Take the Fall Read online

  During the funeral, I couldn’t bear to take my eyes off her. She’s what kept me grounded when the preacher began to say the words I knew were coming. Over and over, I mapped the new curves and planes of her face, a face that had changed from that of a fresh-faced teenager into a proud and strong woman’s. When her eyes met mine, baby blue like the ocean, full of salty tears I knew she refused to let fall, I nearly lost it.

  My hands are still clenched into tight fists. I relax them, stretching my fingers and feeling them pop.

  “Seth—how long? I have things to do besides wait for you to grow a set and speak to me,” she snaps and I bite back a grin. That’s my girl—direct and ballsy as hell.

  “As long as it takes,” I say. Yeah, so I have less than two weeks right now, and that’s not enough time to convince her to forgive me—hell, the timing’s all wrong, but what can I do, other than stay the course? I don’t expect Rowan to give me another chance. Nah, I don’t expect it, but I’m going to do my damnedest to convince her to see things my way.

  There’s something about war that makes a man feel like a mortal instead of a god. There’s something about the bodies and wounds and lack of second chances that everyone who died over there didn’t get. For me, it was enough to make me question my nursing of this hatred for Rowan and her brother. It was enough that I realized all I thought about was her—seeing her, touching her…making love to her again.

  War and death give you a perspective like nothing I’ve ever experienced, not even prison.

  “Care to elaborate on that?”

  “We can talk later, sure.” I’m not here to talk about the past right now, or the future. I’m fully in the present, burying my grandmother. Later, when it’s just the two of us and we’ve had some space to calm down after our first meeting in years, I’ll apologize for fucking up her life. For wanting her to suffer and for discarding her like a used piece of tissue. Self-loathing washes over me, coating me with guilt. So much damn guilt.

  From all the letters and phone calls with my grandma, I know Rowan was special to her, that Rowan made her days and nights easier just by living there. My grandfather died a few years before I went to jail, leaving us alone. He had been a good man, a man who worked with his hands and had started an auto repair shop with my grandmother. Funny enough, she was the one who taught him about engines.

  As an only child, my grandmother had learned about engines and cars from her dad. She had become fascinated with torque, and horsepower, and the way a piston forces expanding gas into the cylinder.

  She loved NASCAR and Sunday dinners. She loved laughing and dancing with my granddaddy, and most of all she loved my mom and me. Or at least that’s what she would tell me at night, after she tucked me in when my mom had to work late.

  I believed it, though. I believed it even though I knew they weren’t my real grandparents. They had taken pity on a single mom and her child and let them stay for as long as it took to get back on their feet. I believed it even when my mom didn’t come home from work one day, and left my five-year-old self with two people who’d never been able to have kids of their own. I’m not really sure how my mom met the Gardners, but they had given her a job at their auto shop. I guess she handled the responsibility of a child for as long as she could. From what I gather, she was pretty young herself—she’d had me when she was a teenager. They ended up adopting me when it became clear my mom was never coming back.

  I never knew my dad, but I knew love. From my grandparents, I learned what a man should do, how a man should treat a woman, and how to take responsibility for my actions. Just like I’m attempting to do now.

  Rowan glances away, her jaw working. “Fine. Whatever, Seth. I just thought…yeah, whatever, O’Connor.” Then she walks away, a purpose to her gait, as if she’s dismissing me. As if she never expects to see me again.

  But have I ever given her any reason to think otherwise?

  “Fuck,” I breathe, running a hand through my closely cropped hair.

  “Mr. O’Connor,” a man says, catching my attention.

  I turn my head to see an older bald guy wearing a nice suit striding toward me with a manila envelope in his hand. He stops a couple of feet short of me and nods. “Thanks for waiting.”

  “Can I help you?” I ask. If it’s a bill collector, I’ll pound his ass into the ground for being so damn rude. Well, I would if I didn’t have an aversion to going to prison again. This guy looks like the type who would not only press charges but sue my ass.

  “I’m your grandmother’s attorney, Shaw Kelly,” he says, holding out his hand.

  I shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

  “This is for you,” he says, passing the envelope to me. I take it. “If you have some time, I’d like to meet with you about the contents.”

  “I really don’t have time,” I begin, walking away. “I’ll take a look at this later and call you.” I need to get to Rowan. I need to—

  “It won’t take long. An hour at the most,” he says, catching up to me. “I know this is difficult right now, but—”

  “Just spit it out, buddy,” I say as we stop beside my truck.

  “It’s about your inheritance. Come by my office in the morning, around eight a.m., and I’ll explain everything, then you can be on your way. My card’s in the envelope,” he says.

  “My inheritance?” Not even in a million years would I expect my grandmother to leave anything to me.

  “It’s quite a lot, but there are options.” Shaw sighs, looking around. “I really don’t want to talk business in a cemetery, so if you don’t mind…tomorrow at eight?”

  Well, point to him because he’s classy. I glance over my shoulder, and a burst of sunshine in an otherwise dreary day hits me as Rowan trudges to the black Lincoln Town Car the funeral home provided for today. If I’d gotten here sooner, I could have ridden with her, but judging by her reaction to me, I’m almost 100 percent sure she would have rather shoved a stick up her ass.

  She eyes us, disapproval written all over her face, like I’m doing some shady dealings.

  “Eight’s good,” I say, forcing my gaze away as I shove the envelope into my coat pocket.

  “See you then,” Shaw says.

  We shake hands again, and he leaves. I walk around my truck, climbing inside to start the engine. Then I check my phone for a local watering hole to spend a little time in while I figure out the best way to approach Rowan again.

  I’m surprised to find out that the most popular bar is one I thought would have gone under long ago. Chucking my phone into the passenger seat, I put my truck in gear and head out.

  A few minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of a honky-tonk on the bad side of town. As a kid, I spent good money procuring a fake ID to get in the place. The Double Deuce specialized in cheap beer and expensive women. Of course, I loved it. But I’d loved Rowan more, so I went only a couple of times with her brother and kept my nose clean.

  Heading inside, I’m surprised at how different the place looks. It actually seems like a real bar. It’s clean with high-top tables and chairs that aren’t broken. Music paraphernalia from this century decorates the interior instead of that old shit they used to have stapled to the walls. In fact, the place looks damn good: a sort of classic bar meets shiny shit to attract the local crowd out this way and draw in college kids and hipsters, too.

  The hostess smiles at me. She’s definitely new. I don’t think the last guy who ran the place—some joker in his fifties who acted like he was eighteen—had a clue who his customers were. “Bar or table?”

  “Bar.”

  “Help yourself.”

  I flash her a smile and amble over to an empty barstool in the corner. It’s not the best seat, but it allows me to view my surroundings without worrying who’s behind me. Yeah, it’s a residual habit from constantly watching my back both in prison and in war. It’s been hard for me to break, but I don’t see the harm in it.

  Signaling the bartender, I order a Fat Tire a
nd a dozen hot wings. I glance at the menu again. Whoever bought the place really wanted to change everything; they have a much bigger selection. But it’s still only bar food. It’s not like they turned into a family chain restaurant.

  Over the next couple of hours, I drink and eat, then drink some more. My aim isn’t to get drunk, but to kill some time. Plus, it’s going to take a whole hell of a lot more than three beers to get me wasted.

  “Say Something” by A Great Big World starts playing over the sound system. My chest gets all tight. That was us—Rowan and me. She waited and waited for me to say something until I drove her to the point of no return.

  She gave up on me, like I deserved. Only, like she deserves, I plan on never giving her up again.

  I park my ass on the barstool until that damn song is over, then pay my bill and head to the only real home I’ve known. I need a shower and to find out where Rowan is living. The last I heard from my grandmother, Rowan had been planning on getting her own place.

  Not that I’d asked. No, my grandmother had accidentally on purpose let it slip the last time I’d talked to her. Right before my last deployment. I’d planned on talking to Rowan that day, but circumstances out of my control prompted me to leave town a hell of a lot sooner than I’d wanted.

  Duty had called and the possibility of being accused of going AWOL didn’t sit well with me.

  Pushing open the door, I walk outside and head to my truck, gravel and oyster shells crunching under my boots.

  Though it’s only five in the afternoon, the sun has already begun to set and I press a little harder on the gas. I’m ready to make things right. Yeah, it might be a little soon, but is it, really? It’s been seven years.

  Unlucky seven. I fucking hate that number.

  Chapter 2

  Seth

  Driving to my grandmother’s house, all I can think about is Rowan. It’s like the closer I physically am to her, the more she consumes my every waking thought.

  I take a left onto Spruce Drive, and I park my truck in the driveway of the fifth house on the right, entirely relieved that there’s only one other car parked on the street. I don’t think I could have handled a bunch of people eating while they commiserated over what a fine woman my grandmother was, in true southern mourning tradition.

  Yet, I’d allowed Rowan to deal with it. Guess that’s one more thing to add to my list of important things to apologize for.

  Fishing my key to the house out of my coat pocket, I take in my surroundings. The place has been kept up, and there’s a black Camaro in the drive. A red racing stripe runs from hood to trunk.

  I blink. That’s Tony Johnson’s car. Okay, so it’s a majorly improved version of the rat bastard’s car. Still…What. The. Ever-loving. Fuck.

  Piper Ross comes around the corner of the house, a casserole dish in one hand. Her face pales when she sees me, and she stumbles as she tries to avoid crashing into me. I catch her before she goes ass over heels into the flower bed.

  “You okay?” I ask gently. The girl has always been easy to spook, but she’s sweet, too. Her standoffishness is completely related to an obvious lack of self-assuredness. Something Rowan possesses in spades. I have yet to meet a woman more confident than Rowan.

  Her gaze slides to the house, and then back to me. “Yes.”

  “Thanks for including me in the funeral arrangements.”

  She smiles shyly. “I’m glad to be of help. I know it must have been hard to be in Jacksonville while everything was going on here.”

  With a little smile, I let her go and try to get a look into the dish. “You could have left that on the back porch, I would have gotten it. A man’s got to eat supper, and I haven’t had time to get groceries yet.”

  Piper’s eyes get so big that I start to feel sorry for her. “You’re buying groceries?”

  “Yeah. Figured staying here was cheaper than getting a hotel.” Plus, this was my home. I need to say good-bye before I sell it.

  “You’re staying here?” She almost wheezes.

  “It is my home,” I say evenly and take a step forward.

  Her five-foot-nothing hundred-pound self moves slightly to block me. Color me surprised as shit. “Oh, yeah, it is, but um, with…everything, don’t you want to…stay somewhere else?”

  My bullshit detector goes off. “Why would I want to stay somewhere else?”

  She bites her bottom lip. “Because I heard you went ballistic when you found out about Mrs. Gardner’s passing. I’m sorry.”

  Gossip spread faster than an STD in this town, especially when the gossip was juicy and false. “About what?”

  “Your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Weariness seeps into my bones suddenly. I run a hand through my hair. “What is Tony’s Camaro doing here?”

  “It’s always here,” she says evasively.

  “Really?” And my bullshit detector’s back on. There’s no way Rowan would let him within five feet of this place.

  “Yep,” she says firmly, then starts to nibble on her bottom lip. “Except when it’s not.”

  Well, that clears everything up. I’d have better luck asking the car why it’s here. Then it hits me, square between the eyes and right in the nuts. “She still lives here, doesn’t she?”

  Piper smashes her lips together, making me admire her a little more. Her loyalty, although misguided, is commendable, and it’s more than I can say about her best friend’s.

  “You don’t have to say a word. Rowan and I have it all worked out.”

  Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “Y’all talked after the funeral?”

  I nod.

  “Okay.” She pats my arm. “I really am sorry. I’m glad you and Rowan worked everything out. She’s missed you, you know.”

  Yeah, Rowan used to miss me, but I’d made sure to disabuse her of the notion that I could ever give a fuck about her again. “Have a good night, Piper.”

  “ ’Night,” she says and then continues on her way.

  So, Tony Johnson’s Camaro is in my drive, and Rowan is in my house. Only one of those things belongs to me, and I intend to claim what’s mine.

  Rowan

  The back door slides open and I frown. “I told you to go home, Piper. There’s nothing left to do.” I fuss gently, turning around to escort her outside. She’s been at my side for the past week, tirelessly helping me with funeral arrangements.

  Instead, I run into the door. Well, if the door was a warm, living thing made of Seth. “What the hell are you doing here, O’Connor?” I practically shout.

  “Still my home,” he says and holds up something shiny. “Got a key and everything.”

  “Nice story.” I take a step back and hold out my hand, palm facing up. “Hand it over so I can put it back under the rock you should be living under.”

  Seth grunts. “Not on your life, Ro.” He pockets the key and I purse my lips at him in annoyance. “Besides, that’s not a safe place to keep a spare.”

  “Like you care about my safety,” I snap and then smash my lips shut. Don’t let him see you like this, not one tiny bit of emotion. Be a glacier. An ice queen.

  “I care,” he says simply. Sincerely.

  Nonplussed, I stare at him. “Anyway, what do you want? If it’s leftovers—I’m happy to fix you a doggie bag so you can be on your way.”

  “Maybe in a little while.” Turning slightly, he shuts the door and locks it. “Never know who might be skulking around here.”

  Yeah, someone like you could be prowling around. “I can take care of myself.”

  His black eyes flash. “I know you can.” He takes a step forward and then another and another until my back’s against the wall. I can smell the beer on his breath, but he’s in total control as he surrounds me. He holds my head in his hands and leans in, his coat touching me while his body remains only inches away.

  He searches my face. My body prickles with awareness, seeking him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to do.

&nb
sp; I hate it. “See something you like?” I taunt.

  He cocks his head to one side, his gaze drifting to my lips. I lick them. “Yeah. Damn,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know. This close. Yeah, I like what I see.”

  Confusion sends me off-kilter. “That makes one of us,” I reply in a breathless voice that makes me sound weak.

  His gaze jerks upward. His dark eyes burn into mine as he slowly eases away. “I fucked up, Rowan.”

  My heart slams against my chest. “Well, we all can’t be perfect.”

  “I made you feel like shit when I sent you away.”

  The reminder of the day he left me all alone in the visitation cell sends me over the edge. I want to hurt him. “I never felt freer,” I say softly, peering up at him under my lashes. “You did me a favor. So, thanks. And now that we all feel better, you can go.” I pat his arm a couple of times and wait for him to move.

  “I’m sorry,” he says as if I hadn’t said anything at all. “I was full of hate and anger. I’m sorry.”

  Tears prick hard at the backs of my eyes. I shove my finger into his hard chest. “You do not get to be sorry. You do not get to walk back into my life…my house and apologize.” I have to look away. My chest painfully squeezes in on me like a vise. “You have no right, Seth. None.”

  I feel his hot breath on my cheek. “I know, but I’m here anyway.”

  I have nothing to say to that. The old Seth I knew would have, well…he wouldn’t have screwed up in the first place. “Fine. You’re forgiven. Get the hell out.”

  He laughs. “That’s my girl.”

  I glare at him. “I was your girl. Now, I’m my own woman.”

  His body straightens, his arms falling to hang loosely at his side. “Fair enough.” He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it over one of the kitchen chairs. “What is Tony’s car doing here?”

  The change in subject combined with his casual demeanor makes my head spin. “It’s mine.”