Fall Guy (41 page)

"I love you. You're right.
First step.
Tonight, I take my first step." I manage to say it without crying.
Mostly because I shut down completely.
"Now, if you will excuse me, my hair is a mess, and I have to fix it."

Gramma
beams and I wal
k up the stairs, head high, turn
into my bathroom, soak a washrag
in cold water, set my phone alarm for five
minutes,
then
cry thick, shaky, moaning
sobs into the cloth until the beep sounds.

It was the same amount of time I gave Winch on our first date. I should have walked away when that alarm first sounded. I didn't then, but I will now. I have to.

I sit at my vanity and fix my hair, put on my makeup, and just when I brush the eighteenth coat of mascara on my eye
lashe
s, the doorbell chimes. I hear Granddaddy answer and exchange hearty, manly words with the guy who's waiting downstairs. He's some son of some colleague of my grandfather's, and Granddaddy called him a 'go-getter,' which is basically the very highest praise he ever gives anyone. So this guy must be something special.

But he’s n
ot Winchester Youngblood.

I hang my silky robe on the hook in
my closet and take out the simple
green dress that I've always liked but never loved. Maybe that's just because I've never given it a fair chance. I dab a last coat of
lipgloss
on and head down the stairs in dangerously high pink heels with little bows at the toe, perfectly adorable, and a good way to lift my spirits every time Winchester invades my thoughts. All I have to do to buoy my mood a tiny bit is
stare
down at my fabulously outfitted feet.

The guy,
Callum
Long, stands with a bouquet of mixed flowers, maybe more gorgeous than any Winch got for me. I take them from his hands and bury my nose in the petals, but I don't inhale the sweet aroma, because there's a line between playing along to mend my tattered heart and taking a sledgehammer to the last brittle
pieces,
and I'm not strong enough to jump that line yet.

"You kids look smart together," Granddaddy beams, hooking his thumb
s through
his red suspenders.

I wish, right then, that he'd had the opportunity to meet Winchester. I wish he'd been able to take him aside and smoke a cigar on the porch with him. Maybe he would have opened up about
his story, how he left his family and struck out on his own. Maybe Winch would have told Granddad
dy his problems. If anyone can fix any problem, it’
s my grandfather.

But I was so wrapped
up in just figuring Winch and me
out while we were together, I never considered having him over.

Now it's nothing but
the dust of old regrets, and I need to shake it off.

I kiss Granddaddy on the cheek and let him pull me into a long, gruff hug.

"You take care of her,
Callum
," my grandfather threatens with a wag of his finger.

Callum’s
voice is rich and low
, with just that bit of a country-boy drawl that always
uncoils something deep and sweet
in me.

"Of course, sir.
I won't let out
of my sight for a single second. Were you ready, Evan?"

His light eyes flick up and down me quickly, clearly pleased with what he sees.

There's a kick of delicious warmth in my stomach
, exact
ly what I would have expected from having
a good-looking, tall, sweet-eyed boy looking me over.

It's just not anything close to the inferno I feel when Winch looks me over.

"Let me say goodbye to my grandmother," I stall, but
Gramma
is bustling in to take my bouquet and arrange it in a vase, just like she did with Winch's, but without all the drama.

This time she's all smiles and kisses and pats on my backside, telling us to be good and have fun. She looks happy. She looks relieved.

“Your granddaddy and I will be out late, but I won’t be surprised if you come home after us!” She winks at me.

I wish
I felt a sliver of her enthusiasm
.

Callum
opens the door of his sleek sports
car for me
, and I sit on the leather seat
and smile and make inane conversation as we weave into downtown traffic and head to a fancy restaurant I
used to go to with Rabin, but it was called something else then. I hated the
lambchops
. They were overcooked.

And just like that, it's like life has been dimmed, and I'm back to remembering less than delicious meals and less than amazing boyfriends. Small talk is hard to keep up, and everything feels distracted
and distracting
.

Callum
orders a bottle of wine for us, and this place is swank enough that they don’t card me or seem to care if I drink. T
he sweet drizzle of the bubbly white is crisp and
dulling at the same time. He’s
talking about his engineering classes, and, to be fair, it's not his fault he's being so boring. I've hardly done more than sip my wine, smile, and nod at him.

I can just barely
process the taste of the food when it finally comes, and, though I force myself to have dessert and walk downtown a little with
Callum
, I can't will myself to hang around for a drive to a party.

"I'd love to. I would." I act as best I
can,
all wide eyes and emphatic nods. "But I'm just really tired. I had community service this morning and it was a long day. You understand, right?"

I bat my lashes and his sweet smile is a relief. He's not going to push the issue.

"Of course,
darlin
.'
St. John's had crazy community service requirements when I was a senior, too. On the plus side, it looks amazing on college applications."

His smile is so sympathetic, I don't bother to correct him and let him know that this particular community service will do nothing at
all to attract colleges toward
me.

The drive home is quiet, and I give
Callum
a chaste kiss at my front door, hoping it will communicate nothing mo
re than my tepid appreciation for
this night.
This date.
This first step that is, I hope, not going to be reflective of how bland and lukew
arm life devoid of Winch will
be.

I watch h
im walk back to his car, and I turn
into the empty house.
Gramma
and
Granddaddy have never set a solid curfew before, but tonight all time limits were waived because, I think, they hoped I'd fling myself back into a social life and some semblance of happiness.

Even though the dinner felt like it lasted for hours, it's only been a scant two. Saturday night looms long and empty. I walk upstairs and fall back on my bed, not bothering to change out of my dress.

I decided, after looking in the plush bathroom's gilded mirror at the restaurant, that I really don't
love the dress. Or maybe I was
just
caught up in
the theme of the entire night: blah.

I text Brenna, and she texts back such an excited stream of questions, I wind up just tapping a message to let her know that I'm having so much fun, I'll have to fill her in later.

Brenna has been rooting for my happiness, however it comes, like a frantically hopeful cheerleader, and dishing all the depressing details of my latest social failure just feels like too much effort at this point.

I do my best to switch my brain off as the dark rolls in and the house goes utterly, depressingly silent. I've gone blank.
Erased.
Empty. It's the only way I can be if I want to survive without sobbing over Winch and all the possibility the two of us had, now lost for good.

But no matter how hard I work to shut my brain down, my body aches for him in the dark. I crave comfort that g
oes way beyond warm baths, soft
pajamas, creamy
chocolate truffles; those are shallow, nonessentials. I need his touch, his hold, his love.

I know I can't have it. I know the need will have to eventually melt away. But tonight, in the dark of my room, I'm not convinced I can live without it.

And then I hear the
hiccupping
roar of an engine. It's Saturday night. It could be any stupid showoff on a date. There's a way bigger chance it isn't him than that it is.

A yell shatters the quiet of the night.

"Evan!"

I sit
up,
shocked at the way that voice has morphed around my name.
Because it's him.
It's Winch. But not the way I know him. I get up and run to the balcony outside my room, ignoring the slight bite of a chill on my skin. It takes my eyes a long few seconds to adjust in the dark, but when I finally see Winch, shock seizes through me.

"Winch?"
I ask, not sure the loping, staggering figure below could be my cool, collected, always-in-control Winch.

"Evan!" He yells like he didn't hear my voice. He looks up and squints, then trips over a potted plant. The ceramic pot crashes and I hear the heavy thud of his body crashing into the dirt and his guttural curses. "Evan!"

His yell is impatient this time, and I raise my voice, glancing nervously at my neighbor's house. He's going to w
ake the entire damn street
up.

Even as I think this, a thick, sweet happiness swirls through me. I have no idea why he's here or what he wants, but I'm completely thrilled that he's down there, waiting for me.

"Wait, Winch! I'm coming down."

"No!" he protests, but I ignore him and fly down the hall and stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door that leads me into the gardens and his arms.

He folds me in his embrace, but staggers back and has to lean on me to keep from falling over.

"Evan." His voice, always so strong and calm, comes out like a whimper around my name. "I've missed you so damn much. You don't know...you have no idea how much I wanted you."

His mouth is nuzzling near my ear,
and I turn my face so our lips
can meet, momentarily shocked by the stench of liquor on him. One kiss has my head spinning, and I feel like I downed a
viciously hot shot of whatever he drank.

I ignore his drunkenness and kiss harder, balling my hands in the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling his hard, lean body close to mine. He wraps his arms around me and kisses back like this kiss is his final request. His hands roam everywhere, pressing against my skin and stopp
ing to squeeze while he murmurs
sexy pleas in another language.

"I want you. Now," I plead, using the full force of my willpower to pull away from him and drag him behind me.

He stumbles along, trying to talk to me, trying to talk me out of this, maybe, so I refuse to slow down or listen. I just power forward, into my room and onto my bed, pulling him down next to me. He smells sooty and sweaty, nothing like the clean and polished Winch I'm used to.

"I love you," I insist, hoping to throw up the one roadblock he won't dare smash through.

It works. My words still the protest that I know was on his lips.

"I love you," he says instead of whatever he was going to say to argue us out of this tangled, sweet perfection. "I have to tell you something...I have to tell you--"

I clamp a hand over his mouth
,
his lips and
breath
warm and ready on my palm. "I want to be with you.
Now."

I slide my hand down below the waistband of his pants, skim along the elastic of his boxer briefs and listen to the hiss of his breath as I cup him, smooth, hot, and hard, against the palm of my hand.

"I love you, and I don't really care what you're going to say. I want you. I want you so badly, Winch. Don't say no to me. You've said no to a million things I've asked. Not this time, okay?"

"You're
gonna
regret this." He leans his forehead on mine and squeezes his hands at my
hips hard. "Please, hear me out, Evan. Please let me tell you what--"

"Stop."
I kiss his lips, hungry for the taste of him, the taste I can never get enough of. I rip my mouth away. "I'm not an idiot. Whatever you're going to tell me, I know it will be bad, okay? Maybe it will even be bad enough to end everything permanently. But before I hear it, I want this. I want right now, and when it's done, I swear to you, I will never regret being with you right now. Please. Please, Winch. I love you."

He groans and blows a long, hard breath
against my neck, then swallows so his throat goes tight and nods.