Still Falling (Falling Series Book 2)

by Lucia Grace

  So I just took it. Every time.

  Even at that age I tried to keep my parents away from the dirty he made me feel. So I became the laid-back guy I am today. I became charismatic and charming to mask the ugly I lived through for seven months. My parents thought it was cute, even then I felt pathetic. I felt tainted and hurt.

  Vile.

  Then out of nowhere, later that year, he died of a massive heart attack. Saving me, or so I thought. I thought I’d be free. But the dirty he tainted me with lived on well after he died. I could have told, could have confessed my darkest days to my parents, to some form of authority. But his hold held tight, and then the more time that passed, the dirtier I felt. So I kept it locked tight.

  As months turned to years and the jokes and charm weren’t enough, I found the pleasure of sinking into a girl and the satisfaction of making them squirm. At age thirteen I lost my virginity and never looked back. Girl after girl, then woman after woman. Each was used to block out the bad, the dirty, and make me feel more like a man.

  And then there was Tracey. My saving grace and guiding light. My ace of hearts. At eight years old she flipped my world on its axis. She made me see the good in the world, in people. But she also reminded me that no matter what happened for the rest of my life, whether I became a cop or not, whether I became a good man or not, that none of it would matter because I’d never be good enough for her. Not ever.

  He made sure of that.

  “Because they helped me hide the filth of my past and made me feel like a man,” he chokes out. Dropping his head in defeat.

  “What…” I trail off. Uncertain of what I just heard. Shocking me to my core.

  What is he talking about?

  “So as much as I want to tell you that I regret all of them. Or that I wish you could have been my first. I fucking can’t.” He drops his head forward, as if his broad shoulders aren’t strong enough to hold it up. Bringing both hands to the back of his neck. Squeezing tight.

  “But why?” My quiet question has him lifting his head. “What drove you to sleeping your way through high school, through life, and kept us apart? Why don’t you regret it? Why can’t you?”

  Anger clouds his features. Gone is the soft and tender man I’ve known these last few months; winning me over and capturing my heart for good. Gone is the anguish that weighed him down just moments ago. And in its place is a man possessed by fury that’s fueled by his past.

  “You want to know why I’ve never made my move? Why I’ve always kept you at a distance and sunk myself deep in random pussy? You want the fucking truth, Tracey? Huh? You wanna know why I need a line of easy women on tap to keep me fucking happy?”

  Tracey. We’re back there again.

  “It’s because I’m a dirty fucking disgrace of a man, that’s why!” he roars.

  I just stare at him. Body trembling. Mind reeling. Pulse pounding. Heart breaking. My breath trapped in my lungs waiting for him to drop the proverbial bomb I can feel coming.

  And then it detonates.

  “I was my grandfather’s plaything at the age of six. At six fucking years old I allowed that old fucking pervert to touch me. To degrade me. To make me fucking dirty.”

  Oh God.

  I’m sobbing now. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. A river of tears rush down my face. “Damon…” I trail off. Because what is there to say?

  “NO! Don’t you dare fucking pity me!” The rage in his eyes causes me to falter and take a step back. But my tears, they keep falling.

  “Damon…it wasn’t your fault. You know that, don’t you? You were just a kid. Practically a baby still.”

  “I was old enough to know better, Tracey. Old enough to know it was wrong. Yet still naïve enough to allow it to happen.” His beautiful hazel eyes glaze over.

  “But you were just a kid, Damon. A little boy who had every right to trust him. To never fear him. It wasn’t, and isn’t, your fault that he took that away. That he took away your innocence and purity and tainted it with his filth. That isn’t on you, baby. Not on you at all.” My tone is sure and strong, yet pleading. Because I need him to hear me. I need him to understand.

  “He touched me.” Whispering words full of despair so deep, it cuts through my soul like a million knives. I’m trying to be strong. But it’s getting harder and harder to manage. ”He touched me and I let him.” He looks over at me. A tear rolls down his cheek.

  And my resolve, from moments ago to be stronger, shatters. Disintegrates to dust as his lone tear falls from his anguished face that quickly morphs into rage all over again.

  “You’ve kept this hidden for all these years? Haven’t you? You haven’t told anyone, have you?” I question quietly as the realization dawns on me. He’s carried this with him for more than sixteen years. The weight of misplaced shame and disgust, the pain and hurt tearing him down.

  He violently shakes his head. I’m not sure if he’s answering me or warding off my question. He doesn’t say a word. Then he speaks, and shreds my heart even more. “I’m fucking filthy. Tainted. Vile. I’m no fucking good. Especially not for you.” His chest is heaving. His eyes wild. I can see his pulse thrumming in his neck all the way from across the room. His muscles straining. He’s about to lose it and I have no idea how to stop it. But damn do I try.

  “Damon, listen to me.” I step forward, right into his space. I lay my hands on his strong arms, testing my touch to his skin. He’s trembling. I then hesitantly bring my hands to his scruffy cheeks. “Look at me.” His eyes cut to mine. “What happened to you was not your fault.”

  I hold his stare. Imploring with my eyes that I mean those words with all my heart.

  “It may not have been my fault. But I never did anything to stop it. I never did anything to serve retribution to the sick fuck who took advantage of me. I never did anything to purge his filth from my system…” He trails off. Roughly shaking his head, dislodging my hands from his face. His eyes stay on mine. “Not until I found my worth again between the thighs of the first girl I fucked. Even at thirteen I realized that I could be the man I had always thought I’d grow to be as long as I could pleasure a woman.”

  I flinch. His words sting. But I know that’s his anger and regret talking. Not my Damon.

  “So that’s what I did. Got lost in pussy to gain back my man card and not feel like the filthy little boy my perverted, pedophiliac of a grandfather made me feel.” He ends on a roar. Rattling the walls.

  My stomach revolts. Bile rises, but I swallow it down.

  “I’m fucking broken, Tracey. Nothing but tattered pieces of flesh and bone bound by the filth of my past.”

  “You’re not broken, Damon. How could you be when you survived? You’re here. Breathing. Living. Being.”

  How did we end up here? From the slutty nurse to this. Our relationship disintegrating right in front of my eyes.

  I swallow hard. The pain on his face and of his words almost too much to bear. The reality of his past like a dagger through my still beating heart. “And it’s okay to break, baby. You don’t need to carry this on your own anymore. You aren’t alone.” He scoffs, but I continue on anyway. “Just because you break doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

  “Breaking is weakness, Tracey. And even then I vowed I’d never be weak again.” He shakes his head roughly from side to side. “And I’m not fucking living. I’m merely fucking existing.” He pauses. “Until…” Trailing off, his eyes cut to me before hitting the floor.

  Anticipation claws its way through my body. “What? Until what?”

  Please say me. Please, God, let it be me who makes him feel alive.

  He makes a sound of disgust and shakes his head. “I can’t fucking do this,” he mutters. Large hands running over his short, buzzed head. His rough hands sounding like sandpaper against the coarse hair.

  “You can’t do what?” I hiccup through a sob. Wishing more than anything that he finished his last statement. My arms wrap tightly around my midsection in a lame attempt
of holding myself together. I’d give anything for it to be his arms wrapped around me.

  “This. I can’t fucking do this! Be in this relationship with you. Be this man you want me to be, that you think I am,” he yells. His chest heaves. “I just split myself wide fucking open and bared my soul to you.” He tosses his arms out wide to his sides. “Shared my filth. Dumped it at your feet. And you’re—”

  “Standing right here,” I exclaim, pounding a hand to my chest. “I’m standing right fucking here. Proving that I’m not going anywhere. That I won’t go anywhere. That I’m right here with you, for you, loving you. I’ll slay your demons, hold your heart, and cherish your soul. Just let me in so I can.”

  He shakes his head in disgust. Pacing the floor. “Yeah, well sometimes this shit isn’t enough, Tracey.”

  My heart shatters for the lost and scared little boy who was robbed of so much. Of his innocence. Of his childhood. Of his self-worth. And for the grown man who’s allowing himself to lose out on so much more. Happiness. Acceptance. Love.

  “Let me love you whole again.” I look at him. Pleading. Hoping. Praying. That I can get through to him. I need him to hear me. Need him to understand. “If you think you’re broken, that you’re anything less than everything I’ve ever wanted, then let my love show you how whole you really are. How you’re absolutely everything to me.”

  He’s shaking his head even before I finish talking. Adamant on keeping me at a distance. “You can’t. It won’t happen and I can’t let you try. Because there’s no way I could ever forgive myself for dragging you down with me.”

  The anguish that crosses his face makes it hard to breathe.

  “I’ve been loving you all along, Damon. What changes if you allow yourself to feel it all and love me back?”

  He moves to the door. His back to me. Hand to the knob. He speaks without turning.

  “Because I can’t risk you walking out. It would destroy me. So I’m making the decision for us both.”

  And then he’s gone. Taking my heart with him.

  Slamming the door to my truck, I start the engine, back out, then peel off down the road. I turn the radio up to earsplitting levels, hoping to drown out the demons wreaking havoc on my mind and on my heart. The replays of my childhood are still so fresh my body aches. It’s like they happened yesterday.

  But the one thing that used to quiet my horrors is no fucking use, because nothing can drown out the visions of Ace breaking down in front of me. When we first got home, to me baring my soul, to her realization that I was leaving and walking out on her.

  You don’t need to carry this on your own anymore. You’re not alone. Just because you break doesn’t mean you’re broken.

  Fuck. I slam my fist to the steering wheel as tears burn my eyes. I can hear her sweet voice as if she’s right next to me. Her words slicing through me like a hot fucking knife.

  I fight back the shame and pain, allowing my anger to rise and take their place.

  Breaking is fucking weakness—doesn’t she realize that? If I allow myself to feel the pain, the disgust, and shame, then I’m allowing it to control me, and I refuse to be controlled ever a-fucking-gain.

  The filth that man made me feel, made me become. A man whom I should have looked up to and admired, felt safe around, protected by.

  Bile rises from my churning gut, but I swallow it down harshly. Not willing to give him anything. Not even that.

  He turned me into trash, made me turn into myself and keep myself hidden; only allowing people to see what I wanted them to see. Jokes and charm. And then when that wasn’t enough, I went looking for comfort elsewhere and found it between a girl’s thighs. I never looked back. Those girls and women made me feel like the man that fucking pervert robbed me of becoming, even at six.

  The road becomes a blurred haze in front of me. I blink rapidly, clearing the tears and the burn. He deserves nothing from me.

  As my eyes clear, a vision of Ace takes focus and my heart shatters, my gut churns, and my eyes burn all over again.

  She’s been nothing but the fucking perfection she is. Giving herself over to me completely, even when she knew I was holding so much back. Accepting me and what I was willing to give her, as if I was giving her the fucking world on a silver platter when all I was giving her was me.

  And now, standing by me, because I know she will. Just like she said she would. She’d stand tall next to me. Help me overcome my past, help me heal, and love me through it. Because that’s what she does.

  Her touch. Her love. It soothes the ache in my chest. Quiets the demons of my mind. Yet sets my soul on fire all at once. She’s my reason. My ace of hearts.

  And like a blow to the chest, it all becomes fucking clear. She’s my fucking reason, the air I breathe. Ace, my girl, she is absolutely everything perfect and fucking good in this world.

  And I just tossed her aside like she was nothing.

  God fucking damn it.

  Checking my side mirror, I see no one is behind me and slam on my breaks. I pull a U-turn right there, almost ending up in the ditch with my careless efforts.

  But I don’t give a fuck. I need to get to her. Apologize. Set shit straight.

  I never should have made her feel that way. Never should have dropped the fucking bomb of my past, let my anger take over, and walked out. She didn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve it.

  I may be tainted, fucking unworthy of her, but I’m a selfish bastard that can’t let her go.

  Pulling into my driveway, not ten minutes later, I see the house lit up but Ace’s car is gone.

  No. No, no fucking hell no.

  I leave the truck running while I run up to the front door and throw it open. Not even realizing that it wasn’t locked.

  “Ace?” I scream so loud I’m surprised the windows don’t shatter. “Ace, sweetheart!”

  Nothing. Dead fucking silence.

  I tear through the house and shoulder the bedroom door open. The same bedroom we started sharing together a couple short weeks ago.

  All of her girlie shit is off the bureau.

  Rushing into the bathroom, I flick the light switch to see the rest of her girlie shit is gone, too.

  The closet is much of the same. Only a few of her things remain. Shirts and pants hang in disarray.

  How the fuck did she manage to gather that much shit and leave in less than thirty minutes?

  It doesn’t fucking matter, asshole, because she did it. Now how the fuck are you going to make this right?

  Panic thrashes through my body. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm.

  Fuck. She thinks I don’t want her. She thinks I’m done, that I want my old lifestyle when all I fucking want is her.

  Panic claws at me. Then a thought hits me.

  Ember’s.

  She wouldn’t bother her parents with this because she knows I’d show up. Eventually. And she canceled her fucking lease last week, after I asked her to move in with me. Fucking Christ. She has to be at Ember’s.

  Running my hands over my head then squeezing the back of my neck, I tip my head back then let out a roar. So fucking pissed at myself for fucking things up like I knew I would.

  Turning around, I fly through the house. Knocking shit over in my haste to leave. Once I get to my truck, I haul ass back down the road with only one thing on my mind.

  Ace. And getting her back.

  My fist is pounding the wood so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t splinter beneath my fist.

  “Ace, sweetheart, I know you’re in there, baby,” I yell as I continue to knock.

  The door rattles on its hinges. I know Kayson isn’t home, he has a shift tonight, but even if he were I’d still be pounding the fuck out of this door until he or Em answered.

  “Ace!”

  I’m getting ready to say the fuck with it and kick the fucking door in when it swings open and standing in the doorway is one pissed off Ember.

  “What the hell do you want, Damon?”

  Before I can a
nswer, I see two figures step up behind her. Sam and Amber. The fucking cavalry.

  I didn’t even notice their cars in the driveway. Too frantic and focused on getting to Ace to pay any attention to anything else.

  Amber just shakes her head then turns and takes off down the hall. No doubt heading toward my girl. My feet itch to barrel past Em and Sam to get to her. But I stay rooted in place.

  I don’t move my eyes from the hallway Amber just walked down as I say, “Let me see her.” My voice thick with need and regret.

  “Not a chance in hell.” Ember just stares at me as Sam speaks up, walking out of the door to face me.

  She steps forward, stepping toe to toe with me on the front porch. She looks up into my eyes, hard glare in place. “I told you what would happen if you fucking hurt her.”

  I stare down at her. My own hard glare in place. Refusing to be bothered by this tough guy routine she’s trying to portray.

  “I fucked up. I know I did. Now let me see her.” I look over Sam’s head at Ember. Knowing she’s the levelheaded one of the two.

  “Again, not a chance in hell.” I look back down to Sam as she takes a step back from me, arms crossed over her chest, taking up a defensive stance. As if she’s blocking my entrance. “Have you seen what you’ve done to her? What you’ve reduced her to?”

  Her words deliver the low blow she was looking for. My chest tightens at envisioning her in tears and in pain.

  I shake my head roughly then pull my hands down my face before grabbing the back of my neck. Squeezing tight.

  “I need to fucking see her. So either let me in or tell her I’m here so she can choose for herself.” I begin pacing the small space of the porch. My agitation escalating. My need to see Ace threatening to split my skin.

  “You have a lot of fucking nerve making demands, asshole. She doesn’t want to see you. She told us herself if you showed up to tell you to get lost.”

  Sam’s lying. I know she is, I can see it on her face. But I don’t call her on it because I know she’s just protecting her friend. Yet, I can’t help but want to roar out in anger that no one ever has to protect her from me.