Fallen Crest Forever

by Tijan

  Have to. I can’t do this without you.

  My phone buzzed back his reply. Love you.

  Love you. Be safe.

  You too.

  I’m at Courtney and Grace’s.

  I know. Taylor told Logan. He told me.

  Logan’s mad.

  He doesn’t understand.

  He doesn’t understand. Those words. I stared at them. It felt right to be texting with Mason. It felt like we were back together. I was just at a friend’s house, but that wasn’t real. I’d walked away—no, that’s not even right. He let me go. He walked for me, and then I was carried away.

  Those thousand knives suddenly became ten thousand knives.

  I wanted Mason back. I wanted to be in his arms. I heard Heather’s deep breathing behind me and wanted that to be him. I wanted it with each of the knives pushing inside of me.

  I couldn’t respond. My hands were suddenly clammy, and the shaking was too much. I wouldn’t be able to hold on to the phone in a few seconds.

  Then, it buzzed. I will make things right. I promise.

  One large teardrop fell onto the phone. It blurred his words. I wiped it off with my thumb, but tucked the phone under the pillow next to me. I slept with those words in my head.

  The next day passed in a blur, and the following night, Mason texted again as I lay in bed.

  Sam?

  Mason.

  I wanted to smile, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted to ignore how I needed to hear from him. I couldn’t do that either.

  Still okay?

  I wouldn’t answer that. Did you go to class?

  Have to. I can’t play if I don’t.

  I didn’t care if I ran this weekend, but it was different for him. Thousands cared if he played. One missed race from me wouldn’t go noticed by too many, for now. That would change, but for now I was okay.

  I texted, You’re loved and adored.

  Fuck. I don’t care about that. You know that.

  I did. And I felt my tears. They always came. Are things right yet?

  I didn’t know what we could do. I knew I was being irrational to ask that—nothing could have changed that quickly—but I couldn’t stop my fingers. I couldn’t stop the swell of hope filling my chest, even though I knew what his answer would be. But still, I waited.

  Another minute.

  Then, We should have the official talk.

  I could only grip my phone as I stared at his last response. Talk. Official.

  That’s right. We were still unofficially broken up, and ice-cold dread sliced my veins. If we talked, the unofficial part would become official. Call me a coward, but I was okay living in the in-between.

  Not yet. I typed.

  Can I tell you I love you?

  Deep breath. Always.

  Then I do. Always.

  I didn’t go to classes that week. Heather remained at my side, and while Courtney and Grace went on with their lives, mine was at a standstill. I didn’t go to practice. I was given time off from the team because of the parking lot incident, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have gone running anyway. If I started, I wouldn’t stop.

  Late one night, I woke hearing raised voices in the apartment. Heather wasn’t next to me, and as I padded barefoot down the hallway, I heard her say, “Back up, Kade.”

  My heart jumped.

  Mason?

  I hurried forward, then heard Logan’s angry voice, “She’s mine too, Heather.”

  I stopped, seeing Courtney and Grace in the kitchen. They were in my line of sight and both saw me. Their eyes were wide, filled with an emotion I didn’t want to recognize. I pulled my gaze away. Grace sat at the kitchen table, a blanket pulled around her. Courtney stood in front, with one hand on the table and the other resting on her chest. I could understand the fear in their eyes.

  Logan was here. Logan was pissed off. I felt their intimidation even before leaving the bedroom, but the other emotion I saw in their gazes—I swallowed hard.

  I didn’t want their pity.

  Why would they pity me?

  “You don’t think this is hard on her?” Heather snapped. “You’re going to make it worse. You can’t come here and bully these two girls—”

  “She’s my family! Stop protecting her from me.”

  “She’s mine too, and you’re damn straight I will. Back off, Logan. I mean it.”

  A deep growl came from him. “Jax, I swear—”

  Courtney and Grace jumped. Their eyes grew even wider.

  Grace gasped.

  Courtney jerked forward, then braked when Heather shot back, “What? You’re going to threaten me? You’re forgetting I know you. I’m not like these two girls who are probably scared of you right now. I know you love Sam, and I know you’re hurting, and I know all this anger is because you’re scared you’re losing another family member. You’re not. Okay?” She softened her tone. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m guessing you don’t either, but they do. You have to trust them.”

  “He’s not doing anything!” Another eruption from the hallway.

  Smack!

  Something hit the wall.

  “You don’t know that either.”

  “He’s not here.”

  Heather sounded tired, but sympathetic. “She’s texting at night.”

  “What?”

  “She texts. At night. She thinks I’m sleeping, but I wake up too. I’m assuming it’s Mason on the other end.”

  He was quiet. Then, a few beats later he asked, “How do you know?”

  He asked like his life depended on it.

  “Because she sleeps better afterward.”

  “Oh.”

  She coughed, clearing her throat, and her voice took on an edge of kindness. I knew that was just for Logan. “I’ll tell her you came and wanted to hug her. That’s all I’ll say.”

  I hadn’t heard Heather talk like that to anyone else.

  “Thank you.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling a pang in my chest. I pressed against the wall and tried to stop the waterworks. These fucking tears.

  “How do I fix this, Heather? I don’t know how to fix it.”

  He was a broken little boy.

  I was Helen. I had just ripped apart his family—again.

  I sunk to my knees. Oh, God. I couldn’t . . .

  “Sam!”

  Courtney rushed to my side, her hand touching my back, but then it was brushed aside. Two strong arms lifted me up, and Logan carried me back to the bedroom. He laid me on the bed and stepped back.

  He hung his head, his hands pushed into his pockets. “Is that true? Is he texting you?” he asked, his voice so raw and gruff.

  I nodded. My throat was scraped clean. It wasn’t working anymore.

  Logan drew in a breath, and his shoulders grew rigid. “Is he going to fix this?”

  I paused.

  I hoped.

  And I nodded.

  Logan’s eyes met mine. I saw the unshed tears. “I want to stay. Let me stay.”

  I was Helen. I was Analise.

  My throat still couldn’t work. It had swelled shut. Shame and guilt crushed my windpipe.

  But Logan was waiting. I saw that little boy in him, the same one Mason told me stories about, the one who would sit outside his door waiting for his big brother to leave so he could follow or steal his bag for attention. He stared at me now, waiting for my answer.

  I reached forward and grasped his hand. “Thank you,” I choked out. I nodded, in case he couldn’t make out my words.

  He let out a relieved breath and sat on the floor by the bed.

  Courtney and Grace were in the doorway with questions in their eyes. They didn’t know what to do, but Heather did. She moved past them and held out a beer to Logan. He took it, and she sat next to him with her own. The two saluted each other, and the three of us just settled in as Courtney and Grace slipped away.

  Logan had his back against the bed, right next to where I lay. Heather sat
beside him, and I kept my hand touching my phone.

  I had done this. Now I had to fix it.

  I couldn’t be like our mothers.

  Is Logan there? He’s not answering his phone, but Taylor won’t tell me where he is.

  Later that night my phone lit up, and I looked over. Logan was curled in the corner. Courtney and Grace didn’t have anything for him to sleep on earlier, so he made them drive him to a nearby store since they were sober, and he was not. He bought a cot, a sleeping bag, and a travel utility bag.

  He set everything up, and he now slept soundly. He’d refused to move to the living room. Heather asked what his girlfriend would think, and he replied without hesitation.

  “She knows what it’s like to lose a family member.”

  The conversation was dropped.

  He’s here. Refuses to leave. I texted.

  You’re okay having him there?

  Yes. I hit send, then paused with my fingers over the buttons. I typed out, I think I fucked this up. I did a Helen.

  You didn’t. I did a James. I’ll fix this.

  How?

  We need to talk still. We can talk about it then.

  Okay.

  Love you.

  So goddamn much.

  So goddamn much.

  I put the phone away, and Heather was right. I slept the rest of the night through. When I woke, I knew—I was ready to talk.

  “Sam?” The next evening Courtney knocked on the open door.

  Heather and I looked up from where we were lounging on the bed. Logan was at Taylor’s, and Courtney faltered in the doorframe, scratching behind her ear.

  “Um, there’s a lady here to see you.”

  “Me?” I gave Heather a look, starting to put my pen and book away. “She didn’t say who she was?”

  “Helen or something?”

  My eyes found Heather’s again. Helen?

  Heather raised her eyebrow and scooted to the edge of the bed. “You want to talk to her?”

  I shrugged and stood, hugging myself. “I guess.”

  Mason and Logan’s mother never sought me out. A red alarm blared in my ears, but I went down the hallway to the door. It was closed, so I guessed she was in the hallway.

  I opened the door and stuck my head around. “Ms. Malbourne?”

  Dressed like she’d been out at a benefit, she wore a cream-colored shirt and wide-legged pants. They looked like a skirt, but I knew they were slacks because she stood with her legs apart. Her hands rested on her hips, one shoulder propped against the neighbor’s wall. I also saw a slit that ran underneath her arm, showing some skin. It was a very sexy, but also classy look.

  My eyes lingered on her pearl necklace.

  I forgot Mason and Logan’s wealth. When I was with them, they rarely mentioned it, or dressed to proclaim it. James didn’t either. He was authoritative, but he didn’t exude his place in society. And, somehow, Helen emanated it so well in just one look.

  She did so now, pursing her lips together at the mention of her name. A slight flick of her hair, and she gestured to me. “It’s Helen by now. I think it’s time we had a talk, yes?”

  I moved forward slowly, letting the door close behind me. I kept my hands touching it, crossed behind me, in case I wanted to go back in at a second’s notice. Mason and I might not be together, but I knew he’d come in a heartbeat if I called.

  But even as I thought that, I knew I wouldn’t.

  No matter my status with Mason, I had to get along with their mother. If she deemed this the time for a real talk, so be it. I only hoped no one drew blood, and feeling that small amount of bravery, I tipped my head up and gazed steadily at her.

  She smiled slightly, like she’d been waiting for me to make that decision. Her hand pressed to her hair, keeping it in place. “Should we go somewhere more private?”

  I didn’t have to think about it. “Here’s fine.”

  A dry glimmer of humor showed in her eyes before she masked it, her lips pressing together again. “Okay.”

  Then she stopped.

  I waited. She’d come to me, but she didn’t say anything. I narrowed my eyes. Was I supposed to start?

  “You’ll have to give me a minute,” she finally said. “Coming here is, well, humbling to say the least.”

  Her hand rested on her pearls, and I saw the intricate detail of her nails. They were long and shimmering, matching her pearls and outfit. Everything about her had been exquisitely put together.

  She mused again, almost to herself, “Logan told me that you and my son have broken up.” Her hand fell from her pearls and began to play with the diamond bracelet around her wrist. It was like she didn’t know she was doing it. Her eyes lingered on me, narrowing slightly. “I had an epiphany when I heard that.”

  A soft chuckle came from her, but her lips never moved. It was like a ghost laughing beside us.

  “I’ve always hated you,” she said, her eyes downcast. “What your father said was true. I blamed you because you’re Analise’s daughter, and she took my family from me.” She lifted her face now. “But if I’m being honest with myself—and my sons will attest that I hate being honest with myself—it wasn’t your mother at all. It was James, and me. He destroyed our family, and I let him, but I have been blaming you in the back of my mind ever since.”

  This wasn’t news to me.

  “And I haven’t cared one iota what that did to you. I’m not one of those mothers like Malinda. No. James has a type. He likes the cold types, and I’m one of them. It’s perhaps why my sons are the way they are. They can be cold bastards at times, can’t they?”

  My lips thinned. “Did you have a reason to come here?”