Headfirst Falling Page 4

  He rode the bus home with Adam and me after school that day. Like most days, we played down by the boathouse that sat on the edge of the lake. It was cold, and brown leaves covered the ground and crunched beneath our feet.

  Adam was hiding in the boathouse. Jackson and I both knew that, but we pretended to look for him anyway. We walked along the dirt path, kicking leaves and holding hands. I held his hand often, because he was cute and smarter than me, and he let me. His hands were always warm. I remember that, because I loved that about him. In fact, his entire body was always warm, and it made me want to be closer to him.

  I stopped walking and turned to face him. “Jackson?”

  “Yeah?” he asked, watching me with expectant blue-green eyes.

  I kicked a piece of gravel at my feet and it skittered across the path. “Am I pretty?”

  He was smiling this cute, wonderful, crooked smile and staring at me like I was crazy, but he said, “You’re beautiful, Charlie.”

  He didn’t say I was pretty or cute. He said I was beautiful. And that was a word I read about in books, not a word that had ever been used in reference to me.

  “No one will kiss me,” I blurted. I wasn’t running out of time or anything, but when you’re seven years old and obsessed, it’s easy to be plagued by even the simplest things.

  “I would kiss you.”

  I stared at him for a long time, and then I said, “Kiss me. I dare you to.” Because when you’re a child and you want something done, a dare almost always guarantees it’s going to happen.

  And then when he tried, I ran. I don’t know why, but I did. I ran along the dirt path, kicking up leaves and laughing like the happiest girl in the world. And he chased me, his laugh mirroring mine as they echoed through the trees.

  Eventually he caught me, and that was when it happened—my first kiss. I was out of breath and so was he, but he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine, and like his hands, they were warm. In that moment, I wasn’t thinking about fairy tales. I was thinking about my kiss and my own fairy tale.

  It didn’t last long, five seconds maybe, because Adam came running down the path from the boathouse and found us. When he did, he called me stupid and said he was going to tell on me. Then Jackson laughed and ran from me, and I chased him. But I never caught him.

  * * *

  The office is oddly quiet for a Thursday morning. Usually Thursday brings an abnormally large call volume of customers rushing to ready themselves for the weekend. My father owns a flourishing safety business in the oil and gas industry, an industry that’s responsible for a booming economy in our area while the rest of America suffers from the recession. Most days the phones ring off the hook, with customers calling to inquire about parts or to schedule appointments with technicians, but the calls are usually no more than Jessica can handle. Only on our busiest days do I assist her with call screening.

  I type quickly on my computer. I’m eager to finish a set of new proposals so I can get them packaged and sent out with Jessica when she makes her first mail run of the day. I try not to procrastinate early in the day. Mainly because I’ve got a bad habit of getting a bit lazy as the day goes on. In fact, by three o’clock my thumbs are almost always twitching for a round of Fruit Ninja.

  When I finish the final proposal, I hit the print icon with triumph. I stuff the copies into envelopes and seal them, frowning over the nasty taste the adhesive leaves on my tongue.

  Jessica smiles as she takes them from me and files them in the outgoing-mail slot. “Pat is on his way up,” she says, almost like it’s a warning. If it’s not, it should be, because he’s sort of unpredictable. But if anything, it keeps me on my toes.

  A glance at the clock hanging on the wall above her tells me he’s two hours late, according to office policies. Only an hour late per his usual schedule. The elevator doors ping as they open, and seconds later he enters, carrying a box from the pastry shop down the block and whistling. My mouth drops open as Jackson saunters in behind him, carriers full of coffee in tow. Oliver’s not far behind, trotting at my dad’s feet.

  “Good morning, cookie! Brought ya a present.” He waggles his eyebrows and looks back at Jackson with a grin. Maybe I was wrong about his unpredictability being a good thing.

  I flush and swallow the sudden urge to cover my face with my hands. “Morning.”

  “Jess! I brought doughnuts.” He beams, turning his attention to her. “The one with sprinkles is yours. Don’t let cook talk you out of it.” He lets the box of pastries slide from his hand and drop to Jessica’s desk with a thud.

  I watch Jackson say hello to Jessica, my mouth still slightly ajar. He turns to me and tilts his head. One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “Charlie.” Somehow just hearing him say my name is making my heart slam against my rib cage.

  I’m too flustered to reply, but I do manage to snap my mouth shut, which frankly is a miracle, given the fact that Jackson is standing in front of me with eyes so blue they could put the Caribbean to shame.

  “Jessica,” my dad interrupts. “You’ll show Jackson to his office, won’t ya?”

  Jessica stands from her seat in a move that’s almost a leap, her smile so big it practically takes up her entire face. “Of course, Pat!” She links a well-manicured hand through Jackson’s arm and pulls him from the room.

  After they’ve disappeared from view, Dad fishes two doughnuts from the box and heads for his office. “Come on, Oliver. We’ve got work to do.”

  “Don’t feed him any doughnuts,” I call after him.

  He waves one of his arms through the air, dismissing my comment. “Let us live a little, will ya?” He turns and gives me a wild grin before disappearing down the hallway.

  I return to my office, purposely ignoring the fact that Jessica and Jackson are probably alone together in the back supply room at this very second. I shouldn’t care. Just like I shouldn’t care that it’s been roughly eleven days, seven hours and thirty-five minutes since he kissed me—but I do. Or that it’s been four minutes and fifteen seconds since he last looked at me. But I care about that too.

  My desktop pings with a message.

  Pat Day: Oliver’s enjoying his doughnut.

  Charlie Day: Well, I hope you’ll enjoy the cleanup later when he has an “accident” on your office rug.

  He doesn’t respond, and for now I’ve won. I open my email and busy myself with the day’s work.

  At twelve-thirty, Jessica messages to tell me she’s taking lunch. Much of the office is doing the same, including my dad and Oliver. Jackson remains. I’m very, very aware of that. He’s in his office, which is next to mine.

  Right. Next. To. Mine.

  Curiosity gets the best of me; I stand and cross the room.

  His door is ajar, so I knock lightly and poke my head in. He jumps a little in his seat. “You startled me.” He lets out a sheepish laugh and motions to the chair in front of him. “Come in.”

  I enter and take a seat. A safety manual sits open on the desk. A boring read, if you ask me. Surely something our safety coordinator insisted on. We are a safety company, after all.

  “Sorry.” I drop my hands to my lap and smile. “Just wanted to see how your first day is going.”

  His eyes flick to the manual. “It’s going.”

  “Cutting-edge stuff there, huh?”

  His laugh is low and rough and sends a jolt of electricity up my spine. “Very. Don’t catch others on fire, don’t catch yourself on fire...and if you do, stop, drop and roll. No running with scissors.”

  “All admirable pieces of advice.”

  “Right, because I often find myself playing with matches and running through the workplace with scissors.”

  I grin and reach for the manual, closing it with a loud thump. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you le
arned the majority of this stuff in grade school.”

  “Kindergarten 101, of course.”

  He gazes at me, looking thoughtful, and any comfort I felt in this conversation flees. Diverting my eyes to my hands, I begin to fidget.

  “You okay?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

  Not really. “I’m nervous.”

  “Nervous.” He frowns in reflection. “Because of me?”

  “Yes.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

  “Charlie—” He reaches across the desk and covers one of my hands with his. It makes mine look small, almost childlike. “If this is uncomfortable for you, I can find something else. I just thought a job would be a good way to keep myself out of my own head...”

  What could he have in his head that he doesn’t want to face? The skin on my neck prickles as my own mind runs wild with the thought of the things he’s been though. He’s been to war. He’s seen people die—saw my brother die. Maybe he’s even killed people. Despite it all, he’s sitting in front of me, smiling.

  “No. It’s not anything like that,” I say quickly. “I just—I don’t know. I guess I don’t understand why you’re here. Shouldn’t you be working for your father?”

  “My father’s business generally takes care of itself. Occasionally I have to help out, but for the most part I’ve got a lot of free time on my hands, and I’d like to learn something new.”

  “That makes sense,” I rush on. “But this is still bizarre. I mean, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and now we’re working together. And the way I acted at your party...” Like a lunatic. I leave that part out for obvious reasons.

  “You shouldn’t feel bad about that. I don’t.” His eyes are serious, and I get a little lost in them. Before I can blink, I’m fantasizing about him leaning across his desk to kiss me. Which makes me think about all the times I’ve kissed him. But mainly one kiss. One that happened when I was seventeen.

  Adam and Dad were out of town at a comic book convention. Jackson was at the house, and we were fighting. I can’t even remember what it was about. But we were in my kitchen, screaming at each other. I’d already thrown my cell phone at him, and I was storming into my dad’s office for something heavier, like a dictionary. He followed.

  We ended up standing beside my father’s desk, both out of breath from yelling, both mad as hell, chests heaving. His eyes were blazing; they were bright green that day. I had a paperweight in one hand and the other clenched in a fist. That was when he leaned in and kissed me, and when he pulled away he told me he loved me. And I believed him.

  I stare across his desk at him. Today his eyes are pure blue, but I know the green is there somewhere. I won’t get close enough to find it though, because right now, I can only see the scar above his eye.

  The overwhelming urge to cry comes flying in from nowhere and punches me in the gut. At the same time the phone rings, and I leap from my seat, heading to my office to answer it. Meltdown avoided, for now.

  * * *

  The next day is an endless string of pings, dings and rings from coworkers. By five o’clock, I’m tired and ready to go home, but just when I think it’s finally ended, my computer sounds with one more alert. I let out a heavy sigh, expecting my dad with some ridiculous request. Fridays aren’t supposed to suck. It’s an unwritten rule. But this one definitely has.

  Pat Day: We’re going to Rockets for some cocktails. I’m obligated to invite you.

  Despite my crappy mood, I grin at the screen. Hanging out with my dad for a few hours after work wouldn’t be so bad. It’s some of the other coworkers I worry about. A girl can only take part in so many conversations about work and the weather. I’ll have to pass on this one.

  Charlie Day: Not interested.

  Pat Day: That’s a shame. Jackson’s going.

  Charlie Day: On second thought... Don’t they say that a glass of wine a day keeps the doctor away?

  Pat Day: I think it’s apples, and that’s what I thought. SeE yOu iN tEn.

  Goofy, as usual. I chuckle to myself as I shut down my computer and gather my things.

  One of our sales reps appears in my doorway, leaning on the door frame.

  “Hey, Stewart,” I say, unable to disguise the irritation in my voice.

  He smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. “Your dress makes your eyes look really pretty. I like it.” His biceps bulge beneath the fabric of his starched yellow shirt, and I’m almost positive it’s because he’s flexing.

  For no particular reason, his comment makes me feel uneasy. I stand from my chair and loop the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “Do you need something?”

  He unlinks his arms and pushes away from the doorway, crossing the small space to stand in front of me. His oxfords are polished and shining, his jaw is clean-shaven and his auburn hair is styled and in place, but something is off.

  His smile grows, but it never reaches his brown eyes. “Not really. Just curious to see if you had any plans tonight?” He reaches out and plucks at something on my shoulder. “Piece of lint,” he explains, flicking his fingers.

  I frown, because I don’t see anything fall from them.

  “So, what about it?” he asks. “We could grab some dinner and have a few drinks?”

  He reaches out again and rests the palm of his hand on my shoulder. The hair on my arms spring to life, standing on end. I take a step back and bump into my desk. A look crosses over his face, and he lets his hand fall away, running it down the length of my arm.

  He raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

  “A few of us are going out for drinks.” My words sound forced, and I’m gripping the edge of my desk so tightly, my knuckles are turning white. “You should come.”

  He nods and steps away from me. “Maybe I’ll stop by.”

  I force myself to return his smile as he leaves my office.

  * * *

  We’re ten stories up, outdoors at a rooftop bar. Cocktail rounds of various heights are covered with romantic red tablecloths bundled and tied at the bottom. Large, modern red couches flank the perimeter walls. Flickering candles decorate the tables, and string lights twinkle above.

  Towering buildings surround us on all sides. Some of them are new and sleek, while others are old and classic. They’re staggered against the skyline, casting looming shadows below.

  I shift my gaze from the view to Jessica. “This is nice.”

  The grip she has on the stem of her wineglass tightens. “I’d rather be down the street at Kilkinney’s. Or anywhere that can be reached without elevators or stairs.”

  When she inches away from the edge, I tilt my head to the side and grin. “Are you afraid of heights?”

  She gives me a small, uneasy smile. “Deathly.”

  I peer over the ledge at the street below. “I get that.”

  “I loved climbing trees when I was a kid,” she says. “But I always got stuck because I was too scared to climb down.”

  I laugh as the scene plays out in my mind. “That’s great.” I can picture it perfectly. A blond-headed girl with puppy dog brown eyes and dirt on her knees, clinging to a tree branch for dear life.

  She sighs and shakes her head. “I can’t tell you how many times my nanny panicked and called the fire department.”

  As my laughter simmers, Jackson appears at my side and hands me a glass of red wine. Jessica’s eyes move from the glass, to Jackson, and then to me, disappointment registering on her face. She’s getting the wrong idea about us, but I’m certainly not going to correct her. I like Jessica, but in girl-world, Jackson is mine. Actually, in all worlds Jackson is mine...according to me.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He takes a sip of his beer and nods. “No problem.”

  Awkward silence ensues.

  �
��So how about those Rangers?” Jessica quips. She’s never been interested in sports, but I appreciate her attempt to introduce a new topic.

  My dad appears out of thin air with the mention of baseball. “How about those Rangers?”

  I take a step back. “And that’s our cue, Jessica.”

  She shoots me a look of gratification and we take the escape route, leaving sports talk behind. We find an empty table across the terrace and take a seat.

  She gazes at me with curiosity. “So you and Jackson...”

  I sigh and give her an honest answer. “Are history.”

  She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Are history? Or have history?”

  “Both. We dated in high school.” Sort of.

  “That’s a shame. The ‘have history’ part I can see, but the ‘are history’ part I’m not sold on.”

  “If it were up to me, we would be making history.” I grin suggestively, and she laughs.

  She focuses on something across the patio, quickly sobering. “Oh God, Stewart just got here.”

  I wince, following her line of sight. “I invited him. I sort of felt obligated.”

  “He’s creepy.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “You think so too?”

  “Definitely,” she says, nodding her head. “He keeps asking me out. So inappropriate.” She shakes her head in disbelief or maybe disgust. I shouldn’t have invited him, and if I’m not the only one who gets a bad vibe from him then maybe it’s time to talk to my dad. Stewart is an important part of the company, but we could survive without him...couldn’t we?

  Stewart surveys the room, sipping his drink. He eyes a tall blonde across the balcony. It gives me goose bumps, the bad kind.

  “Thank God it isn’t us,” Jessica whispers, and I must agree. She finishes her drink and smiles at me. “How ’bout another round? Something stronger.”