Falling Forward
Dawn Robertson
FALLING FORWARD
Copyright © 2017 Dawn Robertson
Published by Dawn Robertson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Dawn Robertson
Cover Design: Concierge Literary Designs & Photography
Formatting by: Kristen Hope Mazzola
Editing by: Alissa Glenn
Created with Vellum
Dedication
Falling Forward is dedicated to:
The women who fall down and get right back up.
The haters who push women down.
All the readers who begged me not to quit in the past few years & those who have been patient with me to actually get my grove back.
To Kristen Hope Mazzola for pushing and inspiring me.
To Scott, the love of my life for inspiring me to write an epic love story again.
To the city of Savannah for giving me such an amazing backdrop to the story.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
A note from Dawn
All books by Dawn Robertson
About the Author
Prologue
My Life Kinda Sucks
You ever feel like your life just really fucking sucks? I do. I’ve been stuck in the same mundane rat race, every day for the last six years. Go to work, come home, work some more, have a glass of wine, watch some Maddow, smoke a joint, and climb into bed–just for the cycle to start all over again the next day. Occasionally, I’ll have a date with a guy I’ve met on some fly-by-night dating site, or go out to dinner with a blind date one of the old women in my office have set me up with. I admit just how sad it has become.
I hate real estate, which just so happens to be my career field. I hate the ups and downs, the stress of keeping each deal together. The fact that most people buying a home need to be babysat twenty-four-seven to make sure they aren’t out buying a new car or some bullshit furniture for said new house. At the end of the day, being a realtor is just a fancy name for an adult babysitter. We babysit the buyers, the mortgage lenders, the home inspector, and everyone else involved in the process. Another memo I didn’t get before I started working for a high producing team, is most realtors are drunks. The stress of the job is just too much, especially working seven days a week, but that’s neither here nor there. There’s nothing I can do, now. This is the life I chose long ago.
If I could walk away from it all tomorrow, I would. To start over somewhere else, with a new name and a new life–I would do it. The problem is, I can’t. I’m locked into a contract with my job, and if I wanted to start all over again, somewhere else in the same field, I couldn’t. But, it’s all a bunch of pipe dreams anyway. It’s not like one day I’m magically going to hit the lottery I’ve been playing since I turned eighteen. You can’t win if you don’t play! At least, that’s what my parents always told me growing up.
My mother still thinks I’m going to become an old spinster, and at twenty-eight I’m starting to believe her. I’m married to my job, I don’t really have time for anything else. I’m living the American dream, I guess. Selling high rise condos in Orlando, Florida and making as much money as I can so I don’t have to worry about retirement one day–like my sister will. She worked a whole three years before she started having kids. Now don’t get me wrong, I love her little rugrats. They fill the tiny maternal instinct I have. I know I’ll never do the whole mother thing, so it all works out.
Needless to say, I think I’ve proven just how boring my life has become.
I pull the black Corvette I drive, into my usual parking spot at the corner store–my evening routine. My heels click-clack against the hot pavement of the late Orlando summer evening, as the thick humidity does a number on my short, wavy brown hair. Pushing it out of my face with my sunglasses, I pull the door open and head for the alcohol section. Tonight, I opt for a six pack of Twisted Tea and a bag of Chex mix for a midnight snack. Dropping the goods onto the counter, I point at a couple scratch off lottery tickets.
“Usual?” the young man behind the counter asks.
“Two of each, and isn’t tonight Powerball, Lewis?” I ask.
“Yup, jackpot is up to four-hundred-and-fifty-million! People have been buying tickets like hotcakes!” Lewis laughs.
“Give me ten quick picks with the power play.” Why the hell not? “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to win but a girl can wish,” I laugh, knowing I’ve always had the worse luck in my family. My mother win’s money on those scratchy tickets all the time. Me? The most I’ve ever won is five-hundred dollars, and I thought that was a huge win. Too bad I’d already dumped more money than I wished to count into the system before getting that tiny sliver back.
My cell phone rings from the Michael Kors bag slung over my shoulder, and I scatter to look for it. It’s probably one of my clients looking to chat business at this hour. The phone calls never stop, and for someone who absolutely hates to talk on the phone, I sure have to do a fucking lot of it. Looking down I see an unfamiliar number.
“Hello, this is Luna Rockwell.”
“Hello, I just saw your sign at the corner of McMillian and Oceans Two. I’m looking for information on the condo for sale.” I roll my eyes as I hand the cashier my debit card for the purchase.
“The unit is a direct lake front, with a balcony. Two bathrooms, two bedrooms with the full amenities of the luxurious Queenstone building. The list price is three hundred thousand dollars, with monthly maintenance fees of four hundred twenty-five dollars a month. Are you looking at this for yourself?” There is a pause on the line as I wait for an answer.
“I’m looking for a date with the lady whose picture is on the sign. How do I talk to her?” Fuck. My. Life. Another one?
“This is the lady on the sign, and I am not interested in going out on a date. I’m interested in selling the condo unit. But I do hope you have a wonderful evening.” I press end as Lewis laughs behind the counter, while packing my beverages and snacks into a shopping bag.
“Does that happen to you often?” Lewis asks.
“More than I fucking care to deal with,” I laugh. But it’s an annoyed laugh, because when did it become okay for people to do shit like that? Men seem to think because I’m attractive and on a sign with my phone number, that it’s okay to harass me. I mean, I had a stalker at one point in time. Worst three months of my life!
Grabbing my bag, I head for
the car to make my way home for the night and binge watch Orange is the New Black until my head hits the pillow. Tomorrow I have a packed day with two closings, three showings, and a listing appointment for a half million-dollar home, bordering the Disney properties. Just a typical Friday. Dear God, I need a vacation though. The only problem with real estate is, clients don’t wait because they can use any realtor. So, vacations go straight out the window. It’s just something I’ve grown used to.
Maybe one day in the near future I’ll finally catch a break.
The loud blaring of my phone startles me out of a deep sleep. The clock next to my bed reads two twenty-three in the morning. Who the fuck would be calling me at this hour? I blink my eyes a couple more times trying to focus in on my phone. “Violet” flashes across my screen, my younger sister, and I jump to my feet and grab the phone.
“Hello?”
“Luna,” she says, her voice is shaky and I can hear muffled sniffles.
“What’s wrong?" A million different scenarios run through my mind. She would never call me in the middle of the night, something is wrong. Something is really fucking wrong. My hands are shaking so bad, I put her on speaker so I can put the phone down on my night stand. My knees are trembling and my heart is thumping in my throat.
“It’s mom. She’s had a heart attack. We’re at ORM.” My heart sinks immediately. My father passed away a little under a year ago from cancer, and my mother and sisters are all I have left in the entire world. They are my world.
“Come quick,” she says before the line disconnects.
I’m still not fully awake, but I know I have to get to the hospital as quickly as I possibly can. My hands are shaking uncontrollably as I move swiftly around my bedroom, trying to find something to throw on so I don’t look like a complete hobo running into the ER when I show up.
I throw clothes in every direction in a panic to get out the door. My arm knocks over a plethora of makeup from my dresser, while I jump into a pair of black yoga pants. I pull an oversized Coldplay t-shirt over my head, then grab my purse and cell phone while making my way to the kitchen of my condo, which is the last place I saw my keys. My palms are sweaty as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then swipe my keys off the counter and run out the door to the elevator to take me down to the parking garage. Seconds seem like minutes, while I wait for the elevator doors to open. I look at my phone and stomp my feet, pressing the already illuminated button several times.
The big metal doors finally open, and I repeat my button pushing for the garage until the doors finally start to close. I feel helpless. All I can do is drive in a hurry and hope everything is okay when I get there. I hate it–this feeling of helplessness. It has to be the worst feeling in the entire world, to be so incapable of having any say in the outcome of it all. Tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes, as the elevator doors open and I run for my car. Within seconds, I am peeling out of the parking garage and on my way, thankful for the nearly empty roads in the middle of the night, while crossing my fingers that I don’t get pulled over for speeding through every intersection I come to.
Mere minutes seem like an eternity as my car comes to a stop in the parking lot of Orlando Regional Medical Center. The emergency department is hustling and bustling for the time of the day, with staff running in all different directions. I look around in a fog, trying to find someone to speak with. Finally, I see a lone woman sitting behind a desk. She looks extremely busy as I approach.
“Can I help you?” she looks up from the computer screen briefly.
“I got a call about my mother, Leyla Rockwell.”
“Give me just a minute.” She begins to type and click the mouse. Just as she begins to write some numbers on a piece of paper, I hear my name.
“Luna!” Violet yells in the distance. The woman behind the desk begins to speak at the same time, and my head swivels in both directions.
“She is in ER room #108,” the woman says, sliding the paper across the counter, at the same time my baby sister reaches my side.
“I came home from my shift at the bar, and she was laying on the living room floor, unconscious,” Violet frantically explains, while my heart jumps back into my throat. She’s been staying with my mother for the past couple weeks, since she broke up with the dickbag she was dating.
“Have you called Lucy?” I think of our oldest sister who lives four hours away with her own family–three beautiful little girls that are the absolute apple of my mother’s eye.
“Yes. She will be on her way first thing in the morning. Kent is going to make sure the girls get to the sitter and whatnot.”
“How is she?” I ask, as we turn down the sterile hallway in the direction of the emergency department.
“She’s in surgery. They just took her up. She suffered a heart attack and a mild stroke at the same time. She’s has a blockage in her heart of some type. The doctors were all very short with me. It seemed urgent. So now, we can only wait.” A tear slips from my eye as I think about it all. It hasn’t even been a year since we buried my father, the love of my mother’s life. Now, she is suffering from a genuinely broken heart. If something was to happen to her, I don’t know what I would do. She is my world. My rock. The heart and soul of our whole family.
I can’t lose my mother.
Chapter 1
Life Changes in the Blink of an Eye
The sun slowly starts to creep up over the city of Orlando, as I sit with Violet in the parking lot of the hospital. Neither of us say a word, we just take in the natural beauty while we try to pass the anxiety ridden hours. Three hours, to be exact, and not a single soul has been out to update us on her condition.
“I don’t know how long she was there before I got home,” Violet breaks the silence. I don’t know if I can even have this conversation right now, but I listen to her while talking myself down off the edge.
“I came home right after work. I didn’t stop off like I normally do. Something was telling me to go home. I’ve been so worried about her, it’s like she’s given up since dad died. Every day it’s such gloom and doom. I’ve been begging her to leave the house and do something. Anything. She’s just… heartbroken.” My dad… he was her one true love. They were high school sweethearts, who had been together for forty years. When you think of the all-American husband and father, you see my dad, Mitchell Rockwell. He had worked in construction all his life, becoming the union foreman and the proud father of three little girls. He was never the kind of dad who joked about wanting a son constantly, either. We were his world, and we knew it.
“She misses him,” I whisper, thinking about how much I miss him as well. When he passed away I didn’t have time to mourn. My mother couldn’t handle planning his services, so being the middle child with my shit together, it landed in my lap. I’m the glue that holds our family together. I always have been. It’s been a burden at certain times of my life, but that’s just how family is I guess. I’ve never known any different.
“I can’t lose her too,” Violet says, and I just nod as tears start to pool again. I wrap my arms around her neck and pull her in tight.
“It’ll be okay. I promise,” I lie to my baby sister, knowing I have to keep my own freak out in check to make sure she is okay; and I hope I can keep it together until Lucy makes it here from Georgia.
I pull out my cell phone to call my assistant and have her clear my day. I wouldn’t be able to make any of the appointments or closings I had scheduled for today. My partners would have to handle anything else that was urgent, because it was going to be a bit before I could be back at work.
“Is everything okay?” my assistant, Kelly, asked.
“Not yet, but I will be in touch more when I have an idea of what is going to take place. If you need anything, go to Chelsea. She will keep everything in order for the mean time.” Chelsea is the broker that I worked for. We had a high powered real estate team of eight agents, that I had been working with for the past six years. We really had bec
ome a small family during that time as well. I began with Chelsea before it was a team. Just the two of us–her as the realtor and me? Well, I was just the assistant who managed all of our files. What a difference the past several years had made. I never thought I would take off in real estate, especially given how much I hate it. But, it paid the bills and I was able to treat myself to the little things that continue to keep me happy. Well, until recently.
“When I hear more, I will call back,” I cut her off and end the call. I type out a text message to Chelsea as well, then set my phone on do not disturb, before Violet and I make our way back into the gloomy waiting room of the hospital to wait some more.
There’s nothing either of us can do, but thumb through our cell phones and beg for someone to give us some answers. I stalk the poor lady behind the desk, every move she makes I’m on my damn feet. I’ve asked her about sixteen times for an update, but still nothing. It’s been almost seven hours. Nothing good can come of any of this. Closing my eyes for a few minutes of rest, I hear her voice.
“Are you okay?” Lucy, my older sister, is finally here.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Not sure about Vi though. She’s a bit worked up,” I lie. I’ve always been so good at it when it comes to masking my emotions. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve never really been able to express my emotions the socially acceptable way. Either way, I’ve learned I’m just better off keeping them to myself. Less drama and way less attention.
Falling Forward Page 1