Falling: A Love Story

by lesley,allyn

  “You and what army, Short Stuff?”

  She scoffs. I can tell she’s trying hard not to laugh. “Listen, Trees For Legs, just because you have me by a few inches—”

  “Try feet and inches,” I stress, interrupting her.

  “Whatever. You’ll be here. Juli will be here. We’ll have so much fun,” Chels squeaks.

  She goes on to tell me about the weather, what clothing to bring, and the other activities she can’t wait to get to do with me. We drift from conversation to conversation, almost as if there’s no rhyme or reason to the topics raised and discussed. But, that is how it is with us. Random, silly, yet sometimes serious, with a bit of old-fashioned flirting thrown in for good measure is the breadth of all out talks. No stone is ever left unturned. Well, there’s one stone that she’s tried to pick up, but that shit is a boulder, and something I don’t ever—

  “You’re still not going to talk about it with me?”

  I scramble to remember what we’d been discussing, but for the life of me I can’t. She gives me a look, but I’m immune to it. It’s the same one Ma has been trying on me since I was a kid. Maybe it’s a woman thing, I think.

  “I can see those wheels turning in your head, mister. Want to share what you just thought about?”

  “You don’t want to know, Chelsea Juliet Robinson.”

  “Come on. We’re friends. Talk to me.”

  My lips tighten as a rush of anger courses through me, as it always does when this topic is raised. We’re not that good of friends. It was only three months ago I was doing sinful things to Chels’s body, and I’m finding it hard to not remember her moans of pleasure when she reminds me of our new friendship status. But, I can’t tell her that. It’d hurt her feelings, and probably get me kicked out of her world, and I know I’d rather be in it than not. I fiddle with the knobs on Juli’s baby monitor and try to come up with an answer. I do know without a shadow of a doubt that I don’t want to talk about Caren to Juli.

  “Dyllan.”

  “There’s nothing to update. It’s the same situation I shared with you in August.” The reality of the message leaves a bad taste in my mouth. As far as I know, there’s still a baby although the mother hasn’t attempted to reach out to me since the one time in the restaurant.

  “Do you plan on—”

  I hit the table, jostling the few items on it. Chels jumps back from her side of the screen. I’ve made her anxious now, because I see she’s doing the thing she told me is her anti-anxiety remedy—she begins biting her nail.

  I give myself some time to cool down. It’s not Chels’s fault, and she should ask questions about the Caren fuck-up. After all, I was the dick who used one woman to mask missing the real woman I wanted and ended up using a condom that was purposefully damaged.

  “I’m sorry.” The breath that falls from my lips is harsh and filled with self-criticism. Expressing anger at Chels’s simple question isn’t called for. She’s only trying to be my friend. “Really, nothing’s changed. She’s still pregnant, as far as I know, and...”

  Her face looms close to the screen. If I wouldn’t look like a chump, I’d trace the shape of it with my fingers. “And what, Dyllan?”

  “And, I don’t fucking know, Chels. Shit. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t expect any of this.”

  She looks off to the side—maybe at the beach she told me she can see from her room—and when her eyes return back to me, some unknown emotion fires through them, but it quickly dies down as her gaze travels over me.

  Her voice is low when she begins again. “I just want you to know I’m here for you. Friend to friend, you can tell me anything.”

  Yeah, friends. Far from what I want.

  “Okay. New topic. So guess which friend took the other friend’s friendly advice?”

  I’m glad she’s moving on, and I don’t miss a beat joining this conversation, which isn’t depressing. “That’s a lot of ‘f’ words in that sentence.” I stop unnaturally, not voicing the rest, which is: and, not the right ‘f’ word I have in mind when you’re around.

  I’m glad she has no clue what I’m thinking. “Shut it. I’ll have you know that I have a date.” Chels looks like a deer caught in headlights.

  I let the nasty word date wash over me.

  “Dyllan.” Her gaze pleads with me.

  I’m the idiot who opened his big mouth, encouraging her to get out and meet people one day when she looked down in the dumps. I never thought she’d actually find someone. Is it too late to clarify what I meant? That I should’ve told her to look for friends, people of like-minds. I didn’t share my advice for to meet some punk who’ll see beauty in the twinkle of her eyes and comment on how intelligent she is—which all facts—but will really only have one thing in mind and that’s getting into her shorts. “Chels, listen—”

  There’s a decidedly masculine voice calling out her name from somewhere. In the next instant, there’s someone who’s not her roommate standing behind her with his deep chocolate-colored hand on her shoulder. On my girl’s skin. He’s tall, but still not my height. He has a slender build, and the fact it looks like a light breeze can knock him on his ass makes me sit up in my chair.

  “Hey,” she says to the guy hovering over her. Chels is quick to look back at me.

  His hand on her is all I can focus on. It bothers me, the way his fingers curl and rub her shoulder. The longer all of this happens in front of me, like I’m not sitting here, the deeper my grimace becomes. I glance at his face just in time to see it when he sizes up the situation and draws his own conclusion about me and my motives.

  Again, her peepers beg me, and this time I make the decision for her. Sympathetic Dyllan jumps out the window as does the one who was about to tell her she needs friends not assholes looking to fuck her. I’m totally down with handing her, her ass, pouring out an accusatory tongue lashing on her head, and leveling a stinging rebuke that her guilty face tells me she thinks she deserves. Here I am, living like a fucking monk, and she’s decided to take my dumb ‘friendly advice’, said as a damn joke, to go on motherfucking dates.

  And, I don’t care how illogical I sound.

  Chapter Twenty

  I have a mean, screwed up face on. Muhammad Ali doesn’t have anything on me with the violence I want to commit on the fool near Chels I’m not sure what tips her off to my volcanic mood, but her figure blurs as she backs away from the screen. Limp Dick is looking like he’s won or some shit, and I don’t like it.

  I don’t like it one bit.

  Without thinking, I flex toward the screen, pushing up my upper body so he knows I’m no punk and that he hasn’t won anything. When he steps back, drops his hand from Chels’s body, but still lingers behind her chair, a mix of chauvinistic triumph and hot, pulsing anger courses through my veins. Fuck me sideways ‘til eternity for even suggesting she needs to experience the world, to date.

  Her face is scrunched up like she’s confused over my emotions I’m not hiding. It lasts only a few seconds, seconds I’ll never get back, but the longer I look at her with questions misting her eyes, it’s easy for me to school my features.

  “Dyllan.”

  Blessedly, before I can verbally go up top of Chels’s head, ending our fake fucking friendship, a loud wail blares through the baby monitor. My right hand slams down on the mouse, clicking on the red phone symbol and cutting off our virtual connection. Saved by Juli. I stomp my way to my bawling niece with my heart plummeting, freefalling without any safety net toward nothingness. I reach for the door handle, twisting it just as my heart is further warped by her inconsiderate words. I’ll have you know that I have a date.

  Fuck her and her bullshit.

  By the time I get to Juli, she’s happy as ever, with not a tear in her eye. Bending to pick her up, I hold her away from me, because I see right through her ploy. And, I love her more for it.

  “You kill me. You knew I was about to lose my shit, so you faked a cry and saved your Unk from going to jail.”
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br />   Just when I think she’s to say something like, “You’re welcome”, Juli’s gummy mouth widens and her face reddens as she cries in my ears. Rushing out of the room and toward the kitchen, I become a one-handed professional, getting her premade bottle with Emma’s breast milk—fucking yuck!—then dunking it inside the bottle warmer, hoping it’ll heat Juli’s late dinner super-fast. She’s full-on crying by the time I plop down with her on my living room couch, watching her mouth work the nipple, pulling and tugging on it.

  My niece has developed the habit of inhaling—that’s what it looks like from my view—her milk. She won’t even consider allowing to be burped every few ounces. If you dare, Little Miss throws a bitch fit. No lie. I think all women learn that move from my niece’s age. By the time she’s done, Juli’ll have a million beads of sweat on her forehead and look like she’s about to burst.

  “You’re so stubborn,” I whisper, shifting her upward and patting her back. It takes a while, as it always does, but she eventually burps. I place her in her bouncer, turning the mobile on over her head. I swear she chucks her chin in my direction as a soothing tune comes on. Despite what’s churning throughout my body, I find myself smiling at my little princess. “If you weren’t so fucking cute, I’d...”

  But, Juli isn’t having it, and gives me a one of those ‘you’d do what?’ looks. She and I stare off ‘til I back down. But only cause she’s cute as fuck even though at my retreat, I swear she ends up giving me a look that I read as ‘just what I thought, motherfucker.’ Just like her aunt. A real piece of work. This only gets my mind to wandering, and my lips twist into a sneer remembering about her date announcement.

  “What the hell should I do, Juli?”

  She’s asleep, and a baby, so there’s not much she can tell me. I should fly down early and tell her she’s not allowed to date anyone who isn’t me. Maybe clock her ‘date’ upside his head for even asking her out in the first place. I’ll definitely break his scrawny legs and punch his lights out. As my plans firm up, I feel lighter than before, my heart’s not galloping away, and my head isn’t pounding so much.

  Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

  “I won’t tell your father shit, because he can’t hold water and will probably tell your mother,” I say all this to Juli, who responds by some cooing noises that I take as her agreement and then shifting her head. Emma’ll run to Chels, and I can’t have that. Working quickly, I book my flight, satisfaction seeping into my bones. Not only is Juli still sleeping like she has narcolepsy, it looks like I won’t have to change any shitty diapers, because my babysitting shift should be ending soon. Folding my hands behind my head, I lean back with not a worry in the world, because in two days, I’ll be knocking Chels’s supposed “date” on his ass and showing her I’m her man once and for all.

  The buzz from my intercom ends my thoughts. “Asshole,” I mutter to the ceiling, knowing exactly who’s at my door. His tall, lean frame takes up the video monitor. It’s EC, and he’s not removed his finger from the buzzer. He knows I hate that shit.

  “Get off my damn bell, Ellwood Charles,” I tell him just to fuck with him. While he’s on his way up, I stand in the doorway and wait. I have a clear view of the elevator, and when the doors open, I can see he’s munching from a bag of M&Ms. Arms folded over my chest, I tell him, “You’re going to wake up my guest.”

  He waggles his eyebrows like the dickwad he is, looking around my body. “You have a hot date?” He chuckles. “I don’t think so, brother. Your dating prospects dwindled to zero when old man Mayer threatened to shoot your dick off for trying to talk to his daughter.” EC pushes me like I’m a gnat in his way.

  “I still got in Lucy Mayer’s panties.” We all did. Back then, my brothers and I weren’t indiscriminate with our dicks. As a teen, anything that’s not your hand slicked with lotion was seen as a better option. I follow his broad back, whisper-yelling, “You’re late.”

  He crushes the now empty snack bag then glances at his watch. “I’m right on time. The game starts in ten minutes.”

  Shaking my head in disgust, I bump his shoulder. “I have plans, dick for brains.” I crack a smile when he laughs out loud like the idiot Ma birthed.

  “Yeah, with your hand.” His hand forms a circle, which he swings back and forth, crudely hinting that I’m going to jack off. Which I totally was, and that’s my fucking right.

  Face-to-face, we square off, with Juli a few feet away. He cocks his eyebrow upward, challengingly. Backing away, I give up, saving my ass kicking skills and energy for Chels’s date.

  “What’s with the shit face? You eat some lemons?” EC asks, nudging my leg.

  “It’s nothing.” I sit on the couch and turn the television on low. I wish I could shake this feeling that something is about to go totally sideways.

  “Talk to me, bro.”

  “It’s nothing,” I repeat, lying through my teeth. The conversation with Chels rests at the back of my mind as does the hasty plan I concocted.

  He sits, turning his body toward mine. “It’s something. Now fucking spill.”

  “You’d make the worst damn psychologist.”

  He flips me the bird then looks exactly like Ma does when she’s about to dig into me for information I don’t want to share. Fuck. He sits there while I pretend EC’s not waiting on me. Juli’s snores and the songs from the mobile are the only things I hear.

  If only I could turn back the hands of time, I’d never—

  “Is this about Chelsea?”

  I sit taller, ears perked, because EC shouldn’t know shit about Chels. “What do you mean by that?”

  He gives me the ‘Are you dumb?’ look before saying, “I was there at Em and JC’s rehearsal dinner when you nearly drilled her with your eyes, Dyllan. Just because I’m an ex-professional athlete doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” He adjusts his collar. If I know my brother, he’s proud that he’s busting my balls, subtly reminding me that he was close to being on a major league baseball team until he tore his ACL.

  “Fuck off.” I try to keep the scowl on my face, but we both break out laughing. I jab his side. “Shut it or you’re going to wake Juli, and then watching the game will be out of the question.”

  That’s all it takes for him to sit back and pipe down—or so I think. He does the former, but the latter... “You’re not getting out of this. Talk.”

  I’m not telling this idiot anything.

  Opening up my lips, I do the exact fucking opposite, squealing like a pig, dumping all my Chels baggage on my brother’s head. Much later, the game is forgotten, we’ve thrown back a few brewskies, and, a diaper change later, Juli is now sleeping on EC’s chest. His drawn-out, exhaled breath has put my sad story on pause. I’m not sure what my brother is about to say. Will he tell me to fight for the woman who’s latched herself to my heart? Maybe he’ll tell me I’m an idiot for making the early Thanksgiving plans.

  I never expect a question though.

  “What about the baby, Dyllan?”

  My cell rings and stops me from going off on EC for asking about a fake baby.

  “Don’t hang up, please.”

  My shoulders feel like they’re carrying burdens weighing a ton when I hear Caren’s weak voice.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You want to buckle your seatbelt?” I ask my passenger. Looking over, I see Caren’s emaciated and what seems to be a sleep-deprived face. I wonder for the millionth time why I let EC convince me about my nonexistent heart, which he believes has been repaired since living with my adoptive family.

  After hearing her woeful request yesterday, it took me a minute not to do the exact opposite. When Caren realized I was still listening, she launched into a pitiful story that was supposed to tug on my heart strings. I played on, kept my ear to the phone, but had every intention of being the dismissive asshole I’d always been to her.

  Ma didn’t raise any bastards, Dyllan. Those were EC’s words when I’d mouthed the reason for the call. You have to go, he
’d told me. Then, I’d called my brother and her every name under the sun, but I knew he was right.

  The squeaking leather sound stills my thoughts. Shifting from her slouched position while wiping the corner of her lips, she looks around in confusion—a look she seems to have perfected this morning. “Huh?” Caren asks as if we’ve not been sitting in my car for close to five minutes now.

  “Seat belt. On,” I direct her, watching her closely as she struggles with the nylon fabric of the belt. Finally, she succeeds in snapping it in with a deafening click. Even now, it’s EC’s words that stop me from voicing my dislike for the woman beside me.

  I adjust my rearview mirror then back out of my spot. Once I’m part of the early morning traffic, I sneak a glance at her. She looks like roadkill with the short dress that keeps riding up her thighs, smeared lipstick, and hair that’s seen better days.

  “You going to drive or what?” she questions.

  In front of me, the light has turned green, and had probably been that way for a while too by the beeping horns behind my car. As we drive down the boulevard, she mutters to herself. I pick up on the hints of disdain every now and outright hear the ones that fall off her careless tongue. I can only hope that shit is self-directed. She’s the main reason she ended up where she did yesterday.

  I can’t believe I just left a police station. I want her gone, but I need one thing from her to make that happen. “Where do you live?”

  She mentions an address that immediately knots my stomach and cramps the muscles. As I’m driving toward a past I thought I’d left behind, distant memories worm their way toward the surface. A few turns later, and I’m passing places I’ve not seen in forever, and ones I never wanted to see again as long as I live. The tree-lined sidewalks are littered with uncollected debris and the stray trash that never made it into garbage cans. Men and women, seemingly with nowhere to go even at this time of day, sit on crates outside the corner stores, or lean on the sides of buildings with no care in the world. Cigarettes dangle from their lips, and in their hands are brown paper bags hiding their bottles of liquor.