Headfirst Falling Page 5

  “Good idea.”

  * * *

  Two hours later Jessica leaves, but not before we giggle our way through a couple of Jack Daniel’s shots at the bar. Stewart continues to linger, stalking the tall blonde in a predator-like fashion. She’s not interested, but he’s obviously the type of guy who doesn’t know how to take a hint. What a tool. My dad’s bedtime was hours ago, and he’s long gone.

  Jackson is still present. He gazes at me from across the table. I marvel at the attention from other women he brings to our table. They watch me with envy, raising questioning eyebrows as to why he’s here with me. As I watch him bring his bottle to his lips and tip it back slowly, their infatuation becomes very clear. How can he make something so simple look so...damn sexy?

  I glance at my cell—it’s half past midnight, and I’m feeling fuzzy. The wine is beginning to take effect. The filter in my brain that processes words has vanished. “You look good, Jackson.” I sound like the female equivalent of Stewart, but I sort of don’t care. I’ve missed him, really missed him, so much it hurts when I think about it. My chest physically starts to ache. I just want to be around him.

  He sets his bottle on the table and cocks a brow at me. “Are you flirting with me, Charlie Day?”

  I run my finger around the rim of my wineglass. “What’s it to you?”

  He shrugs. His expression is impassive and gives nothing away. It’s frustrating.

  “You’ve got one hell of a poker face, Stiles.”

  He runs his palm across his scruffy cheek and grins. “Do I?”

  “You do.” I sigh and take a long drink from my glass. “There was a time when you were much warmer toward me.”

  His eyes soften. “That’s not fair.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Fair or not, it’s true.”

  He leans forward in his seat. “It’s got nothing to do with you. This is how I am with everyone. I’ve just sort of lost touch.”

  I pull my brows together. “With what?”

  “My emotions.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” People don’t just conveniently lose touch with their emotions. That just doesn’t happen.

  “Ask my mother,” he insists. “She cried about this very thing every day this week, and the week before that, and before that.” Oh. He laughs, but he’s not joking. He’s silent for a second, and his expression grows somber. “Plus, there was a time when you were much colder toward me.”

  My heart drops to my stomach. Yeah, when I was eighteen and an idiot. I wish I hadn’t been such a coward then. I should have told Adam about the feelings I had for Jackson. I should have let myself be happy, but I had to complicate things. So I hid my feelings. Mary Jane got Jackson, and I got a broken heart.

  I uncross my arms and smirk. “There was also a time when you were nine and you would hold me down to burp in my face. But I’m not holding that against you.”

  A laugh rumbles from his chest, and I want to high-five myself.

  Seeing him like this makes me want to touch him. I bite my lip, brazened by the alcohol.

  He gazes at me with a troubled expression, and my heart pounds. What is he thinking? The silence grows between us, and I can feel it pushing us apart.

  Finally he shakes his head and pulls his eyebrows together in frustration. “I’m no good for you. For anybody, for that matter.”

  His left hand is on the table, and I inch mine across the surface until it’s next to his. Then I brush one of my fingers over his knuckles. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I’m not in a good place right now.” He’s speaking to me, but it sounds like he’s arguing with himself. “You’re smart, beautiful and goddamned hard to stay away from. You deserve better.”

  “I’m none of those things.”

  His gaze travels from our hands to my eyes. His expression is sincere. “You are all of those things, and I’m not the kind of guy you should keep company with.”

  We sit in silence, and I rack my brain for something to say. Anything to bring him back to me. Nothing comes.

  Eventually he sighs. It’s long and sad, and he sounds like he’s deflating. “I’m just not a good person.” He stares off into the glowing skyline, and my heart tugs in my chest. I want to fix him—shine a little light in his darkness.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” I say. “These last two years have been hell. Being with you reminds me of a time when I was happier...when we were both happier.”

  He glances across the table and his lips finally break into a smile, a real one that makes the skin around his eyes crinkle. “We did have one hell of a childhood.”

  I smile and clink my glass against his. “The best.”

  We slip into a happier conversation about when we were kids and some of the bizarre situations we got ourselves into. My worry melts away like ice in the Texas sun. Being with him is easy, incredibly easy...even if he has changed.

  * * *

  I stop at my front door and turn to face Jackson. “Thank you for driving me home.”

  He smiles at me, twirling his key ring around his index finger. “Better me than Stewart.”

  That’s definite. I would’ve walked the five miles in my high heels before climbing into a car with Stewart.

  He catches his keys in his palm and stills. “Will you have any trouble getting your car back here tomorrow?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll just leave it. It should be safe in the parking garage for the weekend. Taylor won’t mind driving me on Monday.”

  “I could give you a ride, if not,” he offers, leaning against the door frame.

  “Thanks, but she won’t mind.” I fiddle with the strap of my bag and glance at his truck in the drive. “And thanks again for driving me. I’m sure you need to get home.”

  He runs his hand over the back of his neck and sighs. “Right. To my parents, who think I’m a fifteen-year-old boy again.”

  “It couldn’t be that bad.”

  “My mother brings me breakfast in bed.”

  “That could have its perks,” I counter.

  “She color-coordinates outfits for me... She irons my socks. I’m betting she would tie my shoes if I let her.”

  I snort-laugh in a way that’s not very ladylike and even less attractive. “That’s a tad overprotective.” When he smiles at me, his eyes are playful. I’m not ready for him to go. “If you’re feeling rebellious, you could come in for a nightcap.”

  “I’m not sure,” he says, rubbing his chin like he’s mulling it over. “I’ve got a strict curfew these days. She’ll be waiting up for me with every light in the house on, no doubt.”

  His grin tells me he’s joking—and when he reaches for the doorknob and twists it open, he tells me he’s coming in.

  He motions to the open door. “Lead the way.”

  Without giving it a second thought, I take his hand and pull him inside. He was probably right when he said I needed to stay away from him. But staying away is the last thing I want to do right now. Dangerous or not, I want to be closer to him.

  * * *

  The sound of ice cubes hitting glass is amplified by the stillness of the house. I retrieve a bottle of Belvedere from the liquor cabinet and pour a generous amount into each tumbler. I top the drinks off with tonic water and retrieve a lime from the refrigerator. I squeeze the juice into the glasses before getting rid of the pulp. After that, I run a piece of rind around the each rim then toss it into the drink.

  Jackson is in the living room, studying the art that covers the walls. “C.D.?” He points to the initials scribbled in the corner of the piece in front of him. “You painted these?”

  “Some of them, yeah.”

  “They’re amazing.” His eyes circle the canvases. “They’re darker than anything I can imagine you painting, t
hough.”

  I hand him his drink. “Vodka tonic with a twist.” Talking about my paintings makes me shy, and I hope he lets it drop.

  He takes a sip and hums in approval. “Impressive, Charlie Day.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.” I’ve had a lot of practice? Wait. What? Oh my God. I blanch, realizing the impression my words might give him.

  He arches a brow. “Is it routine for you to invite strange men in for drinks?”

  I immediately begin to backpedal. “No. Not at all.” Actually, I’ve never invited a man inside for drinks, but that tidbit embarrasses me too so I don’t share it. “I meant the drinking.”

  He knits his brows together. “Really? I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.” He’s right. In the last years of high school and the beginning years of college, my friends rebelled. They drank every weekend and got into trouble more often than not. I was never interested.

  “I’ve only recently acquired the interest.” It’s useful when I can’t stand to be alone with my own thoughts.

  He takes the glass from my hands and sets it on the kitchen island. “Maybe you should have a glass of water. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight.”

  I roll my eyes. “Does this emotion have a name? Or has it left you too?”

  “I call it worry, and I’m not sure I like it.”

  I do as he says, pouring myself a glass of water. I chug the entire glass then flash him a smile, but my eyes are stabby. “Happy now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, there’s another feeling for your book.”

  I cross the room and sink into the couch. Vaguely, I wonder where Taylor is. Her car’s gone, so I know she isn’t home. Probably at work. She works a twelve-hour night shift at the hospital, so that takes her away from here three nights a week.

  “You coming?” I ask.

  Jackson crosses the room and plops down beside me.

  His added weight sends me shifting toward him until my we’re arm to arm and thigh to thigh. The tiny amount of contact makes my pulse pick up. I clear my throat and try to regain my composure.

  He lifts his arm, and naturally I fall into the groove of his body. He stiffens for a second, his shoulders and arms suddenly tight.

  “You’re tense,” he says. Yeah, in a good way.

  “You’re the tense one,” I counter.

  He laughs softly. “I’m always tense.”

  I frown as I mull his comment over. “What do you mean?” His rigidity increases. Closeness does make him uneasy. I make him uneasy, and I don’t think it’s in the same good way he makes me uneasy.

  He lets out a long, low sigh. “I don’t know... A lot of things just changed for me while I was away.” Though his tone is light, there’s an edge underneath that tells me to back off.

  Of course, I don’t. “Like what?”

  “It was just different over there, Charlie. In Iraq the enemy blends in with the local population, so you can’t trust anyone. If you want to survive, you’ve gotta stay tense. I spent so much time looking over my shoulder that I forgot how to relax.”

  “That sounds awful.” I’m surprised by how quiet my voice is.

  “At first it felt a lot like acting,” he continues. “I was acting the way I was expected to, the way a soldier would. But without realizing it I became a machine, cold and calculated. And I wasn’t acting anymore...I was someone I didn’t even recognize. Now it’s something that I wish I could turn off, but it isn’t that easy.” His voice is heavy and real. And a little sad. I have to resist the urge to curl into his arms and peel back the fears he keeps with him every day. I want to cry, touch him, scream for him. I don’t know. Do something for him. Take some of his pain.

  “Maybe it just takes time to...readjust,” I finally say.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Going there sucked. Most days I don’t regret joining, but some days it makes me feel unsettled. I’ll carry the experience with me the rest of my life, and it’s not that I want to forget it. But sometimes I wish I could push some of it away.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I opt for nothing. I hate that. I hate that I don’t know the right thing to say.

  After a minute, he groans and scrubs his face with his hands. “This, Charlie, is the prime example of why I’m such bad company.”

  I smile and turn my head, burying my face in his T-shirt and inhaling his scent. “You’re good company.” My voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Within seconds, I realize this wasn’t a good idea, because now I’m thinking about how good he smells and how much I want to touch him. The way Jackson smells is obviously going to drive my mind into a new spectrum of insanity.

  I reach out with my hand and cover his, which rests against his thigh. I trace small circles with my index finger, letting it skim lightly across his skin, his knuckles, his fingers. Feeling audacious, I open my hand and run it up the length of his arm, over his sculpted muscles.

  “Does this make you uncomfortable?” I ask, trailing my fingertips across the back of his wrist.

  “No.” His eyes soften. “I just haven’t been touched this way in a long time.”

  “I can stop.” I don’t want to, but I can...maybe.

  “I don’t want you to stop.” He flips his palm up and threads his fingers through mine. It feels natural and right, like our hands were made to be together, like they just fit. Which sounds crazy, but I’ve got butterflies, and I’m sort of breathless. And all of the sudden, I don’t want my hand to touch any other hand in the world, ever. Only Jackson’s.

  * * *

  When I wake, I’m groggy and unsure of where I am. The strong set of arms beneath me and the sound of footsteps on the floor tell me that I’m being carried. I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch. I pry one of my eyes open, just enough to peek from beneath my lashes. “Jackson? What’s...” My sentence morphs into a loud, sleepy yawn.

  “Go back to sleep,” he whispers.

  I oblige. My eyes flutter shut, and I let my head fall against his chest. In a few more steps, he’s opening my door and laying me down on my bed. My wonderful, comfortable bed.

  Jackson laughs under his breath. “You’ve got the same bed you had in high school.”

  I would blush if I wasn’t so exhausted. He pulls back the duvet on the other side of the bed, and another sleepy yawn escapes my lips. Jackson’s confident footsteps cross the room. Then he’s at my feet, removing my pumps. They thump to the floor as he discards them. I wiggle my freed toes happily.

  “Now, as much as I would like to undress the rest of you, that wouldn’t make me much of a gentleman, would it?” His voice is low and close, and despite my exhaustion, I feel the warmth of a blush flood my cheeks. He brushes his lips against my forehead, and a sappy smile crosses my lips.

  He lifts me with ease. One arm beneath my shoulders and the other supporting my legs, he deposits me beneath the cool sheets. I sigh in satisfaction as my head sinks into the airy pillow. He touches my face gently, pushing the hair from my eyes and tucking it behind my ear. As quick as his touch is there, it’s gone, and he’s stepping back and crossing the room.

  “I wish you’d stay,” I mumble, my voice laced with sleepiness.

  He sighs and crosses the room again. “I’m no good for you, Charlie.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Now sleep. You’ll see me tomorrow.”

  I want to argue but the exhaustion overcomes me. I curl into a tight ball, pulling the soft fabric of the duvet to my chest, and wait for dreams of Jackson Stiles to come to me.

  Chapter Five

  I sit outside at a table for two, the sunshine warming my face. It’s a nice spot, set back under a big shade tree. I’m having lunch with Claire Brenner. Claire and Adam were in love, big-time. The kind of love that books make you want, but actual life makes you question. She’ll alw
ays have a special place in my own heart because of that.

  “Charlie Day!” Claire beams at me from across the patio. “What are you sitting there smiling about?”

  When she approaches, I stand and greet her with a hug. “Claire! I’ve missed that face of yours.” And it’s true. She’s a sight for sore eyes. As I take in her bouncing red hair and green eyes, my heart starts to ache a little. I’ve really missed her.

  “I’ve missed you too!” She grins and takes a seat across from me. “How have you been? Tell me everything. You look so happy today.”

  I pull my iced latte toward me and take a sip. “Life is good. I’ve been working with my dad. You probably know how that’s going.”

  Her grin grows. “Never a dull moment, I’m sure. What else?”

  I place my lips on the straw, hesitating. “I’ve been spending some time with Jackson.”

  Her bright expression falls, growing wary. “Oh...I can’t imagine that being easy.”

  Her comment makes me feel guilty. She’s right; it shouldn’t be easy. Jackson’s presence should torment me, a constant reminder that he made it home and Adam didn’t. But it hasn’t been anything like that. It feels good to have Jackson here.

  “It’s been easier than it should be,” I admit.

  She drops her eyes to her hands, and I get this dreadful feeling that she might cry. “I feel awful about not being there to celebrate his return, but it was just too...you know.” Her voice has dropped to a whisper and shakes a tiny bit. Claire not smiling is a rare occasion. This is one of those times, and I hate it.

  I exhale slowly, a wave of sadness washing over me. “I know. I’m sure Jackson understands.”

  “He called me, you know. Jackson did...as soon as he got back.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “He did?”

  She nods. “To talk about Adam. And he asked about you.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to know how you were coping,” she says. “I wasn’t sure what to tell him. How are you coping, Charlie?”