Fighting the Fall

by J. B. Salsbury

  “Amazing you guys stayed in touch all these years.” He forks a piece of sausage into his mouth.

  “The first two years after graduation I was religious about keeping in touch.” The waitress stops at our table to silently refill our coffee. “Thank you.” I rip open three sugars. “This last year I stopped. All the stuff that happened with Raven . . . I knew she’d want to talk about it and—what?”

  Sometime between the waitress refilling our coffee and now, he’s managed to put down his fork, lean in, and hit me with a glare that has my nerves prickling. The air between us is practically charged with his anger.

  “How old are you?” His words are spoken so low they rumble.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I think back over what I said and a tremor of panic skates up my spine. “What do you—?”

  “Simple question. How old are you?” He emphasizes every word.

  I told him I was twenty-four that night at The Blackout. Shit! My teeth rake over my lower lip, and I move pieces of pancake around with my fork.

  “Yvette.”

  My eyes dart to his and my stomach plummets. “What did you call me?”

  “Answer me.” His jaw pulses.

  I set down my fork and pull my purse into my lap like a shield. My heart races, and my stomach twists in knots. There’s no getting out of this. I look him in the eyes, and it’s almost impossible to see the whites through the tiny slits of his glare. “I’m twenty-one.”

  “Fuck!” He shoves his plate hard enough that it slams into mine.

  “I’m sor—”

  He holds up his hand. “You lied to me.”

  I swallow, my throat dry and achy. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you’ve given me a chance if you knew my real age?”

  “Given you a chance?” He leans in. “By that do you mean would I have fucked you?”

  I shouldn’t be surprised at the callousness of his words, but I hold my breath and nod.

  “No.”

  “That’s why I lied.”

  “Dammit, Eve. I’m seventeen years older than you. We can’t do this. You’re . . . Fuck, Eve, you’re closer to my son’s age than mine.”

  My breath freezes in my chest. “Son?”

  “Yes, I have a seventeen-year-old son.”

  I swallow hard. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” He pins me with a scowl. “We haven’t exactly spent our time together talking.”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Right.”

  He shoves two hands through his hair. “This is my fault. I followed my dick rather than common sense.”

  “Ouch.”

  He recoils from his own words, but shakes it off and meets my eyes. “I’m thirty-eight years old.”

  I shrug. “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I sure as shit do!”

  “I messed up, but it’s not like I’m a minor. My age is just a number. I’ve lived on my own since I was fifteen. Paid my bills with my own money since then too.”

  “Right. You’re doing stellar job at that.”

  What in the hell does that mean? “What did you say?”

  “Your bills, Yvette W. Dawson, are not being paid with your own money or any money for that matter.”

  My entire body heats, and I know my face is bright red with anger and embarrassment. “You fucking snooped through my mail?” This is unbelievable. What else did he go through? “I may have fudged my age by a few years, but I would never go through your mail.”

  “You can’t compare the two. Your lie got us naked. My snooping only pissed you off.”

  “No. I’m way more than pissed off.” I’m furious! More accurately, I’m humiliated, but whatever.

  Digging in my purse, I manage to scrape up some crumpled dollars and a handful of coins. “I should’ve known: rich good-looking guy like you, who’s all growly and controlling in bed, going through my shit. You know what?” I point at his face. “This is why I should’ve stayed gay.” I drop money on the table, sending change rolling off and bouncing on the floor. Good. He can pick them up. “I’m outta here.”

  He grips my wrist. “Eve, sit.”

  “No way, stalker.” As the words fly from my lips my insides are screaming that I’m going to push him away. He’d walk away sooner or later. Why not give him a shove off? Fuck, even that feels like a knife to the chest.

  “Hardly a stalker, doll.” His voice takes on a warm tone, and his thumb rubs circles on the inside of my wrist. “Let me explain. Your mail was lyin’ out on the kitchen counter.”

  It’s as if there’s a purr underscoring his words. My knees go wobbly, and I sit to avoid falling. Where am I gonna go anyway? We’re at least fifteen miles from my house, and whatever money I had before I dropped it on the table isn’t enough to get me home.

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  His expression relaxes a fraction of not at all. “Feeling’s mutual.”

  I glare, and for some reason it releases the tension in his jaw. Not a smile by most standards, but closest thing I’ve seen on the man. Minutes ago he was ripping into me about my age, and now he’s calm. Bi-polar? Not that I’d be surprised. He’s way too hot to be mentally stable. Now that we’ve just thrown my age, his son, and his snooping into the mix, there’s no way we’ll hook up again.

  And another one walks away.

  ~*~

  Cameron

  Huh? That’s it? I expected tears. D’lilah always busts out with the waterworks when we fight, but not Eve. I need to break things off with her. Shit went from simple to complicated, and complications are something I don’t need. But even as the words “this is over” sit on the tip of my tongue, I can’t force them out.

  I like this woman. She’s young, clearly has some things to learn about budgeting her money, and naïve about who she takes drinks from, but she’s not immature. It’s in her eyes: the hardened way she looks at me when I expect her to be vulnerable. Like now.

  Women are emotional, crazed with it, and after treating this woman like a slam piece, I just blew her off because of her age and gave her shit about being in debt. I’m no genius, but I think that qualifies me for the Dickhead World Records.

  After forcing her to take back the money she tossed on the table, I pay the bill and we’re back in the truck. She’s quiet, which is good because it gives me time to figure out how the hell I’m going to handle breaking things off. I can’t continue to sleep with a twenty-one-year-old girl. Can I?

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see Ryder calling.

  “Ry, what’s up, man?”

  Throat clearing. “It’s me.”

  “D’lilah?” What the hell? “Where’s Ryder?”

  “Oh, he’s here. Um . . . I’m at your place. You weren’t answering my calls last night and I worried, so I drove—”

  “You drove?” Drunk.

  “Yeah, and when I got here, no one was home. I used the hide-a-key and stayed on the couch. Ry just showed up. My phone died, so he let me call you from his.”

  I guess it’s good that she didn’t try to drive home after she realized we weren’t there. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah . . . I was upset last night. After you guys left, I got sad and I was thinking about . . .” Her voice cracks. “Her birthday is coming up, and I just miss her so much.”

  “Hang tight. I’m on my way.” If she could just hold it together until I get home so Ryder doesn’t have to coddle his own mother . . .

  “Where were you last night, Cam? I needed you.” More crying.

  “We’ll talk when I get home.” I pull up to Eve’s duplex.

  “But—”

  I press End, exhale hard, and turn to say something to Eve that’ll smooth over our conversation at breakfast, but the look on her face freezes the words in my throat.

  Her eyes are wide, face pale, lips parted and staring right at me.

  “Eve?”

  She blinks rapidly, her lips
close, and she grabs her purse. “I gotta go.”

  Before I can say goodbye, she’s out of the truck and halfway to her front door. At a slow crawl, realization filters in. My phone call from D’lilah. I try to think about what Eve might’ve heard that upset her. Talking to another woman after we spent the night together was probably enough.

  I move to chase after her and explain, but maybe this is for the best. It’s not smart for us to continue seeing each other. There are a thousand reasons why I need to stay away, but only one reason why I don’t want to. I can’t get enough of her. I suppose it’s better that she hate me. Because if she doesn’t lock me out, there’s no way I’ll be strong enough to leave her alone.

  Eleven

  Eve

  “Is yellow the only unisex color out there? Because I’m not gonna lie.” I point to the pukey fabric swatch. “That looks like barf.”

  Raven and I have been sitting at her dining room table, going through catalogs and flipping through fabric and paint samples for the last two hours. I’m trying to be helpful, but not seeing or hearing from Cameron in almost a month is starting to affect my mood.

  He did say there’d be a next time. I guess I’d hoped it would be sooner than later. A tiny voice in my head laughs that I’d give him another chance after he took a call from another woman after spending the night with me. I was pissed for a day, but when he didn’t come knocking the next week or the following two, I pretty much forgave him. That’s me, Doormat Dawson.

  Raven holds the fabric up to the light, and her teeth tug her lower lip. “Well, crap.” Her hands drop back to the table, and her head quickly follows. “Ugh . . . this is hell.”

  “Oh don’t be so dramatic.” I flip through a few pages of a catalog when I feel her eyes on me. I turn to find her scowling. “What?”

  “Dramatic? I was about to decorate my baby’s room in the color of puke. What’s wrong with me? The baby isn’t even born yet”—she throws her arms out to her sides—“and already I’m a terrible mother.” Her face twists in disgust, and her eyes get glossy.

  Okaaay. What the hell? “That’s it. Who are you and what’ve you done with my best friend?”

  Her lips tick with what might be a smile, and she takes a long breath. “Sorry, it’s just . . .” She shakes her head. “Forget it.”

  “Oh, no, ya don’t.” I twist my stool to face her. “You already opened the door. There’s no going back now. Spill.”

  Resting her elbows on the bar, she shoves both hands into her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. All I ever wanted was a family, and now that I’m finally getting one, I’m terrified I’ll end up screwing it up. I don’t know how to be a mom.”

  “Who does? I mean I think the most important part is you love your kid.” I shrug and flip a few pages of the Pottery Barn Kids catalog. “You already have that, so the rest is just details.”

  “You’re probably right. Gosh, I feel like I’m going crazy. Jonah’s being so stubborn, and my emotions are all over the place.”

  “Stubborn about what?”

  She pushes back and puts both hands on her belly. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Jonah, and he’s so protective, which is awesome, ya know?”

  “But . . .?”

  Another deep breath. “He took away the Nova.”

  “What?” He took away her car? What? Like she’s a kid who’s been grounded? “Why?”

  She shakes her head. “He’s worried about the baby and me. I totally understand. I mean he lost his dad in a car accident, and the Nova doesn’t have airbags and only has lap belts.”

  “So what? You’re stuck at home and work with no car? That’s bullshit, Rave!”

  Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m driving his truck, and he takes the Impala or the Camaro.”

  “But that Nova is like . . . well, it’s your first baby.”

  “Exactly. And we’re coming up on a year since . . .” Her voice is soft and heavy with emotion. “So much has happened, and I don’t know. The Nova was the only thing I ever did that I’m truly proud of. Just driving it and listening to music, it was freedom to me.”

  This all makes sense now. Jonah was her savior, swooped in, took her from her hell, and saved her from a life worse than death. But not everything about her life was horrible before him. She loved her independence, and that car signifies all she accomplished on her own, gave her a sense of purpose when she had none. I love that Jonah wants her safe, but it’s just like a man to disguise control in the name of protection.

  “You still have the keys, right?”

  She nods and sniffs back tears. “Yeah, but I promised Jonah I wouldn’t drive it. But, Eve”—she turns to me—“you know he’s never going to let me drive that car again. He’ll never let me take the baby in it.” Her voice cracks. “God, I’m sorry. I must sound like such a whiner.”

  “Not at all.” I push her hair off her shoulder and tuck it behind her ear. “I totally get it, but I say fuck it, take the car out for a spin if you need to, just around the block.”

  “He’d be so pissed.”

  “Not if he never found out.”

  She directs a tiny smile at me. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “So . . .” I push a color swatch toward her. “Lavender. Not pukey and unisex. If it’s a boy you can add chocolate brown, a girl you can add pink or white.”

  She picks it up for a closer look and then nods. “It’s perfect.”

  We make sandwiches for lunch, and Layla stops by to give her color suggestions. She’s been in a funk lately after her friend Mac disappeared. The cops investigated and said because she apparently left a good-bye note and there was no sign of foul play they had to conclude that she left because she wanted to, but Layla swears something’s wrong. She cries all the time. I blame the pregnancy hormones.

  “She’s right.” Layla squints and purses her lips. “It’s barfy. Although, in the right light, it looks a little like the color of a Twinkie.”

  “Exactly.” I point to Layla. “Twinkie vomit.”

  “Mmm . . . a Twinkie sounds so good right now.” Raven rubs her pregnant belly.

  Layla gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Yeah, it does.”

  I look back and forth between them as they sit in their own little junk food fantasies. “Hello?” I snap my fingers and get their attention. “Jeez, you two sound like stoners.”

  “Mmm . . . munchies.” Raven’s smiling, and from the look in her eye, I’d guess she’s imagining every piece of furniture in this place is some form of snack cake.

  “You know what? Forget it. I say go blue. Just commit. You know Jonah’s got some seriously testosterone-dominated sperm. It’s a safe bet.” I’m so exhausted with this conversation. I never knew pregnant women could be so neurotic.

  “That’s what I’ve been telling her.” Jonah lopes into the kitchen and ruffles my hair as he passes by on his way to Raven.

  “Why don’t you guys just find out the sex? Save yourselves from the unisex color debacle,” Layla says.

  “I saw the ultrasound.” Two dimples carve into Jonah’s cheeks. “We’re having a boy.”

  “That was the baby’s umbilical cord.” Raven shakes her head.

  “Hey, I know what I saw, baby.” He pushes his wife’s hair to the side and kisses her neck.

  The front door opens, and Mason comes strolling in wearing workout shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. “What’s up, ladies? Whoa—you workin’ on girl shit in here?” He eyes the scattered decorating paraphernalia.

  “Trying. What do you think, Mase?” I flip him the piece of fabric, and he snags it out of the air. “What does this color remind you of?”

  He squints at it then tosses it back to me. “Barf.”

  I turn wide eyes to Raven, eyebrows up. “My job here”—I bow from the waist down—“is done.”

  “Baywatch and I are going to play some b-ball.” Jonah kisses Raven’s cheek. “Oh, who’s going to the Fourth of July deal t
his weekend?”

  Mason nods and Layla raises her hand then drops it.

  Jonah eyes me. “Eve, you going?”

  “Why would I go? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s a UFL deal. You should come.”

  Butterflies explode in my stomach. UFL party? That means there’s a chance that Cameron will be there. I want to go, any excuse to accidently run into him on purpose, but what if he’s with that other girl? I don’t think I can handle being in the same room with him while he acts as if we’re total strangers.

  “Nah, I’m cool.” I run my sweaty palms over my thighs. “Besides, it’s a work thing, so—”

  “Come with me.”

  Everyone in the room turns to Mason, who’s standing casually with his arms crossed over his chest, accentuating his very swollen and very tan arms. He meets my eyes and gives me a half smile that’s really sweet, but doesn’t stir my blood like Cameron’s predatory scowl.

  “Mase, you don’t have to—”

  “I’ve been hitting on you for-fuckin’-ever, trying to be creative, and none of that shit worked. Now I’m just straight up asking. Go out with me.”

  Layla, Raven, and Jonah must be as shocked as I am as they’ve all gone completely silent.

  Warmth crawls into my cheeks, but I push it back. God, he’s such a great guy. He has been throwing out cheesy lines since I met him, and although he makes me laugh, he’s not my type. My type is a man who treats me like dog shit, apparently.

  The words filter through my head and leave a bitter taste in my mouth. When was the last time I gave a nice guy a chance? I don’t think I ever have. And Mason is gorgeous in a beach-boy kind of way, all sun-bleached hair and white smile. If Cameron does show up at the party with another girl, at least I won’t feel like a total jackass if I’m there with Mason. That’s if he shows up at all.

  “Sure, I’ll go with you.”

  His expression goes slack. “No shit?”

  I shrug. “Why not?”

  “Rad.” He nods a few times, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’ll pick you up.”

  “Come on, Baywatch.” Jonah walks by and smacks him on the back of the head.