Falling into You

by Abrams, Lauren

  Sophia’s still talking. “He looks at her the way you do. You both have the same expression in your faces when you stare at her, like she’s some unearthly being deserving of worship She always said that he didn’t even know that she was a girl, and I don’t know whether it was the thought of you and her that finally changed his mind, or if she really is that blind, but it appears that Hallie Caldwell might know what she’s doing after all.” Sophia is surprised at her own words. “No one’s ever looked at me like that.”

  I feel sorry for her for just one second before remembering that she’s the reason why I feel like I’ve been broken into a million pieces. Sophia will be fine. People like Sophia are always fine until the day that they’re not.

  “I have to find her.” I shake Sophia again. “Where would she be?”

  “I doubt that she’s coming back to my apartment.” Sophia sighs. “If you find her, tell her I’m sorry, okay?”

  I don’t say anything, but I do give her a withering look that makes it perfectly clear that I won’t be delivering apologies any time in the future, either near or far.

  “For what it’s worth,” she adds, touching my arm again as I twist away. “I am sorry. I didn’t realize…” She trails off, because, really, there isn’t anything left to say.

  I leave the roof and sneak out the side door of the building to ignore the paparazzi. I flag down a cab and take it back to my apartment, because there really isn’t anywhere else to go. The entire time, I’m dialing Hallie’s number like a madman, even though it’s going straight to voicemail.

  I will find her, I tell myself. As I walk in, I notice an ambulance leaving my building, and I brush past the uniformed people, pushing the elevator button frantically.

  I see Diana, making her way to me through the lobby, pushing people aside. Her face is covered in tears and I know in the same instant that my father is gone. I feel nothing. I have nothing left to feel for him, that broken and withered man on the couch who was a shadow of a shadow. The only thing I can muster is a sense of relief that he won’t cause Diana any more pain. The whole night, the anger at Sophia and pain at all of the hurt that I caused Hallie, is crowding out anything else I could feel and I doubt that there would be anything else anyway. He was a bastard and I despised him.

  But there’s Diana to think about and I shove the rest of it aside. I will find her, I promise myself. I pull my sister into my arms and my phone clatters to the floor.

  “Chris,” she manages.

  “I’m sorry, Diana. Just now?”

  “About an hour ago,” she says, choking back a sob.

  And we’re in a heap on the floor and she’s crying and I’m crying, not for my father but for the mess that I made and will never be able to fix.

  ***

  I’m wearing a dark suit at the reception, and someone is saying something to me and I nod politely. I buried my father today, but I feel but emptiness and a vague sense of pity for the pathetic, shriveled man in the coffin.

  My mother showed up at the cemetery, kissing Diana and I on our cheeks before ducking out to make her matinee. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t even muster a few tears, even for appearance’s sake. She’s probably already thinking about the will and redecorating the apartment.

  In his death, my father became a tragic figure. He would have liked that, I think. Producers and actors are coming out of the woodwork to “pay their respects,” and the apartment is crawling with people trying to tell me what a wonderful man my father had been, a creative genius cut down by Hollywood cruelty.

  They say how proud he would have been that his son was following in his footsteps and ask, in hushed voices, about the movie. The alarm on my bullshit meter is ringing off the hook. Marcus makes his way through the group of mourners to come talk to me. He doesn’t even bother with the formalities. He’s here to protect his newest cash cow, and something about it fills me with a sense of relief.

  “Phone’s been ringing off the hook. They keep replaying that interview that you did with the entertainment reporter. To be crass, Chris, your old dad dying was the best thing that could have happened to you. Women go nuts over the wounded heartthrob.”

  Someone managed to get a picture of me with blood on my face after the party, and someone (Marcus, probably) started the rumor that my father’s loss had affected me deeply and I had lost my head. So, I guess I’ve become a tragic figure, too. Paparazzi are posted outside of the apartment building and the cemetery was crawling with them. I couldn’t help that despite the veritable pantheon of Hollywood talent, they seemed to take a lot of pictures of me.

  “Rehearsals start in a week,” he whispers, standing close to me. “You going to be ready for that?”

  The last few days have been a blur. Diana’s been on the phone with what seems like a thousand people, making plans and talking about caskets and processions and receptions, while I’ve been hidden away in my room, silently dialing a number on my phone. It’s gone straight to voicemail each time and I don’t even both with the messages anymore. It gives me a week to find her, to apologize, to try to see if I can make something good out of this whole mess. The entire story had come out to Diana the night before.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” she said, her hand on my arm. “You screwed up. I don’t know if you can fix it. You’ve never been able to forgive him. What makes you think she’ll forgive you?”

  Her words sent a dagger into my heart. But it wasn’t like it was the same thing. No, I had never been able to forgive him, because it was ten years of anger built up all inside, crushing me. I made a mistake. She had to forgive me, right?

  If she didn’t, I was going to need a distraction, something to keep me from really going off the deep end.

  I turn to him. “I’ll be ready.”

  Marcus smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Good. Get your shit together and I’ll see you in LA.” He starts to leave, and then turns back to me, pulling an envelope from his pocket and giving it to me.

  “I got this yesterday. It was addressed to you, and for some reason, my secretary pulled it out from all of the others.” He shrugs.

  I look at it in my hands. There’s no return address and the envelope is torn open, so I pull out the card. The front cover is a jumble of dark colors. Someone had finger painted a card for me. It’s grotesque and beautiful all at the same time and it allows me to hope.

  “Thanks, Marcus.” He gives me a little wave. “One week and I need Chris Jensen back. That’s all the time I can give you.”

  I nod and hold the card close to me, dashing off to my room. I open it and there are three words in perfect, neat handwriting. I’m so sorry. Below it are more words and they’re haphazardly placed. It’s okay to be angry. And it’s okay not to be.

  I sit and stare at it for a long time. I’m hoping that it’s some sign of forgiveness and then I remember the look on her face that night when I was with Sophia. It’s too much to hope for. The phone rings. I know that area code.

  I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

  The voice on the other line is gruff and my heart falls back into my stomach.

  “Jensen.” It’s not a question.

  “Yeah, this is Chris Jensen.”

  “She’s at Greenview.”

  It must be Ben, I realize. What would make him call me? Before I can ask the question, I hear a long sigh on the other end and I don’t say anything else.

  “If you do anything to her, I will find you and I will beat you to within an inch of your life.”

  I have to know why. If Sophia’s right and I’m right (and there’s no mistaking the look on his face when he was with her on that roof), he’s in love with her.

  “Why?”

  He knows what I’m asking and there’s no pause. “Because she’ll always wonder. You’re her fairy tale right now and she’ll never be able to get you out of her head if it ends like this.”

  He can’t be that selfless.

  “You l
ove her.”

  “I’ve loved her since she was fifteen years old. I will love her until we’re a hundred.”

  Confirmation. If he’s never made a move, there has to be some reason for it.

  He continues. “You will break her heart, whether it’s next week or next year. I’m guessing closer to next week, but you might surprise me yet. You’re not good enough for her, and you will never be good enough for her. But for some goddamn reason, she still thinks that you’re it, despite her seeing you fucking her best friend. The only thing that can prove her wrong is you. But don’t get me wrong—you will do that. You will prove her wrong. You will fuck up along the way and I will be there to pick up the pieces.”

  “You’re wrong,” I tell him.

  “I’m not,” he says with absolute certainty. He’s finished with me.

  Click.

  I couldn’t hurt her again, I think, remembering the look on her face and the way I had broken her. If he’s right, then she’ll give me another chance. I’ll prove it to her. Greenview. Atlanta. I grab my bag, shove some clothes into it, and throw it over my shoulder. Diana glances at me curiously as I weave through the throngs of people, and then she sees my bag and I think she understands. She holds her hand up in farewell and I nod back at her.

  I will get her back. And I will never let her go.

  Chapter 29

  HALLIE

  Ben stayed for five days. We spent our days playing endless rounds of gin rummy and video games where the zombies are killed by any number of creative weapons systems. We ordered in mountains of junk food and snacked on gummy candy. We spent long hours without talking. And there were long hours where we would laugh hysterically, remembering nights spent in the snow and in the backseats of friends’ cars.

  He never asked again about Chris. I never asked again about Susan.

  We did, however, talk about the night of my first real high school party and the rape. We even found a support group for me, for women who’d been raped or attacked or whatever they wanted to call it.

  I went to one meeting and while it still sort of felt like I was outside of my own body, talking about something that happened a million years ago, it was good to share the story with other people. Ben was waiting when I came out that first time and I cried in his arms before telling him about my new mantra—You can only be a victim if you choose to be. I reminded myself of it every morning. And for the most part, I believed it.

  He had offered to stay for a few more days, since my roommate was gone for another week.

  “I’m going to be fine,” I had told him, meaning it. “And there’s always Australia if it gets really rough.”

  “If we wait too long, all the coconuts will be gone,” he had said, wrapping me up in a long hug. “I love you,” I said to him.

  The words were true, although not quite in the way that I had once though.

  I did love him, but I wasn’t in love with him. My week with Chris had taught me that, right before he ripped my heart into a million pieces. I had never wanted to be the kind of girl who needed someone else to make her happy, but it’s too late for that. There should be support groups for broken hearts.

  It’s the night after Ben left Atlanta.

  I look down at the jars of finger paint that I still haven’t put away. Chris would probably never get the card. I had sent it to Marcus, half-hoping it would get thrown in the pile of trash with all of the other fan mail. When I saw the picture of him holding Diana in the lobby of his apartment building, still bloodied from Ben’s punch, I couldn’t help myself from reaching out to him. His face was devastated—I knew his father’s death would catch up with him sooner or later. I couldn’t resist trying to give him some comfort, even if it was a pitiful attempt.

  The picture was the first sign that Chris Jensen had been discovered, even though I had known that it was inevitable. The combination of his father’s death and the interview he had given to one of the television stations while doing some early press for the James Ross movies had turned him into an overnight sensation.

  I had seen the interview the day before while I was watching one of the news channels. I had been carefully avoiding all of my usual gossip and entertainment channels, hoping that I wouldn’t have to see his beautiful face, but even the so-called serious news stations were running excerpts from that interview.

  “People think the movies are nothing but gun fights and nonstop action, but James Ross has a history, you know? Someone loved him once. He probably loved someone once, too. And all of that becomes his motivation, becomes the reason that he’s still chasing something, still trying to figure out what it is. And that’s all we’re trying to do on this earth—find someone and something that helps us all figure out who we are.”

  He looks wistful, hopeful, sad. The interviewer has to take a long moment to catch her breath because he’s captivated her. I know the feeling. He’s so ridiculously beautiful that it takes your breath away.

  “What about you? Still trying to find that reason?”

  His smile is broad and white and gleaming. “Maybe,” he offers, shooting her a devilish look.

  They’re rushing out A Fairy Tale to garner better ticket sales and the posters are everywhere. It’s opening in a month or two, but apparently, advance sales are through the roof. The prognosticators in Hollywood are saying that Chris Jensen is the next mega-star, that he has the right combination of youth and charisma and looks to carry movies for the next several decades. Whether he’s ready or not, fame has come to find him.

  Sophia had called earlier that day. Without even knowing why I was doing it, I had picked up the phone.

  “Hallie, I’m so sorry.”

  There was a long pause.

  “He saw you with Ben and assumed that you were together.” she admits. “He started drinking and then I seduced him. It was my fault, really.”

  I ignore the second part of the statement, because it was his fault, too, and there’s no way she’s taking all the blame for this, although she certainly deserves a share. “He thought that Ben and I were together?” I repeated.

  It was a ridiculous statement. He couldn’t have actually believed that, not after everything we’d shared with each other. He couldn’t believe that I could be frolicking away with him behind someone else’s back.

  “I may have let him get that impression.”

  I remembered Todd and that ill-fated night, and thought in my head, I bet you did more than let him get that impression. It didn’t matter. If he had even tried to speak with me, to clear everything up, we would have been fine. An alternate history plays out in my head—Ben and Chris shaking hands, me curling up into Chris’ arms, games of spades and hearts and laughter.

  That was a fantasy. The reality was somewhat different.

  “It’s fine.” I just want the conversation to be over.

  “I’m not coming back to Greenview,” she says flatly. “I’m going to stay in New York.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be happy there.” I’m not angry with her anymore. I never want to see her again, either, but it seems as though I’ll get that wish.

  “Thanks.”

  I’m about to hang up the phone when she adds one last thing.

  “You should give him another chance. He really cares about you.”

  And she hung up.

  There’s a knock at the door and I grab my purse, thinking it’s the Chinese.

  “How much do I owe…”

  Chapter 30

  CHRIS

  I spent the last five hours staring out airplane windows and thinking about what I would say. I came up with a pretty good speech, I think. But she’s there and so achingly beautiful that every thought in my head is gone.

  She whispers something and she still isn’t looking me in the eye. She says it louder now.

  “No.”

  The door closes on me and I almost walk away. Ben’s words haunt me, have haunted me. I will hurt her, I suddenly realize, and she’ll hurt me. That’s w
hat people do. That’s what we’re made to do.

  And the realization that it’s all worth it makes me pound on the door so hard that she can’t ignore it. She opens it again and she’s standing in the middle of the tiny room in bare feet and she’s looking at me with big sad eyes and I need to take the sadness away.

  She turns to take a step away from me but then she’s moving closer, as if she’s drawn in by a magnet.

  I pick her up and bury my face in her neck, her hair.

  “I’m so…”

  I don’t ever get to finish because her hands are around my neck and we’re lost in each other and words don’t matter anymore.

  I’m kissing her hard and she’s kissing me back and I’m overcome by my need to have her right there and then. I’m lifting her onto her desk and I throw everything off and her legs are wrapped around my waist and she’s yanking at my shirt and it’s tangled up and I rip it off.

  She runs her hands down my body, running a trail of kisses on my torso and legs. I can’t take it and I grab at her greedily.

  I wanted to make love to her, gently and slowly, but nothing about this is slow or gentle. I’m rock hard and pushing against her insistently. I rip her shirt in my frantic fumbling to get it off, to see all of her in front of me and I’m attacking and I want to be slower but it’s impossible.

  I run my tongue over her lips and thrust it inside, and she still tastes like honey and mint, just like the first time we kissed, but it’s not enough. My hand cups her breasts and I moan a little bit, moving my mouth to take her nipple in my mouth and she’s groaning and grabbing at me with her hand, tearing at my pants and boxers until she gets what she wants.

  I pull off the rest of her clothes and rip the package from my pocket and she takes it from my hand and runs her fingers against down my length and slides it over me.

  I start to say something but she puts her finger up to my lips and wraps her legs more firmly around me. Her lips are wet and her eyes are heavy and glazed with need and desire and I can’t hold myself back. In one long thrust I’m inside her and I think I’m going to come from just the feel of it, warm and tight.