Catch My Fall: A Falling Novel Read online

  Not interested in tearing the Band-Aid off that wound tonight.

  "Don't you have insurance through school?"

  "Let's just say the first time I asked for a referral to get a refill on some medications they sent me to a geriatric urologist. That was fun, trying to get the insurance company to acknowledge that billing error."

  "Wait, they charged you for the visit that never happened?" She seems honestly shocked.

  It's cute.

  People like Parker used to annoy me. People who thought the world was a good and just place and that some people were just misunderstood. I used to resent people like her and think they were naive for not seeing the world the way it really is.

  But then it dawned on me that her world really is like that. She really lives in a world that is safe from violence, safe from hunger. Safe from all the terrible things lurking at the edges of civilized life.

  Now, I'm glad that world exists for her. I'm grateful that people like her get to live in a world that's a little better than the one I spent too much time in.

  I mean, that's why I enlisted, right? To defend her world so she didn't have to?

  And wow, am I feeling melancholy this evening.

  "Until I managed to point out their error. That was at the first VA I went to back in Texas. I’ve been fighting with the new one since I moved here. So yeah, just because I have insurance doesn't mean I can go to any doc I want."

  "I had no idea how complicated this all was. Is."

  "You should try to get a pap smear at the VA. That's a new level of hell right there."

  She opens her mouth to say something then closes it, opting to say nothing. My deflection has paid off, so at least I've got that going for me. I pick up my phone, considering my alternatives while I'm still thinking clearly.

  It's amazing how desperation for a decent night of sleep will make you consider doing Very Stupid Things.

  And my definition of “Very Stupid Things” is somewhere between “Things You Go to Jail For” and “Things You Don't Want Your Mom to Find Out About.”

  Scrolling through anonymous social media looking for a place to score some Xanax is up there on the list of things I don't want to get caught doing but am seriously considering before my brain starts to eat itself from lack of sleep. It would probably be easier to try and find weed on campus than Xanax. Might get me less jail time, too, if I get caught.

  I'm not really sure what's going to happen tonight when I try to go to sleep. Or how I'm going to get through until this shit with the docs gets sorted out and I get another appointment.

  The last time I ran out of sleeping pills, I drank so hard my liver packed her shit and went to live with my Aunt Rachel in a dry county in Kansas.

  No really. I ended up in the hospital because my liver decided to go on strike and get an infection. That was fun.

  It turns out, having a liver infection that lands you in intensive care isn't nearly enough to get you to stop drinking when you can't sleep. Neither is yoga. Drunk yoga is surprisingly transcendent, but there are risks associated with falling on your face because your balance is shit.

  And I don't really get drunk anymore.

  Guess my liver decided to toughen up. It's a small victory.

  I'm still thinking about that book on medical marijuana. I'm not sure how I feel about it. And it's just as illegal as scoring some black market Xanax.

  Eli walks in, talking to someone I don't recognize. I catch Parker watching them. Not them. Eli. She's completely drawn into his orbit. Just like all of us. "Hey, what's the deal with that guy?" I ask.

  Parker glances over. "Sam? He's moving to the area. He owns a barbecue joint down at Fort Bragg and I guess he’s opening one up here or something.”

  I lift both eyebrows. "Is all that on his business card?"

  She smiles and laughs. "No. Eli was talking to him last night up in the apartment until long after I fell asleep."

  "Really?"

  She frowns. "Which part of that is surprising? The guys sitting up drinking part or the me falling asleep part?"

  "The part where Eli leaves you sleeping to drink with his buddies." It's my turn to frown. "Never mind. I forgot who I was talking about."

  Her smile is warm as she watches him. I guess that's what love looks like? "Yeah, he's kind of good like that."

  She doesn't have to say it. It's one of the things we all admire about Eli.

  Eli provides a kind of structure. A place to call home that feels…familiar. I used to have such a negative feeling toward West Point officers. The only ones I'd met were giant dickbags. But Eli, he managed to convince me that all officers aren't the devil. Which is good since he's my boss and I would like to keep working, as I'm somewhat partial to food and housing.

  Evening bar traffic is starting to pick up and one of my least favorite people in the world walks in. Apparently, I’ve made a noise because Parker looks behind her at Caleb then back at me.

  "You don't like him?"

  "Cheers, Captain Obvious." I tip a glass in her direction.

  "Why?"

  "Oh, where to begin… I don't like that he fights all the time. He drinks way too much and he talks about what a badass he is." I toss back a shot. "He's what we call Full Hoah. As in ‘you never go full hoah.’" She looks confused and I remember that she hasn't served in the military and we have a unique way of talking about folks. "A good rule of thumb is if a guy has done something he won't generally talk about it, and Caleb won't shut the fuck up."

  "Ah. That makes sense." Parker pauses, looking down at her laptop. "Eli worries about him," she says after a moment.

  "I know he does and that's why we all love him." I pour another drink. "But his loyalty is going to bite him in the ass some day. He should be more careful where he leaves it lying around. Guys like Caleb end up hurting everyone around them."

  I turn away, not wanting to deal with Caleb's shit today and hoping he'll pretend I'm not here. I don't want to listen to his bullshit war stories or be the one who has to pour him drinks all night long.

  Of course, he doesn't take the hint. Because my life is a goddamned reality tv show with orchestrated moments of friction perfectly timed to fuck up the rest of my night.

  Deacon

  It's hard to miss Kelsey's reaction to Caleb when he walks in. I slide behind the bar, leaning into her briefly. "I've got him."

  She shoots me a quick look of gratitude as she takes another customer.

  After this morning's class, I don't have the courage to ask her about letting me interview her. I know her story from downrange. I'm pretty sure she's not going to just open up and tell me how wonderful life is as a civilian. Some of us have rougher transitions than others.

  I do need to figure out who I'm going to interview but that can wait until I get through the night without nailing Caleb's ass to the wall.

  "What's on the menu for creative drinks tonight?" Caleb leans on the bar like we’ve just completed the Bataan Death March together or something.

  "What are you in the mood for?" I ask him, trying to keep things easy and praying that he doesn't start in on the turn-the-Middle East-into-a-parking-lot bullshit.

  I'd rather hear about his latest obsession with CrossFit. Or get a root canal.

  He's that level of fun.

  "How about a rum and Coke?"

  "Sure thing."

  "So, did you get a chance to talk to your professor about your research? What did he think?" he asks as I slide his drink across the bar and snag his credit card to open up a tab for him.

  "Yeah. She thought it was a great idea. Now I just have to figure out who I can talk to about their adjustment to being a civilian."

  He frowns as he takes a long pull off his drink. "I thought you were going to interview people about the VA."

  "I am. But she wants me to get into people's sense of identity, too."

  He swirls his drink. "What does that even mean?"

  "It means how you see yourself. Like if I as
ked you to describe who you were, what would you say?"

  He swallows another long pull off his drink and motions for another. "I don't know how to answer that question," he says quietly. He’s drinking tonight but at this point, he’s usually five or six drinks in. I have the impression he’s only just getting started.

  I watch him as I mix his drink. "Are you okay?"

  On a normal day, I never would ask. But something isn't right about him tonight. Combined with our random meeting in the library, something isn't sitting right with me.

  "Yeah. Like I mentioned the other day, I'm just spending some quality time reflecting on my life choices."

  "What does that mean?" I repeat.

  He shrugs and turns away, leaving me to wonder some more about what’s going on with him. I don’t want to care. But I find myself curious. And I try to remind myself that not everyone has all their shit together.

  Maybe there’s a hell of a lot more depth to the Caleb story than I thought.

  But I keep the peace mostly for Eli's sake and the fact that I don't want The Pint to devolve to the level of drama reserved for groups of middle-aged men in bass fishing clubs arguing about who stole whose fishing hole.

  There's no place for that kind of drama here.

  I glance up as a pair of business school bros walk in, sporting Brooks Brothers button downs and Vineyard Vines flip flops. And then I do a double take at one of them.

  Holy. Shit.

  I grin as a wave of memory rushes out of the past. Sam Rossi. I knew Sam Rossi back in the Cav on my second tour in Iraq when he was a hell of a lot piss and vinegar, especially for a logistics guy. He was one of our platoon leaders in our forward support company and damn if he didn’t move mountains to make sure we got the bullets and bandages we needed when we were in the thick of it.

  He meets me halfway between the bar and before I know it, I’m pulled into a brutal and overzealous man-hug. “Holy shit, when did you get into town?” I ask when I can breathe again.

  “Couple of weeks ago. Sort of.” Sam grins at Caleb and grips his outstretched hand. It’s the first time I’ve seen Caleb interact with someone without it turning into a dick measuring contest. "Still surfing unicorn porn websites?"

  Caleb grins back and flips him off. The utter normalcy of the exchange – for soldiers that is – isn’t lost on me. "No, that browsing history was destroyed when the servers got blown up in that mortar strike."

  Sam laughs quietly. "Some things never change."

  "What are you doing here?" I ask Sam.

  "Trying to expand my empire.” Sam leans on the bar, his dark skin split into a wide grin. God but he used to get us in so much trouble with the commander because he was such a smart-ass. “Right now, I’m trying to close up a couple of deals there so I can relocate here permanently.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Well, real estate, for one. But I’m also trying to hire a manager for a restaurant I just bailed out.”

  Caleb perks up. “Yeah? I could probably help you with that,” he says. “I’ve been doing some managerial consulting in business school.”

  “That would be awesome. I’m definitely outside the loop here in Durham so I could use the help.” He hands Caleb a simple business card. Damn this guy has his shit together.

  "Business cards? You always were mostly civilian," I say. He always wore his hair too long and he was one of those guys who had a five o'clock shadow before nine a.m. His mere existence sent first sergeants everywhere into apoplectic fits.

  "Yeah, well, looking like one and feeling like one are two different things," Sam mutters.

  Caleb tips his glass in Sam’s direction. “Tell me about it.”

  "So, what brings you to The Pint if you’re between states?" I ask. Still, it’s good to see another familiar face. And, it’s a nice change to see Caleb not being a self-aggrandizing dick for once.

  Guess miracles can happen after all.

  "Just out for a night. Thought I’d finally try my hand at socializing." Sam rubs the back of his neck. He frowns as he pulls his phone out as it vibrates in his palm. "A night that is apparently going to be cut dramatically short. Sorry. One of my distributors. Back in a few."

  Sam steps out of the bar and Caleb takes a long pull off his drink then shifts around on his bar stool, drinking quietly for once. I've never seen him like this and it’s disconcerting how dramatic and sudden the change is. I find myself curious about what the hell’s happened to the asshole I used to hate.

  I don't want to care. I don't want to know anything about him other than that he's not causing problems at The Pint.

  But in that moment, his sudden shift guts me with an unexpected sadness that rises up out of the abyss, reminding me of the ties that bind us together, whether we want them to or not.

  I glance over at Kelsey, who’s smiling and flirting with a customer as she pours their whiskey and mixes another drink.

  Wishing that the ties that bound us were tighter.

  14

  Kelsey

  "I do not get paid enough to deal with this shit."

  I grin over at the pure disgruntlement in Deacon's voice as he taps the iPad violently to ring up the latest tab.

  "What’s happened?"

  He doesn't want to tell me. I can see it written all over his face. But he's going to. Because he's Deacon and no matter how much we may both try to pretend there's nothing but rampant hostility between us, once upon a time, we used to be friends.

  It hits me suddenly, violently, like a wave of light and heat: I want that again.

  Maybe I just need to sleep. Maybe I'm starting to hallucinate feelings instead of little dancing unicorns.

  But in that moment, the sudden want crashes over me.

  He glances over at me and sighs heavily. "Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “I won’t,” I promise.

  Deacon makes a face. “Guy just hit on me. Asked me to dinner at The Durham Hotel."

  "You should be flattered." I'm trying really hard not to laugh at his irritation.

  It's not working.

  "Yeah, well, it would have been if he'd genuinely been interested in me but he offered to buy my time for the night, if you catch my drift."

  And just like that, the laugh escapes, ripping free of my best efforts to keep it contained. I slap my hand over my mouth but it’s too late. "He wanted to pay you for…"

  "Don't say it," he snarls. "You said you wouldn't laugh."

  "Oh, that's so priceless. We should have Eli put up a sign. ‘Not for sale’, maybe?"

  "Ha ha ha. You wouldn't think it was funny if it was you." He turns back to his customer, handing over the iPad for them to sign.

  I pour another round. "What are you talking about? I get offers like that all the time. Along with random dick pics from pathetic losers who think that's the same as asking someone for coffee."

  Deacon shakes his head, his lips pressed into a hard, flat line. "You're too nonchalant about that stuff. Guys should not be sending you pictures of their junk. It's fucking rude."

  Because I can't help myself, I reach over and pat his cheek. I blame the lack of sleep and the alcohol mixing in my brain for the sudden courage to shatter the barriers I’ve kept between us.

  I’m tired of fighting. So fucking tired.

  His skin is warm, his stubble rough against my palm. I play it off but it burns where I touch him. "Not everyone is as chivalrous as you."

  He stills beneath my touch. The world falls away, the noise from the bar suddenly distant.

  It was a mistake to touch him. To dance that close to the fire. He snags my wrist, even though he’s got to be fully aware that everyone in the bar can see him.

  We've done this before. Flirting behind the counter, making the customers think we're repressing violent sexual feelings for each other.

  But tonight, it's not a show.

  Maybe it never has been.

  Maybe I've been lying to myself all along.

  He
lowers our hands, drawing me closer until I'm a breath from him, until I can feel the heat from his body. "I'll show you chivalry," he whispers against my mouth.

  The move is stunning in its simplicity. One minute, we're putting on a show for the customers. The next, heat arcs between our bodies and mine is craving for him to touch me.

  It's amazing how much my body still remembers how good we were together.

  All of the good is gone, though…isn’t it? Tainted and dyed in blood and waking nightmares.

  There are a thousand things I want to do in this moment. Press my lips to his. Lean into his touch. Or maybe let his hands wander over my body. I don't even care that people could be watching. My body aches for him. For the way things used to be.

  "You shouldn't touch," I whisper. I can feel all the eyes in the bar on us. Watching as all of my feelings for this man escape in wild abandon. "I might fall for you. And I hate falling."

  I don't know what’s drawn those words from my lips. I really couldn't say.

  "I'll catch you," he whispers, suddenly more serious than I've seen him in a long, long time.

  The moment wraps around us, luring me closer to the temptation that he represents. The risk to the carefully drawn boundaries I've had to erect to stay sane in this new world of yoga pants and lattes.

  I want to take the leap.

  But fear is a powerful thing.

  "I've got to get a bottle from the basement." A convenient lie. I back up, searching for my escape path.

  One he accepts as he releases me, saying nothing.

  I slip away from the bar. Not heading into the basement, but just moving away from the bar for a moment to catch my breath and lock away the emotions that are threatening to rip free.

  We tried this once before. When I first saw him back in the States. Everything was raw and wrong and ragged. The sex was different. Hotter. Less urgent. More powerful.

  And then the dam broke and everything I'd been avoiding for fifteen months crashed into me.