Falling (Fading Series) (22 page)

“Good to meet you, sir.”

“Come in,” he says as he leads us back through the formal living room and into the kitchen. He turns to Candace, and tells her, “Your mother is finishing getting ready. She should be out shortly.”

She only smiles up at him.

“What can I get you two to drink?” he asks.

“A beer is good, Mr. Parker,” I say to him.

“Please, call me Charles.”

With drinks in hand we make our way back to their library that spans the two stories of the house with a large walk-in fireplace.

I sit next to Candace on the tucked leather couch as her father asks, “So, Ryan, what is it that you do?”

“I own a bar right off campus,” I tell him as Candace shifts nervously at my side.

“Oh, how did you get into that type of work?”

I briefly explain how I acquired the business after I graduated from UW, and he follows along, nodding his head.

“What did you study in college?” he asks before taking a sip of his scotch.

“Finance.”

“Now that’s a respectable degree,” I hear, and when I turn my head, I see a petite woman with shoulder-length, brown hair, wearing a dress similar to Candace’s, only in navy. But where Candace is more reserved, there isn’t a question about her mother’s social standing by the way she carries herself in a much too proud manner as she walks across the room, almost demanding attention.

Candace stands to give her mom a stiff hug.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Good to see you, darling,” she drawls before turning to me. “And Ryan, welcome.”

I step closer and take her hand, saying, “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course. It isn’t every day that our daughter brings a man home,” she says in a patronizing tone, and I look over to see Candace rolling her eyes as we sit down.

“Ryan was just telling me about the bar he owns,” her father announces.

“A bar?” she questions as if the words have a bad taste to them. She has no idea that the bar I own has afforded me an extremely comfortable lifestyle.

Before she can continue, Candace jumps in and changes the subject, asking about her parents’ upcoming trip to Aspen.

Candace and I sit back and listen to their plans before her father excuses himself and Candace takes me to show me around the house.

We walk outside to the backyard and look at the view of the Sound.

“I’m sorry about that,” Candace says softly as we take a seat on one of the benches.

“About what?”

She looks at me with apology. “They can be a lot. They’re pretty pretentious.”

“Candace, no one has perfect parents. Everyone’s flawed in some way.”

I slip my arm over her shoulders as she tightens the scarf around her neck.

“So, you grew up here in Shoreline?” I ask.

“Yeah. In this very house. The Kelleys, who live across the street, have a daughter that’s the same age as me. We used to be best friends when we were growing up.”

“And now?”

“And now all I really have is Jase, Mark . . . and you,” she tells me and knowing that she sees me as someone she can at least group with Jase and Mark gives me a little relief.

“What about your roommate?”

“Kimber? We used to be really close, but not so much anymore.”

“So what happened to all your friends from high school?” I ask, curious as to why she secludes herself in a manner that prevents her from having more people in her life.

“They’ve moved on. Applying to grad schools, getting married, making a life for themselves. Most of the kids here wind up becoming people like my parents. More concerned about their image and what social circle they’re in. It’s not me, so I never cared enough to stay in touch with anyone.”

I see how her parents could be upset that she doesn’t seem to follow suit with their expectations. That Candace would be driven enough to step out of that life to create a new one, a more comfortable one, for herself. She’s ambitious in a way that’s unique from her parents. Following a passion—dance—to build a life that she can find pleasure in.

“We should go back inside,” she tells me, and when we walk in, her father calls from the other room, “Candace, could you come in here?”

“Yeah, just a second.” She looks at me and says, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” she assures before heading back to the library.

I take this time to stroll aimlessly through the house. Walking into the formal living room, I scan the framed photos that are displayed on the black grand piano. Family portraits through the years. Candace as a young girl, wearing a frilly white dress with white gloves, searching for Easter eggs on the greens of a golf course. A picture-perfect family, but from what little I have picked up from Jase, she was miserable. But out of all the photos, none of her dancing.

I’m curious to know what she would look like dancing. She’s so poised as it is, but to see how she would move intrigues me.

My attention shifts to the library when I hear Candace yelling. I don’t miss a beat when I start walking through the house to where she is, concerned about what they’re talking about and what has Candace raising her voice when she’s always so quiet. I can draw my own conclusions about what kind of relationship she has with her parents and wonder if they are the ones she needs to be protected from.

When I step to the closed double doors, I hear her father bark, “You have a name to uphold!”

“I just don’t understand you,” her mother snaps. “You should be thanking your father, not pouting,” and the sound of her condescending voice irks the hell out of me.

“You are unbelievable, Mother! I’m not a child!” Candace’s voice is strained as she yells, and I can’t bear the pain in her words. I barge in and see the annoyance on her mother’s face, so I lock my eyes on Candace, but she doesn’t notice as she continues shouting at her mom. “You can’t just step in and take away everything I have worked so hard for during these past four years! How can you call yourself a mother? You’re nothing! You say you’re embarrassed by me, well, it goes both ways.”

I rush across the room to her side, and when she finally stops to catch her breath, she sees me.

“We’re leaving. Now,” I demand as I take in her tear-stained face.

“Excuse me, but this is a private matter,” I hear her mother say, but I don’t take my eyes off of Candace as she continues to cry, staring at me in shock. I’m pissed, and she sees it.

Holding out my hand for her, her mother doesn’t stop when she threatens, “Candace, if you walk out, it’s over. Don’t come back. We refuse to sit back and watch you ruin your life.”

When her mother says this, anger roils inside of me, and I want to slap the fuck out of her lily-white ass for threatening her own daughter.

“Daddy?” Candace says as she looks to her father, pleading, and it hurts to hear her so desperate.

“We’re done letting you play games, bunny. No more.”

She stands there, tears falling from her eyes while she looks at her parents. All I want to do is take her away. Comfort her and get her out of here. And when she slides her hand in mine, that’s exactly what I do. I grip her tightly and get her out of this house as fast as I can. I snatch up our coats and walk her out to my car.

When I open the door for her, she reaches out to grip the side of the seat, and I know she’s about to break, so I grab her and pull her into me. Clutching my arms around her, I hear it. Painful sobs start to break through, and she clings to me, crying.

The tension in my body is heady with the urge to put her in the car and go inside to knock the shit out of her parents. I’m fueled by disgust for these people. That they would lash those words at Candace, leaving her broken in their driveway, falling apart in my arms. But at least they’re my arms that are attempting to comfort her, because even though she doesn’t know it, I don’t think anyone could give her what I want to give her. I’d give her the fuckin’ world if I could.

After a while, her body begins to shiver with chills as she starts to quiet down. She keeps her head tucked against me, and I feel her fingertips pressed into my back. Her breathing is staggered, and when she pulls back, she keeps her head down, not looking at me—embarrassed. I lean down and kiss the top of her head before helping her up into the car.

The drive back is somber. I look over to her as she stares out the window. She’s sad, and my need to comfort her is overwhelming. She must sense me watching her when she turns her head to me. Her chin quivers, and she shrugs her shoulders, defeated, as fresh tears fall down her cheeks. I reach over and take her hand, pulling it onto my lap. I keep it there all the way back to her house.

Once we’re inside, I go to the kitchen to get her a glass of wine, figuring she could use one. As I walk into the living room, she’s curled on the couch with her heels kicked off on the floor. I hand her the glass and she swallows it fast before handing it back to me. Setting it on the end table, I sit down, leaning into the corner of the couch and pull her between my legs and on top of me. She lies there and doesn’t move as I thread my fingers through her soft, thick hair.

“You okay?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer, she just shakes her head and after a second begins crying again, wetting my shirt as she nuzzles into my chest. I strengthen my arms around her and let her cry without saying anything.

The hurt coming out of her is hard to listen to, but I do, and it breaks me. Breaks me in a way that even though I hate it, I find myself savoring it. The connection. Her need for me right now and the contentment I find in being the one to give it to her.

Time passes and she’s fallen asleep on me. I can feel her steady breaths against me, and I’d hold on to her all night, just like this, if I knew she’d be okay with it. I want to be selfish and take it, but I know she wouldn’t be comfortable with it. So as much as I don’t want to feel her move off of me, I comb her hair with my fingers, and whisper, “Candace.”

“Hmm,” she softly hums as she stirs awake.

“It’s getting late. You should go sleep in your bed.”

Placing her hands on my chest, she pushes herself up, and I notice her bloodshot eyes.

“Are you gonna be okay if I leave?” I ask, hoping she’ll want me to stay, but knowing that it’s just a hope.

She nods her head and sits up. I move to stand and turn to take her hand, pulling her off of the couch and into a hug. She bands her arms around me, and I tell her, “We can stay here tomorrow. We don’t have to go to my mom’s.”

Leaning her head back to look up at me, she says, “It’s okay.”

“Candace . . .”

“I could use the distraction. I’ll be okay,” she tries assuring me.

“Call me when you wake up. You might feel differently in the morning.”

She walks me to the door and before I leave, she stops me, saying, “Ryan . . .” I look back at her, and she takes a pause before continuing, “I’m sorry . . . tonight just . . .”

“Don’t worry about it. Honestly.”

“Thanks,” she says softly before I walk out.

Candace called me when she woke up this morning, assuring me that she still wanted to go to Oregon. I offered to stay here with her, but she told me that she really did want the distraction, so I didn’t question her any more about it.

I finish packing my bag, and I think about how things with the two of us have shifted in the past couple of weeks. I’m falling for this girl hard, and I know I’m not gonna be able to keep this from her for very much longer, but I’m nervous that I might ruin what we have. Honestly, even though it isn’t enough for me, I’ll take it if this is all she wants to give.

I carry my bag downstairs, and decide to call Jase. I don’t know if Candace has spoken with him this morning, but I call him anyway to let him know what happened last night.

“Hey, Ryan.”

“Jase, hey. You have a minute?” I ask as I start making myself a coffee for the road.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Have you talked to Candace this morning?”

“No, why? Did something happen with her parents?” he asks, sounding worried.