by J. Emery
Freedom in Falling
J. Emery
Published by Still Life Press, 2021.
FREEDOM IN FALLING
By J. Emery
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Ali Williams and Tabitha O’Connell
Cover designed by Sarah Waites, Illustrated Page Book Design
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition August, 2021
Copyright © 2021 by J. Emery
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Freedom in Falling
CHAPTER ONE | This Is Not a Meet-Cute
CHAPTER TWO | Everything But More So
CHAPTER THREE | Side Eyes Emoji
CHAPTER FOUR | With A Side Order Of Nope
CHAPTER FIVE | Think Before You Speak
CHAPTER SIX | Well. This Is Going Well
CHAPTER SEVEN | But Don't Overthink It
CHAPTER EIGHT | Downtime
CHAPTER NINE | Bending
CHAPTER TEN | Question Marks
CHAPTER ELEVEN | Peach Emoji, Eggplant Emoji
CHAPTER TWELVE | Dangerous Apps
CHAPTER THIRTEEN | A Skip, Hop, And A Jump To Conclusions
CHAPTER FOURTEEN | We All Fall Down
CHAPTER FIFTEEN | Picassiette
CHAPTER SIXTEEN | Dawn
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | The Curtain
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STILL NEED MORE?
Also By J. Emery
To Corey and late night writing sprints
Content notes:
This book includes sex and sexual situations, light kink including bondage, mentions of emotional abuse by family, depression, anxiety/anxiety attacks, and alcohol consumption
CHAPTER ONE
This Is Not a Meet-Cute
Someone was staring at him. West Daley felt it even without raising his eyes from the book in his hand and, when he finally glanced up to locate the source, he found that he didn't entirely mind.
The owner of the insistent stare sat two tables over in the coffee shop, nursing an iced drink with a brightly colored straw poking out of it. West visited this coffee shop at least once a week, since it was near his apartment, but he hadn't seen that face or that stare before. It was just that memorable. The man had cheekbones for days and an untidy ruffle of honey brown hair, the kind of style that looked slept in and effortless but West knew from his own attempts really wasn't. And despite the winter chill, he was in a t-shirt. West just made out the line of a tattoo marching down his arm beneath the short sleeve. Words maybe or something strange and minimalist. He looked the type. And for West that type had always been "look, but don't touch."
Before West could turn away again, their eyes met. Every bit of breath left his body as the other man smiled with a broad—satisfied—curve of his full lips, the kind of smile that knew things it shouldn't, and gave a cheerful wag of his fingers while West sat frozen. Caught. Imagining the first taste of those lips. The rough touch of those fingers holding him. Crushing him. Molding him while West returned the favor and traced every line of that perfect body with the kind of reverence he'd once reserved for church. Holy things. His hands tingled with the phantom touch.
He wasn't one to fantasize. Never had been. But for the two seconds that their gazes locked he considered changing that. He wanted to change.
But he couldn't.
West dropped his eyes. He ducked back into his book, forcing himself to focus on the words swimming across the page instead of the red hot blush creeping up his neck because oh God it wasn't often he used the word gorgeous, but West would use it this time. On him. Whoever he was.
West would happily use plenty of other things on him too.
Look, but don't touch.
It had only been a quick look, but it was enough. West would carry the memory of that smile and those mischievous green eyes, that crinkled at the corners, to his grave.
West's fingers tightened on his book. He'd come out to drink coffee and read, to forget about the nightmare his family was about to become. Again. He'd been working hard on willful forgetfulness when that first prickle of awareness had washed all of it away and replaced it with hunger. He kind of wanted to go back to that. Maybe if he did less of his thinking with his brain he'd be happier.
Other people probably looked forward to visits from absent family members. West wondered what that was like. His older brother Reese wasn't exactly estranged, but he was close enough that the distinction barely mattered. Two years he'd gone without a visit. Sporadic phone calls and Christmas cards and occasional updates in passing filled the space Reese once had. Two years of peace. West should have appreciated it more while it lasted.
Too late for that now.
The countdown to Reese's return had the suspicious cadence of a death march. Maybe he was being dramatic. His mother would say he was.
It was only one visit. A couple weeks so they could "catch up" and then go back to ignoring each other as nature intended. West could do that. He'd managed longer before. Days and weeks and months and years of the little digs that Reese was so good at, the kind that shrank West down into manageable size and kept him there, flattened like a penny on railroad tracks.
After this visit Reese would be on a plane and with any luck not return for another two years. Like one of those special holidays. Or leap year. Four years was a nice round number. Maybe he could convince Reese to try that out.
Or maybe things would be better this time.
His hope was the biggest lie.
West grabbed his cappuccino and took a sip, frowning. It had gone cold already, thanks to the draft wafting its way around the coffee shop; no surprise with all the windows and the door opening as people came and went. Generally, he liked the place. The coffee was good. The atmosphere was quiet. Soft folk rock and pop played in the background. Art hung on the walls and tacky fake flowers sat in vases on the tables. It was nice to sit in a room full of people and not be expected to talk to any of them. He could be alone without being completely alone the way he would be in his apartment. His sister Charlotte was always telling him to get out more. Well, now he had. Unfortunately it had failed at easing the tension buzzing in his brain. He hadn't been able to settle even before realizing he was under scrutiny. Delicious scrutiny.
Like a compass needle pointing north, West's gaze drifted two tables over. The staring had stopped—temporarily at least—and now the gorgeous man sat in profile. The bright white winter sun from outside haloed his hair and his features so that he looked like a work of art. One of those religious icons. The kind with cherubs and scudding white clouds and eyes turned heavenward in beatific ecstasy. There was nothing angelic about him, but with the right choir... maybe.
He tried not to dwell on the mystery of what those thick brown waves would feel like clenched between his fingers.
With every ounce of logic he possessed, West noted the fact that there was another man sitting at the table with him, this one a little less showy, hair a little darker and loosely curly. A friend maybe? There was something about the way they were sitting that said "not boyfriend". And it wasn't like he had a personal stake in it anyway. They hadn't even spoken. They weren't going to. West had come here to be alone-yet-not-alone and he was busy with that. Very busy.
West turned a page.
An obscenely long stare from across the coffee shop did not a date make. But maybe it didn't hurt to look. Just
once more. So he did.
NOAH MARTEL SET HIS chin atop a fist and snickered at the bookworm and his pretty pink blush sitting across the coffee shop. While Noah watched, the bookworm dragged a hand through his loose shoulder length hair, pulling it back off his forehead and tucking the strands behind his ear. The wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose twinkled as he shifted and Noah considered what he would look like out of the glasses and the button down. Or maybe with the glasses on and the shirt off. The glasses were working for him. Just how far down did that blush go? Noah could imagine tracing his fingers over collar bones and down the bookworm's chest, searching for the end of that flush like trying to find the pot of gold at the end of rainbow.
"Are you listening?" Liam asked from the seat beside him. His eyes weren't smiling now. Noah didn't even have to look. He could hear the frown in his brother's voice. Frowning audibly was a skill he'd cultivated over decades and it had only been honed to a razor's edge in the subsequent years that Liam had been teaching high school. Noah called it the Teacher Voice. It had probably put the fear of lunch detentions into scores of teenage hearts.
"Nope," Noah assured his brother, still watching and waiting for the next peek from the bookworm. It would come. He was sure of it. He wanted to be watching when it did.
"Well, at least you're honest." Liam sighed. They both knew he was just as bored with all the talk of wedding planning as Noah was, he was just better at pretending that he gave a shit about floral arrangements and tux rentals and... Noah wasn't totally sure about what came after that. He hadn't been listening. He had tried for a good minute or three. But it wasn't even going to be a fun wedding. The wedding was for their elder brother, Eli, and he didn't know the meaning of the word. Eli had always taken his role as oldest brother and unimpeachable authority on everything and used it to bludgeon them into doing what he wanted. This was just example number five thousand and whatever. "I didn't invite you for coffee so you could ignore me. I thought we might talk. Exchange actual words. Like normal people do."
Noah snorted. "You're talking. I'm pretending to listen. Isn't that close enough?"
"Not this time. It's Eli's wedding. You ditched everything else so far; you can't skip out on the actual ceremony too."
"If you try hard enough and believe in yourself, anything is possible, Liam. You know that."
"He'll never speak to you again if you don't show up."
"Really not helping your case any," Noah told him, finally glancing back towards his brother. He did look mildly concerned. Noah took a long pull from his drink, enjoying the sweet rush of sugar and caffeine. It helped to soothe him. He smiled at Liam around the straw. "What did he say exactly? Did Eli actually say the words 'never speak to Noah again'? Or are you just assuming?"
"Do you remember that time you borrowed his car without asking and someone keyed it?"
"That was a very important supply run," Noah pointed out. "And I only took his because he blocked me into the driveway. I still hold that it was fair play. But yes. I remember that."
"He looked like that."
"Oh." Noah nibbled at his straw, brow furrowed in thought. "I don't suppose he'd believe I had a business trip someplace far away and impossible to return from on short notice. With palm trees. I'd like to pretend to see palm trees."
"You don't go anywhere."
"Yes, I do. I go plenty of places."
Liam stared at him in silence. Then he took a drink of his black coffee. Staring. Unblinking. He was still going strong when Noah finally broke eye contact. Damn him and his superior eye lubrication.
"Fuck. Fine. I'll go. Stop staring at me." He balled up a napkin and threw it in Liam's face. It bounced off his chin and dropped onto the table without getting a reaction. "I don't even know why he wants me to be there. The second I open my mouth he'll be all over me."
"You could always try not intentionally pissing him off," Liam suggested, to which Noah immediately replied with a snort. "Just a thought. But it's his wedding. Of course, he wants you there."
There was no noise big enough to express his skepticism so Noah let it go with a few more grumbling noises. Secretly he was pleased. Not that he would have to play the kindly baby brother at Eli's wedding—he could live a happy life without ever doing that—but there was a certain comfort in familial blackmail as enacted by Liam. At least they still cared. They hadn't forgotten him. That had to count for something. The wedding and the matching reception would be a nightmare, but he could suck it up for a few hours, look fabulous doing it, and then go on his merry way. Hopefully Eli wasn't planning on making this a regular thing. He'd never struck as Noah as the wandering type, but there was no telling anymore. They'd barely spoken outside of family gatherings in years. He might have changed.
While he considered, Noah's gaze wandered back to the more interesting territory a few tables over. The large cappuccino mug remained untouched while book pages had been shifted from one side to the other. Noah eyed the cover of the paperback, but there were too many fingers obscuring the title. He bet it was something classic and stodgy. The bookworm probably got himself into a froth over Hemingway or some shit. He had no idea what the intellectuals were reading these days. But every so often chocolatey brown eyes flicked up from the page and found Noah before darting away again. It was adorable really. The glasses and the coy looks and the unexpectedly long brown hair. Just the right length to thread his fingers through and tug.
Noah stretched out a leg and hunkered down in his chair while he tried to measure the odds of getting shot down. They seemed reasonable if the everbearing blush was anything to go by. There was nothing disinterested about that blush.
"There's one other thing," Liam said, and Noah tipped his head back towards his brother though his eyes stayed on the prize.
"Oh? What's this thing?"
"Meryl asked if you would take pictures at the reception."
Noah gasped so hard he almost inhaled his straw. His blended coffee lodged in his throat. Ice crystals sandpapered all the way down to his lungs. "Have you all lost your damn minds?" he hissed. Or tried to hiss. It came out a strangled wheeze as he continued choking on his drink. A knife of pain from the cold split his head. He whimpered and squeezed his temples.
He didn't have anything in particular against Meryl having only met Eli's fiancée the one time, but still no. Only a handful of people were privy to the exact nature of Noah's photography business. Most of them were friends, not family, and they had all been warned to expect no favors just because Noah knew his way around a camera.
"Who told her what I do?"
"Don't look at me. I don't know who tipped her off, but she knows now and she begged me to ask you. Maybe she thought you would be 'happy' about it." Liam set down his mug to inject the necessary air quotes without any marked change in his expression. "People are usually happy about being included in family events."
"Not this people."
"Come on. You can play nice for one day, can't you? She probably doesn't want much. Snap a couple pics, smile pretty, and you're done. And what the hell are you looking at? I'm trying to talk to you," Liam snapped, finally losing his near limitless patience.
Noah smacked his hand away when his brother tried shaking him by the shoulder. "I'm busy."
Liam leaned over to follow the line of Noah's stare. As he did, the bookworm dove back into his book with a guilty flinch that meant he'd probably been eavesdropping. It wasn't hard to do from six feet away. Really. Adorable. "I don't think he likes you. Leave him alone."
"But how do we know that for sure until I go talk to him?"
"You'll have to wallow in ignorance a while longer. We're not done yet. You're still talking to me."
"Oh, look at that. My drink is empty. I need another."
"Like hell you do." Liam slid his own mug in front of Noah. "Drink this and sit your ass back down."
Noah looked into the dark, dark depths of the mug with something like dread. There probably wasn't even any sugar in it
. It was just plain, black coffee all the way down. "You're the devil."
"Aw, I love you too. Now, as I was saying..."
IT WAS BECOMING HARDER and harder for West to concentrate on his book with all the noise and the increasing awareness of the stares pointed his way. The strange and gorgeous man was practically sprawled in his chair now, doing obscene things with the straw from his drink. They should be illegal.
West had nearly worked up enough annoyance to leave—over the noise definitely—when he heard the talk shift. To him. He couldn't hear everything, but there was something about the tone that called his attention. Then both men turned to look at him, removing all doubt. West ducked down a little further in his seat and into his book and tried to pretend like he wasn't keenly interested in every word they'd been saying. He couldn't leave now. He was trapped. If he got up it would look like they'd caught him. West's ears burned with befuddled embarrassment. He'd only wanted a moment of peace, away from the mess at home. This had not been a part of the plan.
He turned another page in his book without reading it. All the words had become a jumble of letters. The next page was no better. He tried another dozen just to be sure, but he had given up hope long before then. Awkward or not, he needed to leave. To retreat. Before he made things worse.
His eyes flicked up one last time and found that the gorgeous man had turned his eyes and his conversation back to some other topic. West had ceased to exist. He waited a minute, maybe two, just to be sure, but no one glanced his way.
This was not disappointment he felt. He was absolutely sure that it was not disappointment as he folded his book closed and started collecting his things to leave. There wasn't much. An empty cup to leave on the tray in the corner for collection. Phone. Book. Ego. Check, check, check, and check.
Then he just had to figure out how to escape. Short of going the long way around the tightly packed tables, there was no way out of the coffee shop besides walking directly past their table. It was the quickest way. A few short and awkward steps and he'd be to freedom.