Falling Hard

by Tina Wainscott

  “She could hook her finger. She could fall into the water.”

  “I taught her to swim years ago. Let her grow up, Mama. Let her go out in the world.”

  “People don’t understand folks like Janey.”

  “Yeah, they do. There’s an actress on American Horror Story with Down syndrome, and she’s talented and articulate. Like Janey. They drive and live on their own and even get married.”

  His mother ignored him, as she usually did when the subject came up. She stacked dinner plates. “The last time you took her out, some kid asked if she was retarded.”

  “It happened once. Once! And I told him people didn’t use that word anymore. Educated him. He apologized.”

  “It hurt her feelings.”

  “We all get our feelings hurt, Mama. It’s part of life. She and I talked about it afterward, and she understands that some folks have outdated notions about people with Down. She loves being able to enlighten them. Why don’t you talk to her about it?”

  Mama busied herself in the silverware drawer. “She’s my baby.”

  “She’s eighteen.”

  Mama gave him that stubborn look he knew so well. “She’ll always be my baby. Stop trying to take her away from me.” She carried the bundle into the formal dining room.

  “It’s time to let her drive. Move out. That group home run by the Alliance for Independence would be perfect. It’s supervised on site, and she’d make friends. Get a job. She’d feel like a contributing member of society. Janey and I have been reading the driving manual. I take that back: Janey’s been reading it. And relaying to me what it means. She sits in the driver’s seat of my truck and goes over all the controls and rules of the road. You know how careful she is about everything. She’ll be a better driver than all of us put together.”

  Mama stepped close and in a low voice said, “If you keep going against my rules, or putting crazy notions in her head, I’m going to ban you from her again.”

  He swallowed back a curse. “That’s not fair. To me or her.”

  “I’ll protect her from your bad influence if I have to.”

  That was the only way they could control him: threaten to keep him from Janey. But he hadn’t let them manipulate him when he quit the police force or went into business with Wade. They had threatened him with banishment then, too, but he’d done it anyway. And suffered a period of banishment. Pax was taking steps to move out of the unhealthy dynamic of his family.

  Dinner was the usual tension-filled affair, with his dad trying to wheedle him into returning to the force. Tracy removed half of Blake’s potatoes from his plate, citing the carbs, and set them on the toddler’s plate. The older girl whined about everything. And Janey smiled all through dinner, immune to the drama.

  His dad made it all the way to the end of dessert before he brought up Gemma. Commendable. He even waited until Tracy took the girls out of the dining room to set them up in front of the television.

  “I hear Gemma Thornton is in town.” His dad’s gaze flicked to Blake, who’d obviously told him.

  “Yep,” Pax said, reaching for another slice of pecan pie. He was going to need it. He glanced at Janey, who was grinning with her secret.

  Don’t out me, girl.

  “You seen her?” Dad asked.

  It was a loaded question, infused with the ominous undertone Pax had heard plenty of times. His dad knew he’d seen her. “I’m overseeing the reconstruction at Wade’s place. Of course I’m going to see her; she’s staying there.”

  “You ought to stay away from her,” Blake said. “Blink at her the wrong way and she’ll be accusing you, too.”

  Blake had done more than blink at Gemma.

  “Let her handle the construction,” his dad said. More like ordered. “Keep your nose out of that business.”

  “I’m helping out as Wade’s friend. Gemma would have no idea how to deal with construction crews or who to call.”

  “I’ll give you the same order you gave me,” Blake said, dropping his fork on the table with a clack. “You need to leave that bitch alone.”

  “Blake,” his mother acknowledged, tipping her head toward Janey.

  “I’ve heard the word ‘bitch’ before, Mama,” she said with her guileless smile. “And ‘shit’ and ‘f—’ ”

  “Janey! Enough. Where have you heard that language? Has Pax—”

  “You, Mama.”

  Pax started to laugh, but Blake pushed to his feet and glared at him. “Stay away from Gemma. She’ll wave those big fake tits in your direction and then holler rape when you touch them. I need a drink.” He stalked over to the small fridge built into the buffet.

  “Only one,” Tracy snapped, coming back into the dining room.

  Blake’s jaw tensed so hard that Pax expected it to make a snapping sound. Anger simmered in his eyes as he slowly took out a beer. He visibly swallowed that anger, as he’d done a million times. Pax felt a similar fire ignite in his gut. He’d never seen Gemma flaunt her boobs. In fact, she’d always seemed self-conscious about them, which, when he thought about it, negated the story about them being fake. Pax’s heart began to beat heavy and slow. And if Blake lied about her admitting to a boob job…

  Mama turned to Janey. “Honey, it’s time for the grown-ups to talk. No need for you to hear this unpleasant stuff.” As Janey was about to object, Mama added, “That’s not a suggestion.”

  Janey reluctantly left the room. In this case, though, Pax agreed. She shouldn’t be subjected to their hateful bullshit.

  “Give me one,” Dad said, holding out his hand for the bottle Blake had just opened.

  If Blake compressed his lips any more, they’d disappear entirely. He shoved his freshly opened beer toward their father. Then he grabbed another one, popped the cap, and took a long swig.

  Man up, Pax wanted to say.

  I need to be a man, dammit. I need a relationship where I’m the one giving the orders. Blake’s angry words floated through his mind.

  “Close the refrigerator,” Mama ordered.

  The last time Pax saw Blake this tense, he’d rammed his body into a tree. He tipped the bottle back again, his fingers clenched on the glass. Only after that drink did he ask, “Pax, you want one?”

  “Yes, thanks.” He desperately needed one.

  Blake handed him the half-empty bottle, glancing to make sure Tracy didn’t notice. Then he snatched a new one and opened it. Slammed the door closed and sank back into his chair.

  Pax had seen this dynamic play out plenty of times. It had bothered him, sure, but now it chewed away at him. He finished his beer and went for a fresh one.

  “Pax, goodness,” his mother admonished. “You just got one.”

  “I’m thirsty,” Pax said, nailing Blake with a look. It hit him that his brother was passive-aggressive just like their mother. And he felt not a speck of remorse for making Pax look bad. Despite his need for alcohol at that moment, Pax set the unopened beer on the table in front of him when he returned to his seat.

  I need to be a man, dammit. I need a relationship where I’m the one giving the orders.

  Blake’s defense of his cheating echoed in Pax’s mind again. Along with the shame on Lily’s face. Not the face of a woman who was coming on to her boss. Not a woman who even wanted to have sex with her boss. Pax had learned how to read people in the line of duty. He knew liars, knew how people gave away their guilt. Covered their sins with excuses and justifications. He saw that now with Blake. An emasculated man who needed to give orders. To be in control.

  Pax knew a victim’s pain, too. The hard grit of it in someone’s eyes, even as she claimed to be all right. He’d seen that in Gemma.

  Pax’s stomach churned. “You know, Blake, I never once saw Gemma flaunting her boobs. She covered them up, as I recall.”

  “Then you remember wrong. She was always thrusting them out, showing them off.”

  Even that first night they’d met, when she’d been all goth candy, she hadn’t flaunted them. An
d she’d sure as hell been interested in him. “Did she really admit she’d had a boob job?”

  “Yep. That night on the beach, when she was all hot and horny.”

  That didn’t sound like Gemma at all. But lying, and remembering things the way he wanted, sounded a lot like Blake.

  Hell.

  “Pax, being around her might actually be a good idea,” his dad said, surprising him out of his dark thoughts. “Get the whore to confess. Make her kneel down and beg our forgiveness. And record it. Put it out on social media. Then nobody will have a doubt.”

  “Not that anyone believed her anyway,” Mama said with a self-righteous nod.

  Blake shook his head. “We need to let sleeping dogs lie. Shit, I don’t want to dredge that up again.” Interesting that Blake, as vindictive as their Dad, wanted to leave the situation be. “It’s bad enough that she’s back. She looks totally different, too. Real short hair, darker blond.”

  Pax’s eyes felt as though they’d bugged right out of his head. “How do you know what she looks like?”

  Blake shrank under the question. “Emily saw her at the hospital and gave her a piece of her mind.”

  Hell. Pax could well imagine that mouthy woman calling Gemma a liar and a lot of other things.

  Blake went on, oblivious of Pax’s distress. “For a long time, I blamed Emily for bringing that slut into our social circle. But that wasn’t fair, really. Turns out she’s a good friend. She called to tell me Gemma was visiting her dad. I just wanted to put eyes on her—”

  “You saw her.” It wasn’t a question. “You saw Gemma.”

  “I…yeah, I saw her. Just so I’d know what she looks like nowadays, and then I could avoid her. Like you said to,” he added when he saw that Pax was livid.

  Pax was trying to remain calm. “Did she see you?”

  “Maybe,” Blake said, drawing the word out. His shoulders dropped. “Yeah, she saw me. Emily had this idea about intimidating her and hauled me into the café, where Gemma was waiting in line. It was no big deal. I didn’t say anything to her.”

  It may not have been a big deal to Blake, but given the look on her face when Pax told her Blake was still in town, it would have been a big deal for her. Pax downed the rest of his beer. “I gotta go.”

  “Where are you going?” his dad asked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were rushing back to comfort the whore.”

  Pax winced at the last word, ground out like a cigarette butt beneath a shoe. “You think whatever the hell you want. I’m done with this conversation.”

  Chapter 7

  Gemma threw herself into preparing the room. The task gave her something to focus on, other than playing the scene in the café over and over, with alternate endings. Of course, it wasn’t working entirely, and she was still trembling a little from seeing the man who’d caused her so much pain. Blake couldn’t hurt her, but he made her insides tighten and her stomach churn.

  Focus, focus, focus. Two inches of dust, thanks to the demolition, gone. Sheets changed, comforter shaken out. Her phone was playing “angsty music,” as her mom called it, through the external speaker. Anastacia’s “Left Outside Alone,” the Veronicas’ “You Ruin Me,” and Kyla La Grange’s “Cut Your Teeth.” Old and new, a collection she’d grown over the years.

  Tears burned in her eyes, and she swiped at them. Dammit, what was the point of all that therapy if seeing the man could throw her? Thank God Pax wasn’t here. She was on his side of the B&B, so avoiding him would be difficult. Maybe he’d been concerned when she left the track in a tizzy, but he wouldn’t be sympathetic over her reaction to seeing his “innocent” brother.

  She jammed her fingers beneath the mattress to tighten the top sheet. While Emily and all the others had believed Blake’s version of the story, he knew the truth. Maybe he’d convinced himself that it was consensual. Isn’t that what Pax had said earlier, something about believing the lies we tell ourselves? Rage burned through her.

  “Chains,” she belted out to Tori Amos’s “Crucify.”

  “Knock knock.”

  She spun, her heart pounding as she faced Pax leaning against the doorframe, a hesitant expression on his face. She wondered if he’d left a gap in the opening, an escape route, on purpose? Probably not.

  His fingers curled around the frame above his head. “I tried to warn you as I was coming closer, but you obviously didn’t hear me.” He tipped his chin toward her phone.

  She caught her breath as she turned down the volume. “I thought you were going to be late.”

  “I can only take so much family time.”

  “When I was the juicy topic of conversation?” She hated the way her voice thickened. She smoothed her hands over the sheets, remembering something her father had taught her when she lived here: look for hairs or fuzz that had made it through the wash. She tried to focus only on a tiny speck of lint and not on Pax.

  “I heard you saw Blake today.” He said it softly but without emotion.

  “Yep.”

  “You okay?”

  “I was prepared.”

  “But it shook you up anyway.”

  She wanted to deny it, but the line about the lies echoed again. “A little.”

  “A lot. You’ve smoothed out that corner a dozen times.”

  She had to look at him now. “It threw me. Is that what you want to hear? Because you think seeing him made me regret accusing him? That’s not why.”

  He took one step into the room. “Why did it throw you?”

  She tossed the comforter over the bed. “Mostly, it made me mad. Because after all the therapy I went through it affected me like it just happened. I’ve processed the actual date rape.” She tugged the corner down over the edge of the bed. “It’s the part I didn’t even know bothered me that’s hard to deal with: that people don’t believe me, that they think I was the villain. That you don’t believe me. Which is silly, because we had a moment in a racecar. A soul-searing connection, yes, but it was only that moment. So it shouldn’t matter that you don’t believe me.

  “I don’t blame you,” she went on, the words tumbling out now as she made her way around the bed and closer to the door. “Blood is thicker than water and all that. You weren’t one of the people posting that I should kill myself. Calling me a whore to my face, like Emily did. Then and now.” Her laugh sounded twenty kinds of bitter. She pounded the pillows in an attempt to fluff them before covering them with the comforter but ended up leaving a crater in the middle. “To you, to everyone here, I was the needy, desperate, maybe crazy whore.” She laughed. “Well, the joke was on all of you, because I was a friggin’ virgin.”

  That last word exploded in the room, the debris of it floating in the silence. Why had she revealed that? “Please, leave,” she said, focusing on evening out the sides of the comforter. “I want to be alone.” That was an understatement, though. She needed to be alone. Needed to not be here with Pax.

  She stilled at the feel of his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry Emily and Blake did that to you.”

  Air shuddered from her lungs at his words, his gentle touch. Don’t crumble. Don’t you dare fall apart in front of him. “Please, please leave before I shatter. I’m trying hard to hold it together.”

  “Maybe you need to shatter.”

  She spun, holding on to a thread of anger to keep from falling apart. “What would you know about—”

  He pulled her close, his hand loosely placed on the back of her neck. She could escape, if she wanted to. Did she? Yes, her mind screamed. But her body stiffened, fighting her.

  “I don’t know anything about shattering,” he said, his breath caressing her ear. “But I know when someone needs to give in instead of resisting.”

  “I need to resist,” she whispered. “I need to…”

  Her body wilted against his, betraying her. Taking that as a signal of surrender, he draped his other arm around her. Still loose, still giving her an out. But, God help her, she didn’t want out. She squ
eezed her eyes shut and fought the meltdown.

  “You need this,” he whispered.

  I need you. She couldn’t voice that confession, but she brought her hands up to his back. The move put her face against his chest, hard and unyielding. Strong and reliable. If she stayed here for a few seconds, she could gather herself. Pull in that strong part she’d been tapping for so long.

  He didn’t move a muscle, as though he were afraid that if he did she would bolt. She should bolt. She searched her psyche for some resistance to being held. It had to be there. That was what she needed right then, the reason her previous not-quite boyfriends said she was too closed up. Uptight. The way she always stiffened when they tried to hold her. But now her fingers involuntarily tightened against Pax’s back. Itching to pull him closer, not push him farther away.

  Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t take the signal and hold her tighter. As though…he knew. But he couldn’t know how sensitive she was about being physically confined.

  So why was he doing this? Did he pity the emotionally insecure, disillusioned girl? Even that suspicion couldn’t make her move out of this heavenly embrace. How long had it been since someone held her this long? Since being held felt good and not just barely tolerable?

  “Why are you being nice to me?” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You’re supposed to hate me.”

  He inhaled, which drew their bodies closer. Then released the breath and rested his head on top of hers. “Because I believe you.”

  The words dropped one at a time, hollow and heavy at the same time. She had to have misheard him.

  She forced herself to step back, and the agony on his face was all the confirmation she needed. “You…believe me.” She didn’t need to ask, but she had to say the words aloud.

  “I just realized I’ve been lying to myself all these years. Ignoring the whispers in my head. It was easier to assume you’d misinterpreted. What else could I think? He’s my brother, and I’d never seen his need to control, to take what he wanted. Until recently.”

  “So when you said that sometimes we tell ourselves lies because the truth sucks…you were talking about telling yourself lies?”