Falling: A Love Story

by lesley,allyn

  You’re damn right I am!

  She squares her shoulders and takes a step my way with every few tidbits she shares. “What I’m saying is this year, I’ll be in St. Thomas.” She’s now close enough that her familiar scent permeates everything around me. “There’s Skype, all kinds of social media, instant messaging, and we can use the phone... shoot, we can even text, I think.” Her finger taps her chin, lost in the number of ways we can potentially communicate when separated by more than sixteen hundred miles.

  I may or may not have googled how far we’d be away from each other.

  “Well, are you going to say something?” Her tone and her face are both hopeful.

  I drag her to me. It’s like I’m a kid all over again, with a pocketful of loose change and on my way to the corner store to buy all of my favorite candy. I’m giddy as fuck, and light as a feather. Just as I’m about to kiss those inviting lips of hers, my cell phone vibrates in my pants pocket. I fish it out, needing to look at the inanimate object so I’ll know her words aren’t a figment of my wild imagination.

  I reread the text twice.

  Shit.

  “Well?” Chels lays her head on my chest. “I want it all with you, Dyllan.” She looks up at me with those big, brown eyes of hers, but all I can see is the two-worded text. “Did I misunderstand you a couple days ago?”

  Nothing in my life is ever fucking easy.

  I’m too afraid to touch her perfect face, so I take the opportunity to parcel pieces of her to take with me. And then, because I can’t help myself around her, I kiss her forehead... slow and sweet. She nestles farther into me and wraps both hands around my waist with a contented sigh.

  I bring the cell so she can view the text.

  ~ I’m pregnant. ~

  I’m not surprised by the next series of actions: a shocked intake of breath followed by a slap to the face then her feet scurry from me.

  “My mother was so right about you,” she mutters, tears pooling in her eyes.

  A flash of her running away then a loud slamming of the door is all I remember before sliding down to sit on my ass in my office, staring at the cell’s screen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There’s not much I’ve done that I regret. But, the two from Emma and JC’s reception—not being able to see in the future, and leaving with someone who wasn’t Chels—yeah, those regrets I’ve secretly shed tears over.

  I can’t tell the exact hour or minute when those regrets seeped into my consciousness and became daily sticking points. All I know is they happened. My regrets are like strangling vines squeezing my heart. They leave me a man whose facial features are familiar, but whose outlook on life is forever altered.

  Regrets now cling to my soul, to the core of who I am, and color my existence with lonely blues and sad grays. It’s two emotions I never thought I’d feel again. For a very long time, I’ve done what I wanted, whom I wanted, and when I wanted. I don’t sugarcoat my lifestyle choices for anyone.

  Then, Chelsea Robinson happened.

  In a span of two weeks and one glorious night, she awakened feelings inside of me I never knew existed. She made me want to be different, to become a better man for her. Only thing is: being better is hard as hell. I’ve been an asshole to women for so long that it’s like second nature for me to get out of them what I want and leave just as quickly when I’m done. Maybe it’s my mommy issues, or living with death at an age when things should have been simple.

  Who the fuck knows?

  When I’m around Chels, fear overrides what I’d like to do, what I know is the right thing to do, and asshole Dyllan is front and center. He comes out like a bulldozer, smashing before he gets smashed. After all, women leave me; the ones who tell me they care always leave me. Better to leave before them—before being left by them—was my motto once I started getting my dick wet at fifteen years old.

  Showing her that text was maybe an asshole move. Alright, it was an asshole move.

  But, I saw a glimmer of something she tried to hide. The need for an ‘out’ lurked in the shadows of her dark eyes. Even as her lips moved, telling me of the possibilities that she and I had. She was trying to convince herself she could be with me, but I knew better. I saw her hesitancy and fear in the bend of her back and felt it in her loose fingers around my waist that day.

  Maybe she feared what others would make of an ‘us’. Or, maybe she was only telling me what she’d convinced herself I wanted to hear. To be honest, I can’t make heads or tails of what happened in my office a month ago. What’s concrete in my mind is Chels came to me, but she definitely wanted an out even more. And, although I knew the text would result in a closed door for the potential of her ever being with me, here I am, regretting my honesty every single day.

  As I am all the other fucking regrets that eat at me every day. I regret Doll Face, and hooking up with her after Emma and JC’s wedding. The biggest regret is fucking her on my birthday two months ago and drowning inside of her, because she wasn’t Chels. I’d wrapped up my package, and had gone so far as to take the used condom with me when I’d left the motel room disgusted with myself. Yet, she’d dialed my number, place a call to me, supposedly pregnant by me.

  The sound of fingers snapping and my name being called brings me back to the present, with JC in front of me with a concerned look on his face.

  “What are you going to do?”

  We’re both waiting on the guest of honor who’s late. So other than glasses of water, we’ve got nothing but empty plates and unused utensils.

  “How the hell should I know?” My frustration bunches the muscles in my back. I’m close to springing on anyone, even the nearby innocent bystanders.

  “Is it yours?” he asks in that quiet, unassuming way of his. JC looks at the menu that by now he should know like the back of his hand. That’s how long we’ve been here waiting.

  “Fuck no.” A hiss chases after the last letter in the ‘no’ that leaves my mouth the more I think about the thought of her lie. What I’m hoping are damn lies.

  “Are you sure?”

  Am I sure? Hell yes, I’m a thousand percent sure. I used a condom. That shit didn’t break, as far as I know. But, I never checked it. But, I would know if it did, right? I never asked her if she was on the pill or anything, because I never went bareback with her or anyone else... ever. Except Chels. Only Chels.

  My hand glides through my hair. It pains me to say the words. “I’m not sure of anything.”

  “What’s she going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What does she want to do?”

  “I don’t fucking know,” I growl out at my brother. Last night, I’d finally told him everything about the Doll Face predicament and he went above the call of brotherhood by offering to be my buffer today. Then, I sent her a text. My way of acknowledging the ‘I’m pregnant’ text from a month back, only to request she meet with me today.

  The menu snaps closed and I’m left staring into JC’s blue eyes smoldering my way. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know?” Now, he reminds me of Chuck. Neither of them get angry often, but when they do, it’s explosive. And, God help you if you’re caught in the crossfire.

  Having no other words than the ones I told him, I simply shrug, not cowering from JC.

  “Dyllan Sterling, of all the most irresponsible shit you’ve pulled, this tops them all.” His forefinger stabs the white tablecloth, driving home his point. “Now, I’m going to be an uncle, and you’ll have some baby mama drama bullshit.”

  I hear the disappointment in his voice. He’s mad, but there’s an undercurrent of something else that must’ve popped up when he became a dad.

  “First, you’re not an uncle because I’m no father. Second, I don’t want any kids.” I put that out there, letting the conviction in my tone convince him of its truth. “Ever.”

  His back hits the chair as he considers what I’ve shared. We’re both silent while my words roll over in his head. He does ano
ther Chuck move—chin tuck to his chest—that warns me he’s about to lay it all on the line and tell me like it is according to how he sees it. “Then you should’ve covered your dick.” His face is inches from mine, voice low but still seething.

  Now my hackles are raised. What the fuck does that mean? “I. Did.” I mentally count to ten. “I do.” Al-fucking-ways!

  The anger kind of falls away from his face, making it less tense and tight. But he’s still appears exhausted, as if hating what he’s about to share. “That’s not what Chelsea told her sister.”

  I sit taller in the seat, waiting for Mr. Reporter to deliver his news.

  “Goddammit, bro. You had to have known I’d find out about this whole Chelsea situation.” He stares back at me with a new hardness in his eyes.

  “What Chelsea situation?” I fold my arms, unwilling to give away anything if all JC is doing is fishing for information.

  We’re now wearing matching scowls.

  “She’s my wife’s sister, you idiot. Figure it out.” Then he grumbles something I can’t make out, but sounds like, ‘Shit is too close to home.’

  “Just for the record, and this’ll be the last of this talk, whatever there is to this ‘Chelsea situation’, it doesn’t concern Emma or you. Next, I don’t appreciate you being all judgmental. You’re here as my brother, to help me figure out some delicate shit. I don’t need you to get all sanctimonious on me. Need I remind you of Tynsel?”

  Don’t let the innocent name fool you, she was sneaky and cunning. Tynsel Roller was the almost seventeen-year-old viper with a very adult body. The same person who I paid more than thirty grand to disappear. She was the one who’d made JC swear off women for over two years until he met Emma. They’d met at a nightclub; she had a fake identification card saying she was eighteen years old. JC was twenty-four at the time. The club was dark, and we’d all had one too many drinks, because we were celebrating an upcoming on-air promotional spot for the garage. Tynsel had given it up in the club’s alley near a dumpster. A few weeks later, after Sterling Auto Parts was featured on channel five for being one of the Bronx’s fastest growing private companies, she’d shown up with threatening demands. She’d whispered rape charges and muttered out a pregnancy claim.

  JC exhales sharply; the memory of almost being duped out of his freedom and what could’ve ended up being millions must still sting. “I-I’m sorry. You handled that without Ma or Dad ever finding out.”

  Damn right I did. I paid that money-hungry skank from my personal account and got a legally binding document with her signature on it. But, he doesn’t know that. All he knows is she disappeared as quickly as she appeared that Saturday morning at the garage.

  My tone softens when I see the remorse on his face. “That’s what this family does, right?”

  “Right.” He flips over his wrist, showing me the tattoo there, Family is forever, like the one I have.

  I know what I said earlier about not wanting kids, but there’s a need to come clean to JC, especially since he knows what’s turning out to be my badly kept secret. “If this was Chels...”

  He shifts in his seat, in discomfort, I guess, if the slight reddening of his cheeks are any indication. I look at him, not willing for him or me to back away from this admission.

  “She’d be the only one who could’ve sent me a text like that.”

  My brother walks right around my admission, and instead asks, “You think this is a trap?”

  My eyes land on the pristine whiteness of the tablecloth. “Has to be.” Definitely a lie, I hope. I grasp at invisible straws and send up a prayer for a miracle. “It is.” I’m distracted by the restaurant’s hostess coming our way with a woman.

  “Here’s your party, ma’am,” the hostess states, motioning toward our table.

  Our late arrival plops down unceremoniously beside JC and shocks us both into stunned silence. The woman before me isn’t the same from three months ago. She’s too thin, and her cheekbones are beginning to protrude under skin that once boasted of care and youth.

  She pushes her goggle-sized sunglasses up her nose. “Him, I know.” She points to me before turning to JC. “Who are you?” Her once sultry voice sounds downtrodden and beaten to a pulp. Her question is understandable. I vaguely recall her telling me that she’d only been at the wedding as a favor for one of Emma’s guest.

  Before JC can answer, my words come out hushed and worried, surprising even me. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Are you going to call me Chels again, like you did the night you knocked me up?” She peeps at me over the rim of her glasses.

  My brother flashes me a pained look, but schools his features by the time he sticks out his hand to her. “You said you don’t know me. Let’s rectify that. I’m Dyllan’s brother, JC. And you are?”

  She wears her game face when still looking at me. “The mother of his unborn child.” Her sunken cheeks and gaunt appearance remind me too much of someone I knew from my past. The woman I saw on my birthday, much less the woman I met at Emma and JC’s wedding, is abso-fucking-lutely not this person in front of me.

  “Doll Face—”

  Her bony hand slaps the table top, causing customers nearby to peek at the three of us.

  “My name isn’t Doll Face, or Chels for that matter. It’s Caren.” She harrumphs loudly. “I’ve told you already.”

  I lean back in my chair, sizing up her up. “Yeah, sure.”

  She looks at JC, fingering a napkin near her place setting. “Would you excuse us for a minute?”

  My nod tells my brother I’m cool with it. I just hope I don’t kill her before he returns.

  “Right.” JC slides the chair away from the table and stands. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he tells us, but he’s just giving me a time to deal with her in private before swooping in as the older, protective brother.

  Once JC’s back is all I see, I whisper, “What is this?”

  “Don’t you like me, Dyllan? I thought we had a pretty good thing.”

  I can’t remember her name and just stare blankly at her.

  “It’s Caren,” she grits out with a grimace.

  “Caren, there was obviously never a ‘you and me’. You know that, right?” I try not to make my statement sound to prick-ish, but it still comes off that way, even to my ears.

  She looks confused. “But you called me a few times.”

  Twice. For sex. The hurtful and shameful truth is caught in my throat.

  “You brought me to a nice hotel.” Her voice is small now.

  For sex. I took her to a motel. There’s a big difference, even if it wasn’t a dump, there’s no way could it have been mistaken for a five-star, luxury hotel.

  “Bu-but, we’re having a baby.” Her smile takes over her slender face. She digs inside her bag, pulling out a folded paper. “There, that’s our baby.”

  The grainy, black and white photo lies between us. From where it’s placed, I make out what looks like an oversized head. “I want a paternity test.” Fuck this bullshit of a lie she’s trying to peddle.

  Caren’s shoulders go stiff as a board. “What? You don’t trust me?” A wry, bordering on sinister smile appears on her lips.

  Hell fucking no. But, if I say that, once again, I’ll look like an asshole. Calmer than I feel, I reply, “No.”

  “You trusted me enough to stick your dick inside of me.”

  “Always. Covered. Up.” Ice chips drop off each word I utter.

  She looks out the window and then turns back to me, pulling her sunglasses away from her blank expression. “Condoms have been known to have issues.” Her gaze is direct. “Defects can happen, you know?” Her flat tone and vague words raise my suspicions. “Holes can be poked into them and all of that.”

  My mind rushes back to my twenty-sixth birthday, the night I’d texted her a time and location. She’d instantly responded, and was the first to arrive at the motel. I’d been so lost inside my head for days, always thinking about and mis
sing Chels, who hadn’t called. Logically, I knew she and I weren’t together, and she owed me nothing. I didn’t even know if she knew it was my birthday. That July night, I’d longed for Chels, and substituted Caren for her. I’d wasted no time, getting to what I’d always used and needed to make myself feel better: sex. Inside the dark room, I’d felt inside my back pocket, immediately realizing I didn’t have any protection. I’d backed away from Caren, prepared to leave since I didn’t really want to be there anymore. She’d hauled me back by my shirt collar and produced a condom out from her bra.

  “What the fuck did you do?” I ask, coming back to the present.

  Her eyes aren’t so blank as she looks at me. They’re calculating. Their coldness unnerve me. “The way I see it, you have two options. One, you pay me after the baby is born for at least eighteen years.” Gone is the woman who was cloaked in a modicum of pretense and fake confusion a few moments ago. “Or, you pay me now. Baby disappears, and so do I.”

  It always boils down to that fucking green, rectangle piece of paper. “How much?” The words are squeezed through my lips as her audacity smacks me in the face.

  She fumbles inside the bag again, pulling out a pen, then writes something on the back of the sonogram image. When she’s finished, Caren slides it to me. There’s an obscene dollar amount written in red ink.

  “I want money,” she informs me, sniffing and then rubbing her nose. “And, you want this child gone. Text me when you’re ready to talk.” She moves to stand, putting her fingers atop the table.

  I restrain her by squeezing her skeletal wrist. “Fuck you and your fake baby. I’m not going to be blackmailed.”

  She hauls back her hand, snickering. “Either you pay me now, or the court will make you pay over and over for a very long time.” She stands up to her full height, massaging her stomach in her baggy dress. “Your child and I will be waiting.”