Falling by Design (14 page)

"Hello, Grayson." I’m about to give myself a high five because my voice comes out even. He continues to stand there, and I fight the urge to reach over and close his mouth a little. Instead, I settle for waving my hand in front of his face. He blinks, as if coming out of a fog.

"Hello, Brooklynn." The look still hasn't left his eyes and I let myself bask in the appreciation. I took care with my make up and even curled my hair, to compliment my outfit. When his gaze sweeps over the rest of me I feel it like a physical caress. My skin begins to tingle and it takes everything in me not to close the mere inches gap between us and let him wrap me in his arms. If I wasn't red before, I'm bursting with color now.

I turn to Dakota and find her amused eyes on me.

"You two have fun now," she says wiggling her eyebrows. With a small wave in her direction, we turn and make our way to the front of the building. Grayson shocks me by being a complete gentleman and opening the doors for me. I try not to be too pleased with that, considering I'm having a hard time staying neutral when it comes to him. 

"You—" Grayson begins taking his place in the driver seat of his car. "You look beautiful."

I whip my head in his direction, wondering if I heard him right. The last part was said almost under his breath. The pleasure of his quiet words washes over me.

"How's your family been?" I say, searching for a safe topic as I settle a little more comfortably in my seat.

He signals a turn."Well, you've met my dad. He's still larger than life and thinks he's funny. Noah is almost six now."

"Noah?"

"Right, my brother. I don't think you've ever met him."

"I didn't know you had a brother."

"He was born pretty much right before we left." He doesn't say anything else, almost lost in his own head. “My family... It hasn’t been easy, these past six years. I’ve—I don’t really talk to people about this.”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I understand.” I definitely do understand family drama, and Grayson knows this. Maybe not to the complete extent, but I told him my parents aren’t very supporting of me. He’s seen how that hurts me.

We pull up in front of his house and he turns the car off but doesn't get out.

I sit for a moment, letting him make a decision before I finally ask. "Want to tell me about it?"

At first, I don't think he's going to answer. He grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. But maybe because of the understanding that came from years of experience, he decides that I’m trustworthy enough to tell. Or maybe it’s the look in my eyes just then; I can’t hide the compassion in them. He studies me for a second, before taking a deep breath.

"Mom didn't want to be pregnant," he begins, the bitterness in his voice evident. "She most definitely didn’t want another kid. Her and dad used to fight about it all the time. She kept saying that I was enough and we didn't need anyone else. I know you may ask why she just didn't get an abortion, but she wouldn't do something like that.  They fought about options, but for my dad, there weren’t any other than keeping the baby. The closer it came to the due date, the more she resented it all. She started drinking and eating unhealthy. Dad tried to control her but he could only do so much.

When the time came for her to have the baby, she went to the hospital without us. Dad found out from our neighbors and took off after her. He got there right on time. They were going to let the adoption agency have him, but dad intercepted the paperwork and the exchange. Apparently, she was deemed unstable, dad had been trying to get the legal papers processed. Since her state of mind placed the child in harm’s way even before he was born, dad had the final decision. From what I heard later, they fought and he said he was keeping the baby and she could do whatever she wanted. So she told him she’d do the one thing she'd wanted since they day they got back from their honeymoon and leave him."

He stops for a second, a tremor racing through his body.

Tentatively, I take his hand in mine, wrapping my fingers tightly around his. He glances down at our joined hands in surprise, then his eyes meet my own.

"Noah became my responsibility. Dad had to work a lot because mom took most of the money in the divorce, but we made it. We had to make some sacrifices and that's why we left. We went to live with my grandmother in this tiny town in Connecticut."

"Why did you come back?"

"It was time." He's still staring down at our hands and I can't read his expression. I’m not sure what to say, I can’t find the right words. I wish I could.

His thumb makes small circles against my skin and I suppress the shivers that travel over my body. However, Grayson doesn't miss the goosebumps that race up my arm. Playfully, I punch him in the shoulder, releasing his hand. I reach for the door, but he catches me before I can make a move.

"Hey," he says. I look at him. "Thank you." I'm not sure what he's thanking me for, but I don't ask because he's out of the car and coming to my side next.

"Ready for—" he doesn't finish because a child runs toward him, screaming loudly. The next moment, the little blur of movement is wrapped around Grayson's legs.

"I thought you were going to sit out here forever," the voice says from somewhere below. Grinning, Grayson disentangles himself from his brother before kneeling down.

"Noah," he says turning the boy to face me. "This is Brooklynn." I kneel down as well, but the boy shifts, hiding behind Grayson.

"Hi Noah, it's nice to meet you." I hold out my hand for a shake and after a moment he takes it. I smile at the little boy's shyness.

"You're pretty," he whispers before ducking back behind his brother.

"Why thank you, handsome. Would you like to escort me for dinner?" I ask, rising to my feet and reaching a hand out. He glances at his brother for a second, his chubby face shining like a bright tomato at my compliment, before grasping my hand in his. I throw a triumphant look Grayson's way but he only shakes his head, following close behind.

"Brooklynn!" Mr. Banks greets me warmly as we step into the house. I guess they've been watching us out the window for a while now. Mr. Banks wraps me in a hug, before leading us to the kitchen. "It's good to see you. I made lasagna. I hope you like Italian."

"Yes, I'm a fan. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Wait till you try it. It'll be another few minutes."

"Would you like some help?" I ask, because the manners my mother instilled in me are ever present.

"No, but thank you. Just take a seat at the table." Grayson leads me to a chair, pulling it out so I can sit down. He really needs to stop with the gentleman-like moves. Noah is still holding my hand, so he settles beside me.

"Hey shorty, that's my seat," Grayson grumbles and I smile.

Noah turns to his brother and says with a completely straight face, "I don't see your name on it." Then he squeals as Grayson lunges for him, his hand dropping swiftly from mine as he runs to the other side of the table. I laugh at their antics, while Grayson mutters under his breath and takes the now empty seat next to me. Mr. Banks comes into the room before anyone can say a word, placing the steaming dish of lasagna in front of us. He takes his place at the head of the table, arms outstretched and his boys each take a hand. Grayson gives me a small smile, reaching for my hand and I clasp it tightly in mine.

We bow our heads. After a quick prayer, we dig into the meal, but my hand still tingles from where Grayson touched me.

As I listen to the conversation playing out around me, I think back to what Grayson told me in the car. Mr. Banks has every right to be a bitter old man, but he's not. He's just as lively as I remember and he obviously adores his two boys. I don't remember the last time my family talked this much during dinner. To us, family dinner has become more of a ritual than an opportunity to spend time together.

I try not to let the sadness set in, but it’s hard to keep the emotion from blossoming within my heart. The sweetness of the picture this family paints is beautiful. Grayson catches my eye and an unspoken question hangs in the space between us. I do my best to void my face of all emotion, but gratitude. He takes that in at face value, not asking anything verbally. Over the last weeks, he’s become acutely attuned to my emotions, and that makes him very dangerous to my heart.

TWENTY - TWO

Flattery is like cologne water, to be smelt, not swallowed. - Josh Billings

"And he ran right into the tree as if it wasn't even there!"

We're laughing so hard, I'm gasping for breath as Mr. Banks tells yet another embarrassing Grayson story.

"He thought he was Superman, so of course the tree wasn't supposed to be an obstacle. Needless to say, he wore a big shiner for weeks after that."

"Hey, you told everyone you got it while taking care of some thugs who wanted to steal the groceries from an old lady!" I accuse, suddenly remembering this from fifth grade. He came into school like he owned the place, proudly displaying his injury. I, of course, was staying away from him, but I heard the rumors. Dakota made sure of that.

"I can't believe you remember that."

"I can't believe you thought you could run over a tree and walk away from it without a scratch." Something passes between us as our eyes meet and I'm the first one to look away. I can almost feel the satisfaction radiating off Grayson's body, as if he scored a winning goal at state championship. I glance up to see Mr. Banks smiling in our direction.

"You know Brooklynn, Grayson talked about you a lot growing up. Actually I don't remember him not talking—"

"Dad!" Grayson exclaims, pure horror on his face.

"Shh, Grayson," I wave a hand in his direction, "your father is speaking. Please continue." I place my hands under my chin, my full attention on Mr. Banks.

"No, Dad, really don't." Grayson stands, grabbing for one of my hands, "If we can be excused, I'm going to show Brooklynn around."

"But Grayson!" I protest. He drags me out of the room, the sound of laughter following our steps.

"Hey, I was looking forward to that story!"

"Here we have the living room and Dad's room is through that hallway," he says, leading the way, my hand still tightly in his. "Let's go upstairs."

"So, you talked about me?" I’m determined to get an answer.

"Here is Noah's room." He points to the open door and I see a typical little boy's room, blue walls and cars thrown everywhere. A crayon scribble on the wall.

"You can't ignore my question forever."

"This is the bathroom."

"Oh look, toilet. I've never seen one of those before." He glances over and I blink innocently at him. He shakes his head a little but doesn't reply. Next, he stops in front of another door and hesitantly opens it 

We step in, my eyes taking in the details in one big sweep. The walls are covered with black and white photos.  A large desk sits against the wall, a computer set up on it and a dresser right next to it. I turn to find a closet on one side and a bed on the other. There are pictures, literally, everywhere.

"Wow," I say as I make my way to one of the walls. Grayson stands next to the door where I left him, letting me browse on my own. "These are beautiful."

The black and white contrast allows the buildings and nature speak of their beauty in it’s purest form. There is history in these pictures, and a real appreciation for art. I turn to find Grayson studying me, the look in his eyes unreadable.

"These are really beautiful."

He looks almost embarrassed as he shrugs a thank you and heads for his bed.

"Why haven't I seen these before?" I ask settling beside him on the bed. He leans back a little, studying his room and me at the same time.

"I don't know. I'm private when it comes to my work. These walls are kind of like your journal." He gives me a small smile, and I return it shifting my attention back to the beauty in front of me.

"But these are amazing, Grayson."

"As opposed to your stuff?"

I blush. "We're not talking about me." I stand then, needing the distance between us.

"Why not?"

"Because we're not, Grayson."

"Look, what happened in seventh grade was the biggest mistake I've ever made," he says. I whip around, my body frozen as he takes a cautious step forward. "I was stupid and I allowed those kids make me go through with what I knew was wrong. They said it was either you or me and I chose me. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t have a choice. Not back then."

This is what he's been trying to tell me since he got back, what Dakota and Chance knew but wanted me to hear from him. It doesn't change the fact that he hurt me, but there is a different depth to what happened between us now. I think the time for revelation has ended, but he’s not done. He moves closer still, his voice almost a whisper.

"My photography is an extension of who I am. There are different kinds of art out there and all are what you make of them individually. I create on film, while you create on paper and cloth. While some parts of my art are for the world to see, the others are too raw, too real and personal to share with the whole world."