Fall Into Forever

by Beth Hyland

  What the fuck happened to her between the porch and now? Too many beers? Is she high? I hadn’t pegged her as a party girl when I first saw her, but this chick’s a mess. I’m not exactly sure why this bothers me, but it does. I thought— Fuck. I don’t know what I was thinking.

  She turns slightly, and the light from a window falls across her face. I’m mesmerized by the color of her eyes, which instantly reminds me of the pictures of Ireland’s rolling hills in a book I got for Mom when she was sick. The thing was too heavy, so I held it for her and read aloud about various cities, castles, and places of interest. Like the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge joining a tiny scrap of a vivid green island to the mainland. She always wanted to go there.

  I try to swallow, but my throat has just gone tight.

  Even though this girl isn’t smiling, her eyes tilt up as if she’s about to. That’s got to be frustrating when you really want to convey to people that you’re pissed off. No one would ever believe you.

  “What were you doing up there?” I don’t smell much alcohol on her breath, but then she’s probably a lightweight, unable to have more than a drink or two.

  “I was just leaving.” She puts a hand on the tree trunk to steady herself and brushes off the bottoms of her feet.

  “And you couldn’t use the front door?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “Careful. Those are crushed oyster shells in the flowerbed. They’re sharp.”

  She jumps back like she just saw a snake.

  “You’re not driving, I hope, because I can find you a ride home.” Didn’t she come with friends? Maybe I should bring her to the station. Depending on where she lives, Kelly can give her a ride when she leaves.

  “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She looks at her phone. “My roommate will be out here in a minute.”

  Why the hell would she be up on the roof if she’s not wasted? And why the makeup running down her face? It’s true that she’s not slurring her words or acting confused, so I’m not sure what’s going on.

  “Where’s your coat?” I ask, remembering the bloodstains.

  “Good call.” She fires off another text. “I’ll have her grab it on the way out.”

  “Tell her to leave it here. I’ll have it cleaned.” I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Even though I’ve never taken clothes to the cleaners in my life, Mom used to take her designer shit there, gifts from the guys she dated, so I know they can clean just about anything.

  “That’s okay,” she says, trying to give my jacket back to me. “I was going to—”

  “Take it. I feel terrible about the blood and everything. It’s the least I can do.” As I situate my jacket back on her shoulders, I catch a whiff of fragrance. Not perfumey, but simple and uncomplicated. Vanilla, I think. From her hair. It’s…nice.

  I grab my phone from my back pocket and hand it to her. “Put in your number and I’ll call you when it’s clean.”

  She stares at the screen, then darts a glance nervously toward the house.

  The realization hits me upside the head. She was on the roof to get away from someone at the party. Someone she’s afraid of. The makeup running down her face isn’t because she’s drunk. It’s because she’s been crying.

  I flex my hands, trying to ignore the pain in my knuckles from the fight earlier. I’m going to pound the holy living shit out of the guy who did this to her. If there’s one thing that makes me lose my shit faster than anything else, it’s when a guy mistreats his girlfriend. There’s no fucking excuse for that. Having seen it way too many times with my mom and her messed-up love life, I have zero tolerance for it.

  Like I said before, I’m no angel. Maybe that’s why I can easily spot an asshole.

  “Where the fuck is he?”

  Her eyes widen. “What? Who?”

  “Your dickwad boyfriend. I’m going beat the shit out of him.”

  She looks confused. “I…I don’t understand.”

  “That’s why you were out on the roof, isn’t it? To get away from him?” I have an overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms and protect her from the jackass who did this to her. No one should be allowed to make this girl feel as if her only option is to climb out on a roof to get away. She could’ve fucking fallen.

  Her expression softens as she looks at me. “No dickwad boyfriend,” she says quietly, taking my phone. Her fingers inadvertently brush against the palm of my hand, sending electricity shooting up my arm. “But thank you for…for wanting to beat the shit out of someone for me. That’s really…sweet of you.”

  No boyfriend at all or just not a dickwad boyfriend?

  “Then why were you up there?” Despite what I originally thought, it not like she got wasted and ended up on the roof in a drunken stupor.

  She drops her gaze, turning her attention to my phone. “I’d rather forget about it, if you don’t mind.”

  In other words, none of your business.

  But...I want to make it my business. All those years looking after my mom have taken their toll. She had supremely bad judgment when it came to men and made a shit-ton of excuses for them—whether it was a current boyfriend or an ex-boyfriend. Including my father. She never went after him for child support or had anything bad to say about him. When one of his songs would come on the radio, she’d get all teary-eyed, but she’d never change the station. I was the one who had to do it.

  So I’m telling you, this situation has asshole boyfriend written all over it. “An ex?” I ask, probing for an answer.

  She glances away and blinks a few times, and for a moment I’m thinking she’s going to say yes. I’m prepared to go back into the party, find out who he is, and introduce his face to my fist.

  “No,” she says, surprising me. “My ex isn’t in there, either.”

  I could’ve sworn… I study her for a moment. She sounds truthful enough. “Okay, but why—”

  “Do you think we can just drop it?”

  Her words jolt through me. End of subject. No more questions because she’s not going to give me any answers. “Yeah, fine. No problem.”

  “Good.” She hands my phone back.

  I shift my weight to the other foot and check to see what she entered. I can’t help but smile. “Ivy. How perfect for a girl I found on the roof of an old house. No last name?”

  She stares at me for a moment before answering. “Does it matter?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, how many Ivys do you know, anyway?”

  “None. You’re my first. But am I supposed to remember you as Ivy, the girl on the roof? Or just Ivy on the Roof? Or are you like Bono or Slash and only go by your first name?”

  There’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “It’s Ivy McAllister.”

  “Is that M-A-C?” I ask, spelling out the letters on my phone. “Or M-C?”

  “Wow, all these questions. Are you always this inquisitive?”

  “Only with things that matter to me.”

  Her eyes meet mine for a half-second before she quickly glances away. “It’s just M-C,” she says quietly.

  Just? I can tell already that there’s nothing remotely insignificant about Ivy McAllister.

  I enter her last name into my contacts and confirm the spelling. “Since we’re introducing ourselves, I’m Jon Priestly.”

  She makes no move to grab her phone and enter my info. “Yeah, I know.”

  My chest swells with pride. While it doesn’t surprise me that she knows who I am, I love it just the same…until I realize she doesn’t ask for my number in return. Why? Is she too shy?

  As I mull over other possible reasons, I notice that her scarf doesn’t cover her chest. It draws my eyes like a magnet and I exhale slowly. Her teal shirt dips low in the front, revealing a hint of a teal lace bra. Must be her favorite color. It just may be my new favorite—

  Damn.

  I try not to let my gaze wander lower, I really do, but perky nipples are pointing straight at me through her thin shirt. And like I said earlier
, I’m not a saint. Not even close.

  * * *

  Ivy

  Just because Jon helped me off the roof and loaned me his jacket doesn’t mean he has free rein to be a douche. He lifts his gaze and his eyes meet mine. Busted. He doesn’t even look the least bit guilty that he got caught, either. I glare, hoping to shame some manners into him, but he doesn’t act embarrassed. In fact, is that a smile?

  But if I’m being perfectly honest, Jon Priestly isn’t exactly knight-in-shining-armor material, so the fact that he was blatantly staring at my chest shouldn’t surprise me. I watched him beat the crap out of a dude, learned that he sells weed, and if I’m not mistaken, I accidentally barged in on him having sex with some chick upstairs when I was looking for the bathroom. He’s no hero. Not even close. He’s more like a villain with a few redeeming qualities.

  It reminds me of a family trip to Disney World where we took a picture under the sign pointing to the parking lots named Heroes and Villains. My sister Rose stood under Heroes and I was under Villains. When given a choice, I’ve always been attracted to guys who aren’t good for me.

  “So you think you’ll be okay?” Jon’s acting like he’s not in a rush to leave, even though he said he’s got to get to work soon.

  His jacket starts to slip off my shoulder. I hoist it back up with an awkward shrug. “Yep. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  Someone rattles the gate, and my heart jumps. Instinctively, I take a half step toward Jon. I didn’t make all these sacrifices just to have Chase’s brother catch me here now. The gate swings open on creaky hinges.

  It’s Cassidy and a girl I don’t recognize. Not Aaron. Relief gushes out of me in one big whoosh.

  “There you are,” Cassidy says, marching toward us like a woman on a mission. “I’ve been looking everywhere.” She says everywhere with a few extra syllables for emphasis or dramatic effect (take your pick). She’s holding a red cup and wearing a plastic lei. I’ll have to give her a hard time about it later. Given that she’s from Hawaii, wearing a tacky fake lei is practically against her religion.

  “I texted you that I was outside in the back.”

  Cassidy’s eyes rake over me. “You look like shit.”

  I suddenly remember the mascara streaks and the fact that I’m barefoot. Yeah, I’m sure I look completely pathetic.

  “This hasn’t been the best of nights,” I say, trying not to think too much about my bathroom freak-out.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. But thanks to him, I’m doing better.”

  And just like that, she looks at Jon. Not that I’ve forgotten him or anything. His warm presence is heating up the whole left side of my body, blocking out the cold ocean breeze.

  Her gaze slides over the two of us and then she breaks into a know-it-all grin. The kind that says she knows what’s really going on. “Not the best of nights, huh?”

  I know exactly what she’s thinking and that would be a big fat no. I do not look like this because he and I just finished, quote unquote, a screw-fest in the back yard, or because I gave him a blow job.

  “How’s it going?” Jon doesn’t seem to notice that my roommate is studying him like he’s a prize horse and she’s a judge at the state fair. Or maybe he does and he likes it.

  “You’re Jon Priestly, aren’t you?” She must not have heard those girls behind us during the fight on the porch. Either that, or she’s had too much to drink and just forgot.

  He nods. “That would be me.”

  The girl with Cassidy gasps. She’s almost as tall as me, with teased blond hair and a super cute body. I’ve always thought that legwarmers, tights, and fingerless gloves look really stupid (you should see the pictures of my mom and her friends in junior high school back in the eighties), but she really pulls it off.

  Cassidy introduces herself. When her friend doesn’t jump in right away and continues to stare at Jon, she adds, “And this is Sara.”

  Sara’s eyes are as round as dinner plates. “You mean the ‘church is now in session’ guy?”

  Jon gives her a panty-dropping smile. At least, it makes my panties want to drop. And by the looks of it, same with Sara. This makes me slightly irritated, for some reason.

  “The one and only,” he says.

  “Oh my God. I recognize your voice now,” she gushes. “I totally want one of those shirts those girls were wearing tonight. Where can I get one?”

  The shirts about church? Was that what his entourage was wearing? I try to remember just what they said. Parish or Parishioner, I think. I don’t get it. I glance over at Cassidy for help, but her attention is focused squarely on Jon.

  “Check with the station. They just ordered a bunch.”

  “I loooove you—I mean, your show,” Sara says, laughing. I can almost hear her thong sliding past her hips. Seriously. I’ve never seen anyone swoon before, but that’s pretty much what she’s doing.

  “I love it, too,” Cassidy chimes in.

  Clearly, I’m the only one who’s clueless here. I sure wouldn’t have pegged this guy as belonging to one of the religious groups on campus. If that’s the case, then someone has a lot of sins to confess on Sunday morning. Cassidy goes to Mass sometimes, but she’s not what I’d call very religious.

  “What are you guys talking about?” I ask. “What church?”

  “Seriously, Ivory,” Sara says impatiently. “Don’t you listen to KREX?”

  Ivory? I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  Jon makes a coughing slash choking noise as he tries not to laugh, too. I poke his leg with my bare toe.

  He gives me a fake hurt look that says, Whaaat?

  And I give him a fake mad scowl that says, The only person allowed to laugh is the one whose name gets butchered.

  I turn to Sara. “It’s Ivy,” I tell her calmly. “So…what’s KREX?”

  “The Sounds of Pacific,” Cassidy says in an announcer’s voice. “It’s PSU’s student-run radio station.”

  That explains it. “I don’t listen to my car radio very often. It doesn’t get good reception.”

  Sara rolls her eyes, like she’s talking to the most clueless person in the world and can’t take it anymore. “Everybody live-streams it on their computers or through the app.” She holds up her phone and shakes it. “I can’t believe you don’t know that.”

  I try to ignore how incredibly rude that is and turn to Jon. “You’re on the radio?”

  He nods. “Once a week.” He touches his finger to his palm and quickly lifts it, which I immediately recognize as sign language for once a week. I narrow my eyes at him. He knows ASL?

  He grabs his guitar case and slips the strap over his shoulder. “My show’s on Tuesday. I’m filling in for a friend tonight.”

  “What do you do?” I ask.

  Before he can answer, Sara barks out an unflattering laugh. She thinks I’m an idiot to ask such a stupid question. I quickly review the conversation in my head, wondering what I missed. I do have a tendency to miss stuff when I’m stressed out.

  “Hello? Aren’t you listening? He’s got a radio show.”

  Scratch what I said about her outfit. You can’t think someone looks cute when you’re really starting to dislike her.

  I was willing to let the other stuff slide, but I’ve just changed my mind. “He could have a sports show. A talk radio show. A religion show. A politics discussion show. Or maybe a pop psychology show where people call in for advice on how to deal with jerks.”

  Sara looks me up and down and seems to notice my sorry condition for the first time. “So what were you guys doing back here, anyway?”

  “True, Ivy,” Jon says, ignoring Sara’s question. “And the station has shows like that. Mine happens to be on indie music, where I spotlight various local bands. I’m filling in for Alice, who hosts a jazz show tonight, so we’ll see how her listeners react to my playlist. Could be interesting.” Given his thorough answer, he doesn’t seem to think my question was ridiculous. “I do a few int
erviews, but I mainly just play music. I don’t do much talking.”

  He gives me a pointed look as if to emphasize that there’s another meaning behind his words. It takes me a moment to figure it out. My roof situation is a private matter that will stay between the two of us. He’s not telling. If I want to answer Sara’s question, that’s my business, not his. Warmth pools low in my stomach as I think about keeping secrets with him.

  I flash him a grateful smile. “Cool. I’ll have to tune in.” Then, without thinking, I sign, Thank you.

  His gaze drops to my hands and he smiles, confirming my guess that he knows ASL. Did he take it in high school like I did? “I hope you do.”

  I may be able to dodge Sara’s questions, but once we get back to the dorm, I fully expect to be drilled by Cassidy. I’ll need to lie to her, but unfortunately, I’ve never been very good at faking it.

  Suddenly, Chase is in my head again.

  I can tell you’re not into this, Ivy. You’re going to have to try harder than that. There. That’s a girl. Much better.

  I blanch at the flash of memory. The same voice that spoke at our high school graduation and got a roaring ovation from adoring students, faculty, and parents.

  “Speaking of which—” Jon touches my arm, jerking me back to the present. “—I really do need to go.” His thumb brushes over the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, making all the little hairs on my arms stand on end.

  I try not to let the thrill of his touch visibly show. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this reaction to a guy, particularly someone so unlike the all-American football types I’ve gone out with in the past. But then it’s not like I have the best judgment when it comes to relationships, anyway. There was that time when I made out with a girl at a party down in LA, but that wasn’t for me either. I didn’t feel as if I’d found what I’d been looking for. The girl had been sweet about it, but no, it wasn’t me.

  “You’re sure you’re okay now?” he says softly, turning his back to the others.

  His concern touches me. I nod, knowing that the newly formed lump in my throat will make it difficult to say anything coherent. His eyes seem to be reaching inside me, noticing all my knots and tangles. If he pulled on an end, I wonder, would it be the right one? Could he untangle me and make me whole?