  I sigh. “No. Yes.” I shrug. “I don’t know. Up until last night, I thought Jaxon wanted me gone just like the rest of the town.”

  Claire softens. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about why he’s been hanging out in the café for the past two hours?”

  I shrug, not wanting to acknowledge the live wires that just sparked in my chest. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. “He owns the place. I just figured—”

  She levels me with one look, holding me captive. “You
figured he always hangs out in the café?” She shakes her head. “Never.” Her lips curl into a smile. “And he hates—hates—black coffee.”

  My jaw drops. “What does he usually drink?”

  Claire laughs and points behind me. I already know she’s staring directly at the blender before I confirm it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Nope. The superhuman genes are strong with that one. He could put anything in that body of his and never see a bad result.” I flush. She shakes her head and places her hands on her hips. “Did you hear what I said about—? Ugh, never mind. You two are totally hopeless.”

  She raises her arms as if she’s finally given up, which I highly doubt, and backs away with a smile. “I’m going to work on organizing the back room since you’ve got this under control out here.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I’ll be back.”

  I make a face at her back as she walks away.

  I’ve only been skimming the pages of the magazine. I keep getting distracted by Aurora tossing her hair into yet another high ponytail, as if the dozen before it were getting on her nerves. The polite smile on her face as she greets each customer. Her laughter, light as wind chimes in the fall as she talks to Claire. She steals my focus and knocks the air right out of me.

  The coffee, cold and bitter, slides down my throat, and I cringe. I should be used to this by now. They say black coffee is an acquired taste, but my taste buds disagree. I lean forward to set the cup on the table in front of me when someone snatches it from my hands. It’s replaced by another, this one cold and icy, with a dollop of whipped cream oozing from the half-dollar sized hole in the plastic dome lid.

  Looking up, I’m met with Aurora’s amused smirk. “Thought we weren’t lying to each other, Jax.”