Headfirst Falling Page 6

I swallow the lump in my throat. How am I coping? What a question. Awfully—that would be the honest answer. I could tell her that it’s been months since I’ve had a good night’s rest, because I’m having nightmares. And I could tell her that I’ve been using alcohol as a crutch. That I’m miserable, and I miss my brother. That I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with losing him. But I don’t. I don’t know why. I just don’t.

  “Oh, you know...I still have bad dreams.”

  Her eyes get watery and her chin quivers. “Me too.” She covers her face with her hands and starts to cry, her shoulders heaving. I automatically scoot around to her side of the table and pull her into a tight hug.

  When tears fall from my own eyes, something inside me feels like it’s ripped open. Some deep, dark place where I keep things buried away...things like Adam. It’s like an old wound, torn open and bleeding.

  Claire’s a sad reminder of what life really is. She had a fairy-tale love with Adam, but not the happy ending. What she got was a real life ending. The kind where people die and tragedies exist, and you end up never being the same. She’s living proof that sometimes life isn’t pretty... Sometimes it’s awful, and ugly, and tragic.

  * * *

  After lunch with Claire, I walk along the sidewalk a few blocks, feeling particularly low. Taylor is waiting for me in the spot we designated, and one glimpse of her annoyed expression lifts my spirits. Taylor’s always had a way about her of putting me at ease. I can’t even explain it. It’s just that she’s always...Taylor. I never have to worry about what I’m going to get with her. She’s always just my same old best friend. The one I met in kindergarten.

  She slides her sunglasses up and off of her eyes, so she can pin me with her icy blue eyes. “Charlie. I’ve practically been waiting all day! Do you know how hot it is out here?”

  I’m not the least bit concerned. She’s prone to melodrama from time to time, and judging by the shopping bags she’s carrying, she kept herself busy. “It’s been two hours since you dropped me off. I’m not sure that justifies the entire day.”

  She huffs, seconds away from stomping her foot like a pissed-off three-year-old. “I know. But fifteen minutes in this heat justifies anything I want it to.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  “Of artwork, yeah.” She grins and drops her glasses back over her eyes. “Are you ready to shop or what?”

  “Yes, let’s.” I usher her into the nearby sports store. We promised to accompany my dad to the baseball game tonight, and if we don’t show support for the home team he’ll throw a fit. The Rangers are having a good season, and I enjoy the atmosphere of the games. All in all, it should be an entertaining night.

  Taylor searches the racks. She’s going to drag this out. I could be happy with the first piece of fabric my fingers land on, but she strives for perfection, no matter the occasion.

  “Soooo.” She draws the word out as she flips past a few shirts, and I know I won’t like what follows. “This morning when I got home I couldn’t help but notice that there were two glasses in the sink with what looked like the remnants of a couple of cocktails. Not to mention the bottle of Belvedere on the counter.”

  I keep my eyes on the rack in front of me. “And?”

  “And you’ve had that dopey smile on your face all morning.” She stops what she’s doing and turns to face me. “Is there something you need to tell me, Charlie Day?”

  I scoff. “What? No!”

  She grins. “I thought I’d better check and make sure your innocence still remains intact.”

  “Nothing happened,” I insist. “You know me better.”

  She laughs and pats me on the back. “I know, I know. But I am curious to know, what’s with all the smiling?”

  “It was nothing. Everyone from work went out for drinks last night. Jackson drove me home, hence the absence of my car this morning. And he came in for one drink. No big deal.”

  She purses her lips like she knows a secret. “You like him.”

  “Shut up!”

  “You’ve got a crush.”

  When I feel heat creep across my cheekbones, I spin so my back is to her. Then I feel the warmth on the back of my neck and realize she’s going to see my girlish reaction either way.

  She puts her hands on my shoulders and rotates me back around. Her brow raises a little, just enough to let me know she’s on to me. “You do have a crush. A big one.”

  I step away and shake my head. “You should talk less.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She salutes me and turns back to the racks. The subject is dropped for now.

  * * *

  I study myself in the mirror, trying to decide if there’s anything I can add to brighten my outfit. I wear the fitted blue jersey I chose in the sports store, with distressed white denim shorts and my favorite pair of TOMS. My brown hair falls in curls, framing my face and bringing attention to my eyes, which are still too big and bright.

  This will have to do. The shorts show my legs nicely; that’s a plus. Especially since I’ve worked so hard on them. Runner’s legs, a part of my body that I feel can impress.

  I gather the essentials for the game—debit card, ID, lipstick and cell phone, and stuff them in a small leather cross-body bag. I look in the mirror one last time before leaving my bedroom.

  Devin grins as I join him and Taylor in the kitchen. “Hey, Charlie.”

  “Hey.” I pull out a bar stool and plop down. “You excited for the game?”

  “Very,” he says, handing me a beer. “You excited?”

  “Oh Devin, she’s very, very excited,” Taylor butts in. “Jackson will be there.”

  “I’m excited for the game,” I correct, twisting the cap off my bottle.

  She winks. “I bet you are.”

  I toss her a dirty look. “I am.”

  She feigns horror, then tsks me, shaking her head. “Oh no, no, no... You did not just give me that look. What’s with all the sass?”

  Devin raises his brows and looks from her to me. “What look?”

  “The look, Devin!” She throws her hands in the air. “The one a nasty old turtle would give you right before it bites your finger off. Charlie is a repeat offender. She must be punished. Fetch me a shot glass.” She points to the other end of the kitchen.

  I pluck my beer off the granite counter and lift it to my lips to take a sip. “Is this necessary?”

  “Oh, it’s more than necessary. How will you ever learn your lesson without being properly punished?”

  I roll my eyes and set the bottle back down. “I’m not sure the occasional dirty look warrants the need for retribution, Taylor.”

  “It does when the look wasn’t provoked,” she counters.

  “I think it may have been provoked,” Devin interjects.

  “Now I’m getting sass from you too, Devin?” She pulls a bottle of tequila from the top shelf of the liquor cabinet then slides the shot glass Devin got toward her. “Get two more glasses.”

  He obeys, and I wince. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

  She fills the three glasses, squatting to eye level to make sure they’re perfect. Then she stands back to admire her work. “It’s time for you to take your medicine, Charlie.”

  I reach for one of the shots. “Why three?”

  “One for you, one for Devin and one for me.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, though.”

  “I know.” A devilish grin plucks at the corners of her mouth. “I just like tequila.”

  I glance from the golden liquid to Devin’s eyes. They’re almost the exact same color. Maybe that’s why she likes him so much.

  “Pick up the glass,” she bosses.

  I scrunch up my nose, but pluck the shot glass of
f of the countertop. Devin and Taylor do the same. We clink them all together, and I say, “Cheers to Taylor and her crazy antics.”

  “Cheers to getting drunk,” she echoes.

  “And to a fun night with friends,” Devin finishes.

  After that, we touch them to the table for luck and slam them, tipping our heads back in unison. It’s a storm of spices in a shot glass. Earthy and hot, and a total shock to my taste buds.

  “Nasty!” Devin gasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Taylor shrugs, completely unaffected. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  She refills one of the shot glasses while I watch like she’s lost her mind. “You’re having another?”

  She smiles and slides it across the counter to me. “No. You are.”

  I snap my head around to face her. “Why?”

  “For rolling your eyes, of course, and because it’ll take the edge off your nerves.”

  My head is still spinning from the first taste, but I take the glass. Before I lose my courage, I tip my head back and swallow. It’s the same distinct taste, but doesn’t sting as bad this time.

  I set the glass down with a loud thud. “Happy now?”

  “Yes. Unless you want another?”

  I’m quick to shake my head. “No, definitely not. I’m good.” I gather the glasses and take them to the sink, then busy myself with the few dishes that are there, washing and drying them slowly. Killing time and staying close to the sink, because that last shot made my stomach uneasy. I put them away and scour the kitchen for something else to bide my time. I find nothing.

  “What should we do tomorrow?” Taylor asks, flipping through the magazine that’s open on the kitchen island. I don’t think she’s even reading any of it, just looking at pictures.

  I shrug. She should know that I don’t have any plans. I never have plans, and when I do it involves the two of them.

  Devin pushes a disheveled strand of rust-colored hair from his eyes. “I think some people are getting together at the pool tomorrow at my place.” He lives in a nice area, and the pool is amazing. It’s almost always a party. I wouldn’t mind spending my day that way.

  “That sounds fun,” she replies, crossing the room and pulling the refrigerator door open. When she turns back around, she has a pink wine cooler in her hand. “You in, Charlie?”

  I nod. “I am in.”

  “What about Jackson?” Devin asks. His huge grin is goofy. Brotherly. Annoying. “You should invite him.”

  I wouldn’t be opposed to staring at Jackson with his shirt off all day, but I’m not sure I’d enjoy watching a handful of other women stare at him too.

  “I think I will,” I decide, resolving to just deal with it.

  * * *

  Jackson arrives right on time. I know because I’ve been pacing back and forth in front of the window for the past five minutes. He’s driving a Range Rover. Weird...yesterday he drove something different.

  “He’s here!” My voice comes out flighty, high-pitched and too loud.

  Devin snags his baseball cap from the back of the couch and chuckles. “You really are excited, aren’t you?”

  I shush him and usher them out the door. Jackson hops from the car and opens the door for me. His hand finds the small of my back as he helps me into the passenger’s seat. My skin warms beneath his touch.

  “How many cars do you have?” I ask him when he slides back into the driver’s seat.

  He laughs sheepishly and shifts into Drive. “More than I care to admit.”

  Taylor leans forward and runs her hand across the leather headrest. “When you get tired of this one, don’t hesitate to pass it on to me. I could use an extra car or two.”

  When she sits back, Jackson looks over at me and smiles, a megawatt, million-dollar, perfect smile meant for me. Then he reaches over and pats my thigh just above the knee. My lips morph to match his when he stops and lets his hand rest there.

  * * *

  The stadium’s atmosphere is charged, buzzing with excitement as we wait for the first pitch to be thrown. Even Taylor’s into it, sitting on the edge of her seat, peering over the crowd in front of her for a better view—or maybe she’s just trying to get a good look at the players. We’re in the section behind home plate, eight or so rows up.

  I’m pleased with the way the seating arrangements played out. I scrambled when my dad handed over the tickets but all in good nature, because I’m sitting next to Jackson. My dad’s friend, Bill, is in the innermost seat next to my dad, then it’s Taylor, Devin, me and finally Jackson. He’s in the seat next to the aisle. Convenient for beer runs. Taylor requested the spot beside my dad. I don’t know what possessed her. Maybe she thinks he’ll be most entertaining, which is probably right.

  Jackson sports a royal-blue jersey and baseball cap that shades his eyes. This is the Jackson I know. Young and carefree, eyes gleaming like a child again. There’s no pain or worry in his eyes tonight, no sign of the broken soldier that I know is there.

  When he glances over, he catches me staring. I flush, and he smiles. The crowd cheers around us, and the announcer’s voice booms overhead. The first pitch has just been thrown... Let the games begin.

  * * *

  I sit in my seat and sip my ridiculous drink. It’s long and skinny, a good twelve inches tall and filled with a strawberry daiquiri...I think. Whatever it is, it’s good, and Jackson bought it for me, which only makes it that much sweeter. He bought the entire group a round, so I’m not sure I should do much celebrating. But I don’t care. I’m obsessing over it anyway.

  All of Jackson’s attention is on the game. He’s intent and completely into it. I’m more interested in the people surrounding us. My favorite is a tiny old woman sitting a few rows behind us and one section to the right. She’s got to be at least ninety years old, and she’s wearing the most awesome Indian headdress. Every time someone from our team comes to bat, she stands and beats a handheld drum with a small stick. It’s the same beat every time, short and catchy. When she finishes, the surrounding crowd mimics her beat by clapping their hands in the same rhythm. She’s the kind of fan who comes to every game. I love it.

  My dad and Bill try explaining the game to Taylor, but it looks like a lost cause. She’s already tipsy and having difficulty grasping the most basic concepts. Mostly she talks about the players’ butts and whistles when they bend over. Devin and Jackson are getting along great. I’ve contemplated switching seats with Jackson, so they can sit together. They interact like old friends...the way Jackson would be with Adam if he were here.

  One of our players crushes a ball, and it whizzes from his bat like a bullet, out of the infield, out of the outfield and over the far back wall. The announcer’s voice booms overhead. “Home ruuuun, Rangers!”

  All around us, people jump to their feet. Taylor and I join, and the entire stadium erupts with applause. Over the noise, I can hear the faint beat of the old woman’s drum. The adrenaline makes me grin, and my heart is pounding like I’m a player in the actual game.

  When we sit back down, I sit and grab Jackson’s forearm. “That was awesome!”

  He flips his cap around backward and grins. “Fun, isn’t it?”

  “Very. Way better than watching on TV.” I’ve got a strange itch to buy a drum and come to every game.

  Taylor reaches over and clutches my hands. Her eyes are wide and wild. “Did you see how hot that guy was?”

  When Devin rolls his eyes, I laugh. Then my attention is diverted. Several of the people sitting near us fish their wallets out and start withdrawing cash. “Why’s everyone doing that?” I ask Jackson, watching as he and Devin do the same.

  “You hold it up anytime someone hits a home run. It gets collected and goes to charity.” He takes two twenties from his wallet and puts one in my hand. “Hold
it over your head like this.”

  I do as I’m told, raising my hand like I did when I was in middle school and had a question, holding the bill high in the air. Surges of employees come from above and begin scouring the rows. They pluck the bills from one waiting hand after the next. Within a matter of minutes, someone sweeps by and collects ours.

  The stadium is still buzzing, and energy rolls through the crowd in waves. I don’t know if I’ve stopped smiling this entire time. “This is so fun!”

  He pushes his elbow out, brushing it against mine. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “I love it,” I admit.

  He waves over a nearby vendor. “You want something to eat?”

  I take a sip of from my ridiculous cup. “I’d rather drink.”

  “You should eat.” He holds up two fingers, the man dispenses two hot dogs and Jackson hands over some money. “Thanks, man, keep the change.”

  The man says thanks with a cheerful smile and leaves Jackson with a handful of fixings.

  He douses them with mustard, the way I ate them when I was little, and hands one to me. “Eat. You’re too skinny these days.”

  I scowl and look down at myself. I’m not too skinny.

  He’s quick to add, “This is better than drinking on an empty stomach.”

  I feel like arguing but decide against it. He’s being sweet. I peel back the foil wrapper and smile. “Thank you.” It’s enormous, a hot dog on steroids, much too big for me to eat the entire thing. Especially with the strawberry daiquiri making me feel bloated. I tear it and give half to Devin. He wolfs it down in three bites.

  When I’m finished, I turn my attention back to the game. I’m starting to get the fascination with this. It so much more interesting when you’re more invested in the players. Once you learn who they are, the positions they play, their strengths and their weaknesses.

  “Watch out!” Taylor screams out of nowhere, ducking for cover under her hands. Out of instinct, I do the same. A foul ball slams into the concrete near us. I peek up just in time to see Jackson catch it with his open hand before it has a chance to bounce into my face.

  I blink in surprise a few times. “Thanks.”