Who Falls Hardest (Clearwater University Book 3)

by Eva Ashwood

  He cares about my mom. It’s obvious in the way his features soften a little every time he mentions her. But he gave up his own happiness because he thought his daughter needed him, and he didn’t want her to be on her own to face the struggles coming her way.

  “I understand that. I respect it.” I step farther into the room, taking a seat in the chair opposite his desk. He didn’t invite me to sit, but I need to look him straight in the eyes for this conversation. “I just want you to know it’s not necessary. Not that Emma doesn’t need you in her corner, because of course she does. You’re her father, and she’ll always need you.”

  A small, fond smile passes over his face at that. “She’s the best thing in my life. I see so much of her mother in her.”

  I lean forward, my voice dropping a little as I continue. “She’s lucky to have you as a dad. But you’re not the only one in her corner. She’s got people looking out for her, and I just wanted you to know that.”

  Paul nods slowly, his brows pulling together a little as he regards me seriously. “So, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you should have room in your life to think about yourself. And to think about other people you care for, other people who are important to you. That you can have a life and still know that Emma is taken care of.”

  His expression freezes as he finally comprehends my full meaning. This isn’t just about promising him I’ll watch over Ems. It’s about giving him and Mom my blessing.

  “Thank you, Trent,” he says, his discerning gaze still locked on me. “That’s good to know.”

  Silence fills the space between us for a moment as we both regard each other. We’re not friends, and this short conversation hasn’t magically made everything better. But I think I feel something shift between us, and when Paul smiles, he seems to genuinely mean it.

  “You know…” He shakes his head. “The friendship you and the other two have with Emma always sort of boggled me. You were all so close, I kept waiting for the day she’d come home and tell me she was dating one of you. Then after we moved away, I know she sort of lost touch with you all. But I gotta say, I’m glad you three are back in her life. I’m glad she has people watching out for her.”

  His words are like a shock to my heart, and I can’t help but reach up and absently rub at my chest as I answer.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt her, Paul. I swear it.”

  Not even myself. Never again.

  11

  West

  The house is empty when I get home from campus. I dunno where the fuck Reese and Trent are—I think Reese has a class that goes late today—but I know Ems is at work.

  It’s her first day at her new job, and watching her get ready this morning was cute as fuck.

  She must’ve tried on three or four different outfits trying to pick the right one, and every time she stepped out of the bedroom to ask our opinion, I had to fight down the urge to pick her up, carry her back inside the room, and tear the clothes off her body with my fucking teeth.

  She looked good in everything she tried on, but it was more than that. Her enthusiasm is infectious as hell, and it blows my mind how optimistic and positive she can be, even after all the shit she’s been through.

  Unable to help myself, I walk down the hall and poke my head into Reese’s room, just to make sure she’s not here. She isn’t, but a few clothes are strewn across the bed from her frenzied outfit changes this morning.

  I glance around the room, taking in her suitcase, which sits open against one wall, and her laptop on the nightstand.

  Fuck. She’s really getting settled in here.

  I don’t know quite how to feel about that. On the one hand, having her in our house is exactly what I want. Knowing that she’s living under the same roof as me gives me a peace I wouldn’t have expected—as if there’s some kind of invisible string that ties us together, and it would be physically painful to have her live anywhere else.

  But on the other hand, why the fuck does Reese get to be the one whose room she stays in? Granted, he’s sleeping on the couch every night, so it’s not like they’re sharing a bed. But fucking hell, I want her in my bed, between my sheets.

  I hate the idea of him having something special with her that I don’t have. Even if it’s just her sleeping in his room.

  Rapping my knuckles on the door frame, I turn and head back into the living room. After spending the morning on the phone with both the bank and my credit card company, I don’t want to do anything but crack open a beer and chill. Emma should be getting home from work soon, and I’ve got plans to whisk her away for dinner.

  Reese and Trent can just deal with it.

  I chuckle to myself at that thought. I doubt either of them will be happy if I sneak Emma out of the house for a date—none of us like her having something with the others that she doesn’t have with us.

  But fuck it. She’s allowed to do what she wants. And I plan on treating her like a damn queen tonight.

  After grabbing a beer from the fridge, I settle onto the couch, leaning back and spreading my legs as I drape one arm over the back cushion. But before I take a sip, the sound of keys in the front door lock draws my attention. I turn, hoping to see Emma’s golden hair and pale, delicate face.

  But it’s not her. It’s Trent.

  “Hey, man.” He lifts his chin in greeting as he tosses his keys on the coffee table.

  “Hey,” I grunt. “Where were you?”

  He shrugs, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Went downtown after I got out of class. I stopped by to see Paul Holloway.”

  That gets my attention. I sit up a little straighter, my brows furrowing. “Why?”

  Trent’s blue eyes harden a little, as if he’s daring me to give him shit. “I just wanted him to know Emma’s gonna be okay. I needed to bury the hatchet with him—it was long past time, really. He broke up with my mom because he thought he needed to focus on Ems and what she’s going through, so I just wanted to make sure he understood that she’s not alone. We’ve got her back.”

  His voice is earnest and intense, filled with the same charisma that Trent always exudes—the same sense of purpose that got me and Reese to follow along in his wake as he made it his mission to destroy Emma.

  And that pisses me the fuck off.

  I’m not mad that he’s given up his insane vendetta against her, that he’s finally stopped trying to punish her for shit that was in no way her fault. But that doesn’t give this motherfucker the right to act like some kinda hero, swooping in to save the day, making sure Ems is taken care of.

  If it weren’t for him, who knows if any of this shit would’ve even happened? And now he’s gonna act like the savior? The righteous protector?

  Fuck that.

  I’m not discounting my role in this bullshit, but at least I have the goddamn self-awareness not to try to pretend I’m anything other than a slightly reformed asshole.

  “Yeah.” I huff out a breath, taking a swig of my beer. “We’ve got her back. I guess that makes you a real fuckin’ hero, doesn’t it?”

  Trent pushes away from the wall, his eyes narrowing. “Dude, what the fuck are you getting at? Why don’t you just say it?”

  I slam my beer down so hard that foam bubbles out of the top, sliding down the neck of the bottle and coating my fingers. Shaking my hand out, I surge to my feet.

  “Alright, I’ll say it. You don’t fucking deserve her, man. After everything you did to bring her down, you’re lucky she’ll even speak to you, let alone stand in the same room as you. But you expect her to love you? To choose you over me or Reese? There’s no fucking way.”

  Trent’s jaw clenches. “That’s not up to you, West. It’s up to Emma. And she’s a better person than you give her credit for.”

  “I know exactly how damn incredible she is.” Anger burns through my veins, and I stalk toward him. These words have been eating away at me for weeks, and now there’s no holding them back. “I know what a good person s
he is. Which is exactly why you don’t deserve her. She probably will forgive you, because she’s got a better heart than any of us. But don’t think for one second that means you actually deserve forgiveness.”

  Trent scoffs. “Goddammit. I’m getting really fucking sick of people telling me what I do and don’t deserve today.”

  I don’t know what the hell that means, but I don’t let it distract me from my point. Trent needs to hear this, and he’s going to hear it whether he wants to or not.

  “If you’re any kind of man at all, you’ll walk away,” I say quietly. “Take the fact that she’s accepted your apology and move the fuck on. But don’t try to claim her for yourself. Don’t try to fucking win her over. She’s worth more than that.”

  Trent goes quiet as he absorbs my words. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and I realize that mine are too. We’re standing just a few feet apart, each of us puffed up in anger, and I can feel it filling the room like bolts of electric energy.

  The silence stretches out until it seems like time itself has come to a standstill.

  And then Trent’s fist lashes out toward my face so fast I don’t even have time to raise my arm and block it. His punch is hard, and it catches me on the cheek, making my head whip to the side.

  It’s not the first time I’ve been hit, and I’m sure it won’t be the last—but it’s the first time my best friend has punched me. Memories of growing up, of enduring beatings from my old man, flash through my head, and a haze of red fills my vision.

  I never hit back when I was little. I didn’t want to make it worse for my mom, and it always got worse if I fought back.

  But the last time my dad ever hit me, I swore I wouldn’t put up with that shit anymore. And I haven’t ever since then.

  I recover from the blow quickly, and my body is already in motion before I give it a conscious command.

  Stepping forward, I take a swing at Trent. I don’t have the element of surprise like he did, so he manages to block my shot. But that’s okay, because a second fist is swinging right after the first, and he’s not ready for that one.

  My knuckles collide with his jaw, and he grunts in pain as he stumbles to the side, staggering away from the wall and pivoting to keep facing me.

  He lifts one hand to the side of his mouth, wiping away the blood there, then pulls his lips back in a snarl. “You’re gonna fucking regret that.”

  “Maybe.” I step forward, my fists raised, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “But it was worth it anyway.”

  Anger fills Trent’s features, and he throws himself at me, tackling me with his full weight. We go down together, hitting the floor so hard the entire fucking house seems to rattle.

  That’s it. This motherfucker is asking for it now.

  Trapping his arms, I headbutt him, and when his body recoils, I roll us over giving myself the upper hand.

  It doesn’t last long though. Trent’s almost as strong as I am, especially since I haven’t gotten to hit the gym as often since this whole mess with Emma and Leslie started. And he’s a fighter down to his core. It’s one of the reasons we became friends—we both have this predatory, almost animalistic instinct to fight.

  Trent’s elbow lashes out, colliding with the side of my face. The blow stuns me momentarily, and he shoves me away, leaping to his feet as I scramble to mine. Like two forces of nature meeting, we hurl ourselves at each other again, fists flying as low grunts fall from our lips.

  I catch Trent in the face again, but he manages to duck my next punch and slide in close enough to deliver a bruising blow to my side.

  We’ve stopped talking entirely. Every bit of anger and resentment that’s built up between us over the years is being communicated in a much more primal way now.

  Through our fists.

  Trent has been one of my best friends for years. He’s seen me through some seriously messed up shit, and he’s stood by my side for all of it. I would die for him. But right now, I kind of want to kill him too.

  He swings at me again. I duck out of the way, but his fist still connects with my shoulder. Grimacing, I grab hold of him and pull him off balance, shoving him toward the wall. He hits the plaster so hard that the entire wall shakes, and before he can move, I’m on him, grabbing the front of his shirt with both hands and stepping in close.

  “You done yet, you fucker?” I growl.

  “I won’t be done till you’re laid out on the floor,” he shoots back, his voice dark with anger. He shoves at me, nearly breaking my hold on him, but I grip his shirt again and slam him against the wall.

  “What—”

  The new voice comes from near the front door. It sounds breathless and frightened, and I know immediately who it belongs to.

  Trent and I both freeze. Then we turn to look toward the front of the house. As we do, my gaze lands on Emma. She’s still got her hand on the doorknob, and her jaw is hanging open slightly.

  She looks scared. Shocked. Pissed.

  And heartbroken.

  12

  Emma

  My heart is beating like a rabbit’s, slamming against my rib cage so hard and fast that I swear it’s going to explode.

  I just rode my bike back from my first day at work, feeling on top of the world, happier and more content than I’ve felt in a long time. But the second I pulled up outside, I should’ve known something was wrong. I heard a crash and a heavy thud and hurried toward the front door, but this isn’t the sight I expected to greet me.

  West and Trent both stare at me. Their eyes—soft gray and piercing blue—are locked on me. Trent has a bruise blooming on his jaw, and West has one on his cheek. They’re both breathing hard, their eyes wild, and for a horrified moment, it occurs to me that if I didn’t come home when I did, they could’ve really hurt each other.

  This could’ve ended so badly.

  Actually, it still could.

  I don’t know exactly what they were fighting about, but given the tension I’ve felt clogging the air in this house ever since the night Trent got hauled into the police station, I can guess. And I wish I knew how to fix it.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice raw and scratchy. My throat feels too tight, making it almost impossible to force the words out.

  “Nothing, Ems. We’re just—”

  Trent tries to push past West to step toward me, but the broad-shouldered man doesn’t let go of him. Instead, he slams Trent back against the wall again, growling low in his throat. Trent’s gaze whips back to him, anger sparking in his eyes, and the next thing I know, his fist is flying toward West’s face.

  It connects just above the bruise he already has, and West’s grip on him loosens. Trent presses his advantage, stepping forward and swinging again.

  Fuck. Fuck! No, no, no, I can’t let this happen.

  As West blocks Trent’s punch, I race forward. I don’t give a single thought to anything except stopping this, ending it right now before either of them gets hurt any worse. Before they do something they won’t be able to come back from.

  They’re big men, physically intimidating and downright scary when they’re mad like this. Either one of them could crush me like a bug—but that doesn’t stop me from forcing myself in between them, putting my body directly in each of their paths, cutting them off from each other.

  West, who has his fist cocked back to throw a punch at Trent, arrests his movement, his eyes widening as he realizes it’s now me standing in front of him.

  Trent’s chest rises and falls fast, and his gaze flicks from me to West. His ice-blue eyes burn with cold fire, and his lips curl back.

  “Step out of the way, Ems. We need to finish this.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say forcefully. “Not the way you mean to, anyway. You need to let it go. You’ve been best friends for as long as I’ve known you. Whatever the fuck you’re fighting about, I promise you, it’s not worth it.”

  His attention shifts back to me again, and this time, the look on his face makes goo
se bumps erupt all over my skin. “It is worth it, Ems. It’s worth everything.”

  My heart kicks into high gear, pounding hard and fast in my chest. I shake my head, biting my lip. “I don’t want you to fight.”

  “Sometimes it’s the only way.”

  Trent glares at West as he speaks, and the possessive anger in his expression sparks something inside me. Just the other day on my way to the interview, I found myself thinking about what it might be like to have all of Trent’s passion, all of his protective possessiveness, focused on me.

  It could be amazing. Life-changing. The kind of thing all women dream of.

  But this is the downside of that. The ugly side of his refusal to back down from what he thinks is right.

  His stubbornness and anger almost tore us apart for good. I won’t let it tear him and West apart. I won’t let it ruin everything.

  I’m done sitting by the sidelines and watching things play out, hoping they turn out for the best. It’s my turn to put my hands on the wheel and show these men I’m not the same person I once was.

  “No.” My voice is strong and clear, and it pulls Trent’s gaze back to me. “That’s not the only way.”

  His brows furrow slightly, but I don’t bother explaining my words. There’s an easier way to communicate the message I’m trying to get across. A way that will cut through all the bullshit and show him exactly what I mean.

  With slow deliberation, I turn away from Trent. West is still standing on my other side, his fist half-cocked. I step toward him, grabbing his wrist with one hand and lowering his clenched fist. My other hand slides up the broad, firm muscles of his arm until it wraps around the back of his neck.

  Then I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him.

  His body jerks in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away from the kiss. Instead, he steps into it, his closed fist immediately opening to allow him to palm my lower back, running his hand over me as he pulls me closer to him. I can taste just a hint of beer on his breath, and his lips are full and soft but demanding too.