Falling (Fading Series)

  When we walk inside, she stays in the living room while I head straight to the kitchen to grab a couple bottles of water.

  “Here you go,” I say as I walk back to her and hand her one.

  She takes a big gulp before saying, “This is a great place. How long have you lived here?”

  “About five years.” I watch as she moves her eyes around my space, taking it in.

  My phone begins to ring, and when I see it’s Max, I answer.

  “Hey.”

  “Ryan, Michael’s a no-show. Said he has shit going on at home.”

  “Hold on a sec,” I tell him and look over to Candace. “Make yourself comfortable. I need to take this call really quick. I’ll only be a few minutes, okay?”

  She smiles at me, and I head back to my office, closing the door behind me.

  “Okay, I’m back,” I tell him.

  “Where are you at?”

  “My place. Why?”

  “Who are you telling to get comfortable?” he inquires, implying I’m trying to get laid.

  “Candace,” I tell him honestly.

  “Who?”

  “That girl I told you about,” I explain.

  “What’s going on with you?” he asks, knowing damn well that I don’t ever hang out with girls and that I have never even been interested in anything more than a passing screw.

  “Nothing,” I shrug off, not wanting to leave her in the other room alone for too long. “I’ll be there in a few hours, okay?”

  “Sounds good,” he says before hanging up.

  Walking back out into the living room, I find Candace kneeling down, looking at some of my mattes that are stacked against the wall. Stepping next to her, she looks up at me.

  “I’m sorry,” she says as she puts the mattes down and stands up.

  “For what?”

  “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I just noticed these and was curious,” she nervously explains.

  “Candace, I have nothing to hide. I told you to make yourself comfortable, and I meant it.” I take a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs and drink my water.

  “Where did you get those?”

  “They’re mine,” I tell her.

  “Yours?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I get bored and like to mess around with my camera.”

  “That’s pretty amazing for just messing around,” she says as she continues to stand against the large panoramic window. “You only shoot people?”

  “For the most part, yeah.” I get up and walk over to the photos and pick up the one lying on the top. It’s the shot I took of Gina. It’s a nice photo, but makes me almost feel guilty for having it. For spending so much time working on it, only to have Candace admire it.

  “She a model?” she asks as she looks at the photo with me.

  “No, just some chick I used to know.” I toss the matte down and motion for her to sit with me on the couch, and when she does, she continues, “So, when did you get into photography?”

  “When I was in college I took some art classes. So, one day I just decided to buy a camera and started taking pictures. Like I said, I pretty much have no clue what I’m doing. Just a little hobby of mine I mess around with every now and then.”

  “You ever do anything with them?” she asks.

  “No.”

  I watch her as she begins to relax, getting more comfortable the longer she’s here. Having her here in my space—I like it.

  “Maybe you should,” she encourages, and when I look into her eyes, I’m at a loss for words, so I simply repeat hers, “Maybe I should.”

  We sit here for a few moments without speaking. I don’t pull my eyes away from hers, and when I see the nervous shift in her, I cut the intensity and ask, “You sure you don’t want to come out to the bar tonight to see Mark play?”

  Taking a deep breath and looking down, she says, “I told you, I have to work.”

  “I just picked you up from work.”

  “I know, but I have to go back. One of the girls quit and Roxy hasn’t hired anyone to replace her, so I’ve been picking up extra shifts,” she explains. “Plus, I’d probably be tired and no fun to be around.”

  “I can’t imagine it not being fun to be around you,” I admit much too honestly, and when she shifts her eyes to look out the window, I take her cue and ask, “You ready to finish the run?”

  Standing up, I reach out for her hand. She doesn’t take it at first, but when I smile down at her, she slips her hand into mine. I keep a strong hold on it as I lock up and we head out.

  When we get outside and to the end of my driveway, I still have her hand. This is the longest she’s ever let me touch her.

  “Wanna make it a long run, or are you ready to head back?” I ask.

  She takes a moment, and then looks up at me, saying, “Long.”

  I give her hand a soft squeeze before letting it go, and something about the way she’s looking at me right now makes me feel like I’m finally having an effect on her.

  Leaving now. See you in two hours?

  I read Candace’s text as I’m working in my office at home. She’s been really busy this past week, but we managed to grab another run a few days ago. We decided to meet up after her dance practice today before I have to go into work.

  I’ll meet you in the parking lot.

  OK, catch you later.

  Before I can type another response I get an incoming call from my mom.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi. What are you up to this weekend?” she asks.

  “Not much,” I tell her as I stand up to go get a drink from the kitchen. “I’m supposed to meet up with Candace in a few hours then go to work.”

  “Really?”

  She’s surprised, knowing that I have never shown interest in a girl before.

  “So . . . you really like her?” she asks, not even skating around the subject.

  I grab a water and flop down on a chair in the living room. “Yeah,” I sigh as I lean back and stare up at the exposed beams.

  “Have you told her?”

  “It isn’t like that,” I tell her. “She’s slow to warm up to people. Well . . . at least with me.”

  “But you’ve known her for over a month. Seems like enough time.”

  “Not with her.”

  “So what are the two of you going to do later?” she asks.

  “She’s at the dance studio now, so we’re just gonna grab a coffee afterward.”

  “And how’s work been going?”

  “Same as usual. What about you?”

  When she starts talking about some fundraiser that she went to with her sister, I lose focus as my eyes shift to the stack of mattes that are still lying on my floor. The photos that Candace had been looking at last week.

  “Well, I better let you go. I just wanted to check in,” she says as she pulls my attention back to her.

  “I love you, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Love you too, dear.”

  Shoving my phone into my pocket, I walk over to the photos and grab them. It seems like forever ago when I shot these when really it was only four months back. I was so distracted then, but now . . . now I feel focused. I’m not quite sure if anything will ever happen with Candace, but I love spending time with her regardless. But, God, I do hope that something will happen. I’ve never had to fight for a girl’s attention or affection, but this one . . . she makes me work, and I find myself liking it.

  I take the photos back to my office and shove them inside my credenza, not wanting to think about that time—about all those women. Sliding the door shut, I turn to get some work done—anything to kill time while I wait to see Candace.

  Pulling into the studio lot, I park next to Candace’s car. Stepping out, I take a moment to enjoy the chill in the December air. The dark clouds roll through the misty sky.

  My eyes dart to the doors when I hear them bang open and see her storming out. She’s upset—frustrated—and when she looks at me, she freez
es, startled to see me, with tears streaming down her cheeks. When I rush over to her, she quickly wipes her face with her hands, trying to hide what she knows I already see.

  She drops her head, but I catch it with my hands, cupping her cheeks as I tilt it up for her to look at me. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, honestly. Just a tough rehearsal.” Her voice trembles as she speaks, and seeing her this upset has something panging inside of me that I’m not used to—protectiveness.

  I look down at her as a few tears seep out of her eyes, and I wipe them away with my thumbs. When I do this, I feel her tension melt, and she falls into my chest, wrapping her arms around my waist. This unexpected affection is like a reward I’ve been waiting so patiently for. And here it is. Sliding my arms around her, I hold her close, and she doesn’t flinch away from me. I can feel her body relax, and when this happens, I lean down and rest my cheek on top of her head.

  She sniffs and I know she’s crying. Having her like this, in my arms, is an intimacy that’s completely foreign but comfortable. I’m sure she can hear my heart pounding, but I need her to hear it. I need her to feel it as it thuds in my chest because I need her to hear me falling for her, ‘cause that’s what’s happening here—I’m falling. I never wanted to before, but with her, all I want to do is fall. Fall into her. Fall so deep inside of her heart so that I never have to be without her. That’s what this girl does to me. That’s how powerful she is even when she thinks she’s at her weakest. She’s broken. I see it clearly, but whatever it is that’s haunting her, I wanna make it fade. I wanna make it fade and make her fall too—with me.

  When she begins to pull away from me, I selfishly want to tighten my hold on her and keep her like this for a little longer. I worry this was just a random need for comfort from her, that I won’t get this again, that she doesn’t feel what I know I’m starting to. Fuck, this hurts.

  She looks up at me, and I ask again because I need to. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  With no words, she simply nods. Unwilling to take my hands off of her, I step to her side with my arm around her shoulders and lead her to my car. She doesn’t question me as I help her up into the seat. When I get in, her eyes are closed, so I don’t turn on the stereo. I let her relax and drive her to my place, wanting her in my space. I watch her at every red light I hit. I turn on the heater because I know she has to be freezing, wearing nothing but long, baggy black pants with her pale pink leotard. Her hair is pulled into a tight bun and everything about her is screaming that she’s way out of my league. Way too refined for me.

  Her eyes open when I pull into my drive. She rolls her head towards me, and we watch each other for a moment before I get out of the car and open her door.

  When we go upstairs, she gets comfortable on my couch as I grab a water for her from the kitchen. Walking back, I sit close to her while she gulps the water down.

  “Feeling better?” I ask as I take the bottle from her and set it on the coffee table.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. After being yelled at for two hours, I just . . .”

  Needing that affection back, I wrap my arm around her and pull her in tightly next to me, and again, she allows it. “Don’t worry,” I tell her because I want her to show me this side of her—a side I know she hides.

  “No . . . It’s embarrassing.”

  “Don’t let it be.”

  As she shifts forward, she turns to look at me. “Can I ask you a huge favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Do you have a dry shirt I can change into?” she asks with a coy smile. “I’ve been dancing for the past few hours, and I’m sweaty and stinky.”

  I laugh and say, “You don’t stink at all actually.”

  “Liar.” I catch her dimple when she says this with a slight grin.

  “I’ll be right back,” I respond and then head upstairs to my bedroom. I pull out a pair of my long pajama pants and an old UW shirt.

  “You need socks?” I holler down to her.

  “Please. It’s cold.”

  When I walk back downstairs, I hand her the clothes and show her to the guest bathroom.

  “Thanks. Just give me a few minutes.”

  “Take your time,” I say as I close the door and return to the living room.

  Sitting back on the couch, I turn on the TV and start flipping through the channels. When I hear the bathroom door open, I watch her walk towards me. She’s gripping the fabric of the pants, trying to keep them from dragging on the floor. My pants and t-shirt swallow her up and hang on her, but she’s adorable as hell.

  Seeing her in my clothes—I like it. And in this moment, I pretend that she’s mine because I want her to be. I can’t figure out why. Why this girl? All I know is, when I’m not with her, I want to be.

  She sits down on the couch with me, but not close enough. Her hair is still in a bun, and I grab it, wanting to make her laugh, and tease, “This is cute.”

  Ducking her head, she says, “Whatever,” as she swats at my hand, and gives me what I want—her smile.

  “Come here,” I say as I lean back into the couch and she follows, settling herself in my arms when I wrap them around her. “So, what happened?” I ask, wanting to know what made her so upset earlier.

  “I have this tough piece of music,” she starts to explain. “I’m having a hard time connecting with it. My instructor keeps telling me what I need to fix, but I don’t really know how. It’s frustrating. I can perfect my moves, but I don’t know how to get into this piece.”

  “So she just bashed you the whole time?”

  “It’s how she is. But the fact that she even came in to work with me is unheard of. She’s extremely stern, but she’s only trying to help me.”

  “I didn’t like seeing you upset,” I admit to her.

  When she looks up at me, she says, “It’s not a big deal, really.”

  “I didn’t like it,” I repeat, wanting her to know that I feel for her in a way that seeing her like that bothered me. I keep my eyes on her, and when I sense her feeling uncomfortable, she looks away from me and I ask, “You want that cup of coffee?”

  “That’d be great; I’m still really cold.”

  “There are some blankets in the trunk by the fireplace,” I tell her as I walk into the kitchen. I watch her move around the room as I quickly brew her a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” I ask as she wraps herself up in one of my blankets and sits back down on the couch.

  “One sugar and really blond,” she responds from across the room.

  “You getting warm?” I ask when I walk back in and hand her the cup of coffee.

  “Trying too.” She cradles the mug in her hands and takes a slow sip. When she turns to see what’s playing on the TV, she laughs softly under her breath.

  “What’s so funny?” I question.

  “You.” She looks at me when she continues. “I don’t know anyone who watches the classic movie channel, aside from you.”

  “You want me to change it?”

  “No, it’s fine,” she says as she shifts back on the couch, allowing me to drape my arm around her. “I’m only teasing you.”

  Kicking my feet up onto the coffee table, we watch ‘The Blue Dahlia’ with her head resting on my chest.

  She’s still in my clothes when I drive her to her car that’s back at the dance studio. As I pull up next to her car, I ask, “Why don’t you come up to the bar and hang out with us tonight?”

  “I can’t.”

  I nod my head at her response, which never changes every time I invite her to Blur.

  “I’m sorry,” she tells me. “But I’m just really tired and will probably go to bed early. Plus, I have the early shift at work tomorrow.”

  “Your boss doesn’t strike me as the type who would mind if you came into work a little hungover,” I joke.

  “You’re probably right about that,” she says with grin. “But I’ve never drunk enough to have ever been hungover.”

  “Never?” I ques
tion, shocked that this girl is so innocent that she’s never been drunk.

  “Don’t act surprised,” she defends.

  “I’m more relieved.” I love that she’s pure in a way. That she’s good and not tarnished like me—like all the others.

  “I’m not even going to ask why,” she laughs as she shakes her head. “But thanks for today.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Tell Mark and Jase I said hi when you see them tonight, okay?” she says as she opens the door and gets out. When she turns to look back at me, she adds, “Thanks again for being there today. It probably would have ended up being a crappy day if I just went home.”

  “Thanks for letting me be there.”

  I watch as she gets into her car and drives off before backing out and heading to work. When I walk in, I make my way over to the bar and spot everyone hanging out while Mel works the bar. I’m a little surprised to see Gavin since our last run-in wasn’t all that pleasant.

  None of them see me as I watch them interact. I look at Jase and Mark and see how they’re so happy. They have a direction in life that I’ve been missing. They have a close relationship with each other and even with Candace, something I’ve spent my whole life avoiding. I shift my focus over to Gavin who’s putting the moves on some random chick and I see me. I see the person I’ve been for so many years, and from this angle, it doesn’t look good. Drifting. That’s all I’ve been doing.

  My life has been empty, but I never really saw it so clearly until seeing Candace, Mark, and Jase. I see their connection, their focus, and it makes me realize how unfulfilling my life has been up to this point. Up until her. The draw is there; it always has been, but it’s beyond the pull. She’s filling me with an awareness I never saw before. She’s made me take a step back to see my life for what it is—disconnected and stagnant.

  Before any of them sees me, I turn and walk up to my office. Pulling out my phone, I call Tori. I need assurance, and I know she’ll help me.

  “Ryan, hey.”

  Sitting at my desk, I ask, “You busy?”

  “Not at all. Trevor’s putting the kids to bed. What’s up?”

  “Are you happy?” I ask, remembering the flipside of this conversation when we had it back in the summer at my mom’s house.