This Is Falling (37 page)

When you almost threw those pictures in the
fire, it’s like my trance was snapped. I realized how selfish I was
being. And I couldn’t let you get rid of those memories; not
knowing they were all you had left. So I told you. And I’m sorry I
didn’t tell you sooner. I love you so much it makes me
selfish—greedy for you. I want you all to myself.

Since you walked out of my parents’ house,
though, all I’ve been doing is thinking about Josh. And I’ve come
to a realization. I think Josh loved you just as much as I do. And
if he’s the kind of man who can love you this way—see you for all
the things I do—then he sounds like he’s probably a pretty great
guy. And maybe I’m all right with sharing your heart with a guy
like that.

I have another confession. I know you wrote
to him sometimes, on Facebook. I know because you accidentally sent
a message meant for him to me.

I stop when I read this, my heart rate
speeding up and my stomach feeling as if it’s full of rocks. I pull
my phone from my purse and open my Facebook message to see, and
when I go to my string to Nate, it’s there…the last letter I ever
wrote to Josh. Nate read every word. Re-reading it makes me cry,
remembering how hard it was to want to let Josh go, and how painful
it was admitting to him—even in this way—that there was someone
else. It takes me several minutes before I can put my phone away
and open Nate’s letter again, but I finally do.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner. I
probably should have. But you were opening yourself up, and you
were falling for me. And Rowe, I just didn’t want to stop that. I
told you I’m selfish. I wanted you to fall. And I wanted to catch
you.

But since you left, I’ve been thinking about
that message you wrote. I bet there are more. You don’t have to
tell me; those words are private, for you and Josh. But Josh hasn’t
been able to write back. And the more I thought about you sending
him messages, and not getting anything in return, the sadder it
made me—for you.

So while this isn’t Josh writing now, and
while I don’t have the memories of you at sixteen that he did, I do
feel slightly qualified—as someone who loves you just as much—to
speak on his behalf. You didn’t get to say goodbye, Rowe. But
neither did he. If he did, I’m pretty sure these are the things he
would want to say:

Dear Rowe (he would be more formal than
me),

You were my first. And you were my only. And
I am blessed because of that.

My last great moments on earth were with
you, just as I would have wanted them to be.

Kissing you for the hundredth time is just
as intoxicating as kissing you for the first.

You will always be the only girl I want to
dance with.

I can’t believe how big your heart is, and
how strong, for being able to carry me in it for so long.

Thank you, for caring so much for my parents
and for me.

I’m proud of you, for fighting through what
life handed you. It wasn’t easy, and for many it would have been
impossible. But you’re a fighter, a beautiful, brilliant, funny,
witty, kind and loving fighter. And the world needs you. So thank
you for coming back to it.

And it’s okay to keep me in your heart. I
talked with that other guy…Nate something or other. And he doesn’t
mind. Like, at all. (Okay, so he probably wouldn’t say this, but
you get the point.)

I won’t say goodbye. And you shouldn’t
either. Because what we had is permanent, and goodbyes would only
erase that. So instead, let’s say good beginnings. The best
beginnings—first loves. I hear your second one is pretty crazy
about you, too. (Yeah, that last part is totally me.)

Yours. Forever.

Josh

And Nate

Chapter
31

Rowe

Maybe I’d already forgiven him. But reading
his words, seeing his handwriting, and knowing his touch was on
that paper—scribing out every raw emotion coming straight from his
heart—had me turned upside down.

What was I giving up? I’d come so far. After
two years of nothingness, somehow I’d come to this place, this
place where he was, and I’d met him, gotten him to love me, and
started to breathe again! I couldn’t go back to life before; I
didn’t want to. This place, here on this floor, this hallway, this
room and his—this was my home now. And next semester, it would be
my home again. And next year, I’d find my home wherever he was,
wherever Cass was, wherever my friends were. This was living. And I
wanted life. Josh would have wanted it for me.

I called Cass from the airport and left her a
message, knowing she was probably already on her flight. She texted
back later that night, giving me Ty’s number. And I sent Ty a text,
begging him not to let Nate know. He was the only one who could
help. I hoped he would have that same sense of obligation Cass had
when she helped Nate.

I had two weeks. Nate would be in Arizona
right before Christmas for the Pac 12 invitational baseball
tournament—an official kick-off for the season. The games were
played all over Arizona at various ballparks. But I would drive—I
didn’t care how far it was. I would come see him. And when I did, I
would give him everything he asked for, I’d give him my heart. I
loved that he was selfish for me, but I also loved that he was
willing to share my heart with Josh. And as crazy as it sounds,
part of me can’t help but feel that somehow Josh sent Nate to
me.

There really wasn’t a way to practice putting
myself out there. I was just going to have to leap. Just like I did
when I stepped out of my parents’ car months ago and hauled my
things up to a dorm room a thousand miles away. I’d have to find
that courage, and more, for what I wanted to do. But for Nate…for
Nate, I think I can do it.

Nate

I’m sure she’s read the letter. Cass told Ty
she gave it to her, and Ty’s been reassuring, oddly reassuring. He
likes Rowe, though, so I hope he’s not just willing it all to work
out. I hope he really truly believes.

I was hoping she’d text by now though. I
wanted to let her know I would be in Arizona. Maybe she found out.
Maybe she’ll see it somewhere. Maybe she’s here? That’s stupid. But
maybe…
maybe
?

“Come on, Preet. Warm-up time,” Cash says,
slapping the top of my helmet while he passes me in the locker
room. I shut the locker on the rest of my gear and grab my bag of
equipment, heading out through the long hallway to the field. These
tournaments are the real deal, and there’s something cool about
playing on a spring-training field. I can’t help but imagine being
here—
for real—
sometime down the road.

There’s a decent crowd outside, and the air
is cold for Arizona. I guess it’s nighttime, and winter. I just
always thought of Arizona as hot and dry. I pull the sleeves snug
on my undershirt and pull my mask down while I drop my gear in the
bullpen and then start throwing with Cash.

I love playing catch. It sounds stupid, but
this is the best part of this game. This simple act—throwing a ball
back and forth with someone—it’s so numbing, and wonderful. Of
course, all I can think about is Rowe, and how she’s only miles
away. I should text her. No pressure, just to let her know I’m in
town. Maybe she’ll want to come to a game, bring her dad. I hope
he’s not angry that I told her. He seemed to understand when I
called to tell him she was coming home. Okay, maybe playing catch
sucks—because all it does is give you time to think.

Cash and I are warm after about fifteen
minutes, and then I pull the spare gear from my bag for the bullpen
catcher and head back to the dugout with him. Ty’s coming, but not
until tomorrow, and it feels weird to play a game completely on my
own. My brother hasn’t missed many, and I like it when he’s
here.

We’re playing Washington. They’re good. But
we’re better. There are a lot of scouts in the stands. They come
early, before spring training, and they like watching these
tournaments. I’m not expecting anything, but I just hope I make an
impression. I’d like to be on their list, someone they’ll remember
when they come to watch next year or the year after.

“Mister, mister,” I hear a kid’s voice say,
and when I look down, I see him pulling on the leg of my pants. He
has curly blond hair and a McConnell baseball hat is mashing most
of it down. I kneel down and pull my mask off to look at him, and
he’s holding a pen and a ball. “Can I get your autograph?”

“Sure,” I say, unable to hide the smile this
puts on my face. This is the
first
time anyone has ever
asked for me to sign a ball. This is awesome. I write my name,
clearly, and my number and hand the pen and ball back to the kid.
He tucks it in his back pocket so it sticks out, and it makes me
chuckle. He hangs around our dugout for a few minutes until someone
official-looking comes to get him and leads him over to the home
plate area. He must be throwing out the first pitch, or yelling
“Play ball!” or something.

The rest of the team finishes warming, and
soon the dugout is crowded. Gum is popping and seed shells are
being spit everywhere. The announcer goes through the lineups, and
there’s enough of a crowd here that there’s actually applause. I
wonder if anyone travelled from McConnell for this? I bet it’s
mostly boosters or alumni. Once they get through the announcements,
everyone climbs the steps, and we all take our spot on the third
base line, caps held to our chests, my mask held to mine.

The music fires up, and I expect the same
recording of the
Star Spangled Banner
that I hear every
game. But tournaments must be special, because after the flowery
intro, someone starts to sing.

She
starts to sing. I know it the
minute the first word leaves her lips. I would know that voice
anywhere. It’s the voice I imagine when I’m going to sleep every
night, and the one I listened to silently, hiding in the dark,
while she sang in the shower when she thought no one was there to
hear her.

Rowe is singing. In front of at least two
thousand people…maybe three. And she’s not missing a beat. She’s
hitting every note, and it’s perfect and beautiful…and she’s
here,
within reach—touchable. The longer the song goes, the
more I can hear her nerves coming through, but she keeps going, her
voice just as pretty as the first note, just not as strong. If I
knew I wouldn’t get booed for interrupting the ultimate act of
patriotism, I would break formation and run to her right now, but I
wait.

When the second verse hits, the video screen
switches from a slideshow of fireworks to her—
it’s her
!
She’s holding one arm around her waist and the other hand is
clutching the mic, her eyes closed, just trying to survive this. I
can’t believe she’s doing this, and I know how hard it is for her.
This is light years ahead of what she thought she was capable of,
and she’s doing it for me. I feel Cash lean into me at my side, and
when I look to him, his eyebrows raise.

“That’s your girl, right?” he whispers.

“Yeah…that’s my girl,” I whisper back,
rapping my mask against my leg just waiting for the song to finish
so I can run to her. Her hair is long and wavy, tucked under a
McConnell headband, and she’s wearing jeans and a McConnell
sweatshirt…
mine
! Ty! Ty must be here. He’s the only one who
could have given that to her. I turn my head without fully looking,
and I can see him by the dugout.

Our national anthem is long. I mean, like,
stupid long. I’m sure Rowe is thinking the same damned thing right
now as her voice quivers for those last few lines. The crowd can
feel her losing her nerve, and everybody starts to join in, even
the guys standing next to me. As soon as she’s done, as soon the
word
brave
ends and there are no more syllables for her to
sing, I drop my mask and I run.

It takes a while for the crowd to notice
what’s happening, but when I get closer to her, a few people start
to cheer. Her arms are trembling, and she hands the mic back to a
guy wearing a shirt and tie, and she looks like she wants to pass
out. She doesn’t see me coming until the last second, and when she
turns to me, her eyes grow wide and she bites at her bottom lip. I
don’t give her a chance to explain—I don’t waste another second. I
cup her face in my hands and pull her to me, kissing her so hard
that I have to bend her backward and hold the arch of her back in
one hand.

The cheers are unmistakable now, and there’s
whistling, too—lots of whistling. But Rowe just grabs my face,
clinging to me, her hands making their way into my hair as her kiss
grows stronger and deeper. After several long seconds, I finally
break—because we both need air, and I’m pretty sure any longer will
earn my team a delay of game.

“You’re here,” I say, pulling her close and
kissing the top of her head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“That was some letter,” she says, her lower
lip once again finding its way between her teeth.

“I meant every word,” I say, looking her
right in the eyes, making sure she understands. “There’s room
enough for both of us. And I’m willing to share.”

“I know,” she says, standing up on the tips
of her toes, and pressing her lips to mine, her hands soft on
either side of my face. “And thank you…for understanding how Josh
fits in my life. He’ll always be important to me,” she pauses, her
fingers flirting with mine while she thinks. “But…I really think
he’d want me to give
this
,” she says, putting her hand flat
on her chest, small tears forming in her eyes, “to you. You have it
all—I just needed an angel to tell me I was ready.”

I hug her once more. I hug her because
telling her I love her and saying thank you isn’t enough. And I
hold her tightly, because it’s been too long, and because I want
more, but for the next three hours this will have to be enough.