Before We Fall

  Seriously?

  I can’t see anything, but I know what she’s doing. And so would the boys in the gym, if any of them happened to look outside. What the fuck is she thinking? One leg extends high into the air, her toes pointed to the sky, as Jacey slips her workout shorts off and her tiny uniform shorts on. The flimsy material sliding over her long legs leaves little to the imagination.

  Does she want to invite trouble? A boy’s imagination is as good as the real thing, often times better. So to give them a glimpse like this is only going to make them want to see more.

  But maybe that’s what she wants. And maybe that’s why she’s exactly the kind of girl I thought she was. An attention-whore and a tease, which makes total sense given her job.

  I stop for a second and watch.

  Because that’s what I like to do.

  Her shirt comes off, and I get a hint of a slender shoulder, the top of her bra, the curve of her arm. Then she’s busy fastening the hooks of her skimpy corset, which pushes her tits upward and together, before she adjusts her yellow bow tie.

  Something about the situation… the fact that Jacey is undressing in a very public place, the fact that I like to watch… and the fact that Jacey has a smoking-hot body incites a reaction from my dick and it hardens against my leg.

  I hate that I react at all, physical or otherwise, because I wouldn’t touch this girl with Sin’s dick, let alone mine. There’s trouble in the way she so clearly needs so much attention. I mean, she works a job where she is half-dressed for the pleasure of men, for god’s sake. I want nothing to do with her, or anyone like her. Yet here I am with a stiff dick.

  It’s at this moment that she turns and tosses her bag into the tiny backseat and her eyes meet mine. She pauses, and I can almost hear the breath as it rushes over her lips with surprise. I can almost see the question in her dark eyes as they widen. Did he just see me undress?

  But just as quickly as her eyes widen at seeing me, they narrow into a slant and fill with one thing as the car speeds out of the parking lot, the radio blasting.

  Disdain.

  I don’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. She’s the one undressing in the parking lot of a youth center in front of testosterone-fueled boys and heading off to a job where she gets paid to flirt with men… not me. Her disdain should be for herself.

  I feel like an old man as I tiredly crawl into my Porsche, letting my head rest against the seat for a second, absorbing the spring sun and the fresh breeze before I fire up the engine. As I do, my phone rings and Sin’s name flashes on my screen.

  “Yes?” I answer as I back out of my parking spot.

  “Dude, I just found out that Amy Ashby is coming to my party tonight. Aren’t you costarring with her in your next gig?”

  “Seriously?” I have to admit, I’m surprised. Amy Ashby, super-starlet, hardly ever ventures out of California. She doesn’t see the need. To her, all intelligent life ends at the California–Nevada border.

  “Yeah,” Sin answers. “She’s dating a Blackhawk now, apparently, which is a shame because I’d like to motorboat those tits of hers. Are they real? I know you know. You had a sex scene with her in Visceral Need. I know you tapped that ass. You must’ve.”

  For just a second, I think about that film, the one that shot both me and Amy to superstardom. And of course, I think about that sex scene. It was my first on-screen sex scene and hers too. We joked that we were popping each other’s cherry. Her tits aren’t real, but I don’t tell Sin.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I tell him instead. “And fuck, man. How many parties do you need to have a week?”

  Sin chuckles. “Don’t hate. But hey, I just thought of something. Is this going to cause a problem? Because Kira is coming tonight too. I know that Amy likes to have your undivided attention—whether she has a boyfriend or not.”

  I sigh. “Amy is definitely high maintenance. But that shouldn’t cause a problem with Kira, because she knows where she and I stand. We’re convenient. That’s it. But knowing it and knowing it are two different things, and she’ll probably get jealous and throw some sort of fit. Why’d you invite her, anyway? I don’t want to babysit.”

  “Because she wanted me to call her for my next party,” Sin replies, and I can almost hear him shrugging. It’s not his problem, so he’s not concerned. “And when the fuck did having a fuck-buddy turn into babysitting? Whatever, dude. We’ll make it work.”

  An idea occurs to me and I grin.

  “Oh, it’ll work. I’ll go home tonight for dinner. Mom’s been wanting to feed me, anyway. Have fun at the party.”

  Sin starts to protest, but I hang up on him and turn the car around, heading the opposite direction toward Palos Park, the Chicago suburb that I grew up in.

  The Chicago streets turn into the highway, which eventually runs through Palos Park. The quiet streets that I ran on when I was a kid surround me and I take in the quiet scenery as I drive through town to the country. Castle Kinkaide sits on ten acres outside of town and I can see the spire of the tower a mile away.

  Honestly, I can’t help but smile. For the most part, I had an awesome childhood and I have great memories of growing up out here in the middle of nowhere, in a house that everyone around considers a gigantic novelty.

  As I pull onto the long drive, surrounded on both sides by flowering trees, I take a deep breath of country air and exhale it. I always forget how good it smells here, but once I’m back, it brings back instant memories. Summer nights chasing lightning bugs, camping out with my dad and brothers, and swinging from a rope swing out by the stream.

  It was a surprisingly rural upbringing in a town only a few miles from Chicago. As I climb out of my car, I hear Fiona and my mother… their voices drift toward me on the breeze, and I turn to find them walking from the garage into the house. Fuck.

  How had I forgotten that Fiona is staying with my parents while her new condo downtown is being renovated? Mother fuck.

  Fiona looks up and sees me first, and for the briefest of moments her eyes light up the way they usually do when she sees me. I’ve always been her favorite.

  But not now. Now her expression immediately hardens and she pointedly looks in the other direction, a not-so-subtle way of reminding me that I’m on her shit list.

  Whatever.

  She’s on my shit list. She can ignore me as long as she wants. I can guarantee that I’ve got more patience than she does.

  As they walk up the steps into the house, Mom turns her head and drops the sack she’s carrying as soon as she sees me. She runs toward me like she hasn’t seen me in a year. It’s only been a few months, but you’d think it was an eternity by the way she barrels into me and clutches me tight. Her head barely reaches my sternum, but she buries it there, her hands clasped behind me.

  “Dominic James Kinkaide,” she scolds. “You’ve been away too long this time. You’re getting too thin. You’re not eating.”

  She looks up at me, her blue eyes snapping. “You get yourself inside and wash up. Dinner’s in thirty minutes, and you’re going to eat everything I put on your plate.”

  She marches ahead of me, trying to pretend that she’s angry and not happy to see me. But her eyes betray her, because when she stops to let me open the door for her, they’re warm.

  “It’s about time you came home,” she tells me as she walks past. “Go see your father. He’s in the library.”

  Fiona ignores me so I ignore her, walking past her into the long hall that leads to the library that serves as my dad’s study. When I round the doorway, I find him staring out the window, a glass of scotch in his hand.

  “Hey, Dad,” I greet him quietly. “Can I get one of those?”

  My father turns his head and smiles at me, his temples a little grayer than the last time I was home.

  “Hey, Dom. Sure, help yourself. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

  I chuckle because it’s the same thing he always says and help myself to a glass. The fiery liquid burns a trai
l down into my gut and I down the entire thing, then pour another.

  “What happened the other night?” Dad asks without preamble. “You can’t go around assaulting people. I don’t care how pissed you are.”

  I shrug. “I just found out that Fiona’s dating Cris. I don’t appreciate it and I told her so.”

  Dad raises an eyebrow. “And then you showed Cris with your fists? I always told you, Dom… I don’t want you to start things. You can always finish them, but don’t start them.”

  I shake my head and set my glass down. “Cris started this long ago, Dad. And there’s going to come a point where I need to finish it. For real.”

  My father levels his green gaze at me. “You ever going to tell us what the hell happened with you two? He spent almost as much time here growing up as you did. If there’s something I need to know, I’d appreciate knowing it.”

  My gut tightens.

  It’s not that I don’t want to tell them. It’s that I can’t. I can’t fucking talk about it. Every time I try, the words freeze in my chest and they won’t pass my tongue. They’re just too fucking ugly to say.

  My father raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

  I shake my head. “It’s between him and me. If Fiona doesn’t want to listen, that’s her problem.”

  Dad rolls his eyes and downs his whiskey. “I thought you’d say that. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that he’s coming tonight. We didn’t know you were or we wouldn’t have invited him.”

  I stare at him dumbly. I shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t even call to tell them I was coming. But still. It’s my fucking home and I shouldn’t have to tiptoe around wondering when and if Cris fucking Evans will be here.

  Shit.

  “Great,” I mumble. “It’s been good seeing you.” I stand up and turn to walk out.

  “Don’t start that shit,” my dad warns. “You should’ve called to tell us you were coming.”

  I know he’s right, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I excuse myself to call Tally.

  “Any news?” I ask him. He sighs into the phone.

  “They’re not happy, but there’s not much to be done about it. They’ll delay filming and they’ll film as much as they can without you. They’re wanting you to come home on the weekends though, to film. You’re gonna have to make that work.”

  “I’ll get my lawyers on it,” I answer. “I can’t see that would be a problem. I don’t have to be at Joe’s on the weekends.”

  “What’s it like, anyway?” Tally asks curiously. “Community service?”

  I think about the dingy gym and roll my eyes.

  “It’s awesome,” I answer sarcastically. “You should come and help.”

  “Nah, I think I’ll just see you when you get your ass back here. Hurry it up. I’ll tell the studio to expect you soon. I know Amy Ashby is pissed. This is going to throw off her schedule for her next film, too. You’re going to have to smooth things over.”

  “She’s actually at my brother’s tonight,” I tell him grudgingly. “I could’ve seen her, but I’ll do it another time. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You’re never in the mood,” Tally grumbles. “That’s why she’s pissed at you.”

  That’s also true. If Amy had her way, we’d rehearse our sex scenes in my trailer, down to licking each other’s nipples and getting each other off. But I don’t feel the need. And I just don’t fucking want to. She’s another one of those high-maintenance party girls who needs attention all the time. I just can’t deal with that.

  I hang up and head back down the hall, glancing at the framed family pictures as I pass. Pics of me, Sin, Duncan, Kira, Fiona, Cris… and Emma.

  I stop for a second, the air whooshing from my lungs as I stare at Emma’s sparkling blue eyes staring back at me from one particularly painful picture.

  She’s tanned and healthy, and she’s wrapped her arm around my neck a second before my mom snapped the picture of us in our graduation caps. It was the last picture we’d taken together.

  It was the last picture she’d ever take.

  A knot forms in my throat as I stare at the necklace she’s wearing, a gift I had given her. A happy-graduation/I-love-you/can’t-wait-to-go-to-college-with-you gift. A teardrop-shaped aquamarine that perfectly matches the color of her eyes is encased in a white shell that she’d plucked from Lake Michigan. I’d had it made especially for her, and she’d worn it until the day she died.

  I reach into my pocket and wrap my fingers around it, feeling the cool stone.

  Her parents gave it to me afterward, and I’ve carried it in my pocket every day since… because it reminds me.

  Of everything.

  I gulp and yank my hand away from it, like it’s a hot coal that will burn me. My problem is that I’m stuck in limbo… I don’t want to remember and I don’t want to forget. If I remember, it hurts like hell. But if I forget, it might happen again.

  And that’s one thing I know for sure.

  I’ll never let myself get fucked over like that again.

  Chapter Eight

  Dominic

  As I head down the main hall to find my mom, I’m startled when Cris steps out of the kitchen doorway. I stop in my tracks for a moment, staring at him.

  “Care to come outside? I’d like to talk to you,” he says gruffly, his voice hesitant and filled with a thousand things I can’t name.

  His eye is swollen, which gives me some satisfaction.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” I answer finally. “So, no thanks.”

  I start to brush past him, but he grabs my arm in an effort to get me to stay. I look at him sharply, straight in the eye, a get-your-fucking-hand-off-me look, and he loosens his grip. I guess he learned his lesson the other night.

  Fiona pops ups behind him, her face cautious and sullen.

  “Please,” Cris adds. “You need to hear this, but I don’t think we should talk about it in here.”

  “Fuck you,” I tell him abruptly, pushing past him to the dining room. “Fuck you.”

  “You’re such a dick,” Fiona snaps after me. But I ignore her. I just keep walking until I find my mom and I pause to kiss her on the forehead.

  “I love you, but I won’t come here when he’s here.”

  She protests and grabs at me, but I walk past her, out into the yard and to my car. I ignore the way Fiona yells after me angrily, the way Cris stares at me as I leave, and the disappointed expression on my father’s face. I ignore it all.

  Because I’m Dominic fucking Kinkaide and nothing bothers me. Nothing touches me, because I won’t let it.

  Against my will, my eyes sting and I know they’re red. I rub at them and then fire up the engine. Even though it’s only nine P.M. and Sin’s party will be going full force soon, I head back there… because I don’t have anywhere else to go.

  There’s about a million cars lined up on Sin’s property when I get there, and I almost want to turn around and drive back out. But I don’t. Instead, I park in the garage and make my way into the house, picking my way through the dark.

  I wind through the crowded rooms, making my way around the perimeter toward the staircase. As I reach the bottom step, I feel someone watching and I glance to the side.

  Jacey is standing still in the middle of the room, dressed in her uniform, letting a party guest lick salt off of her forearm for a tequila shot. She’s heavily made up tonight: thick mascara, red lipstick. She smiles up at him with those red lips, a fake smile, and as she does, she catches sight of me.

  She freezes in shock, although, what the fuck? I’m the one living here temporarily. I belong here, she doesn’t.

  Suddenly, a guy comes rushing up to me, someone I don’t know. A very drunk someone.

  “Dude, can you sign my shirt for my girlfriend? If I take home your autograph, I’ll get laid for a month.”

  He grabs at my arm and I shake him off in annoyance.

  “Dude. If you were lucky enough to get invited here, then you should know not
to approach anyone for autographs.”

  I’m not usually so rude to fans. But my mood gets the better of me. The guy stares at me, stunned, and I continue on my way. As I do, I feel Jacey’s gaze.

  She pulls her arm away from the guy, sets down her tray of shots, and makes a beeline for me.

  I turn my back on her, intent on continuing up the stairs without acknowledging her, but she won’t have it. She grabs my arm, forcing me to look at her.

  “Are you all right?” she demands. “That was pretty harsh.”

  I glance down at her, into her brown eyes, and find her to be sincerely concerned. I must look seriously rattled if she noticed that something is wrong. She barely knows me. Her fingers are warm on my arm, and for a minute I waver.

  She’s warm and soft and concerned. I know what that might turn into.

  A wild night that will make me feel better.