Fall From Love (15 page)

My shoulders tense
as my eyes scan over his black eye and busted lip. The image of Carter tackling
Travis after he yelled at me pops in my head. It wasn’t long after the two of
them were on the ground when Josh shoved the keys in Jenna’s hand and told us
to get out of there. I blink away the memory. “Well, I don’t think it’s me you
should be apologizing to anyway,” I tell him.

He clears his
throat, glancing back up at me. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure if I’m ready to
apologize to Carter just yet.”

We stand in silence
for a moment and I’m about to excuse myself when he finally speaks, “Are you
doing okay? I’ve been meaning to call you, but I’ve been dealing with my own
stuff, you know? I’ve been pretty messed up lately.”

Looking at him now
and seeing the broken guy he has become is killing me on the inside. Not only
does his face show the beating he took a few days ago, his eyes look sad, worn
and stressed. Travis and Adam had been best friends since high school so I
can’t imagine what he’s going through.

“I’m getting
better, but there are still hard days,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice
steady. “I mean, there are good days and there are bad days.”

“Yeah, I know what
you mean.” The muscles in his neck flex as he swallows deep. “You know you can
call me if you need to talk or anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” I
smile at him, starting to see just how much pain he’s still in. My heart aches
for him, but I’m not sure what I can do. Most days, I’m barely holding on by a
string.

He shuffles his
feet for a minute, like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. “Well,
I’ve got to get to class. It was good to see you, Holly. I’m really sorry about
the other day.”

I nod. “I know.
It’s good to see you, too, Travis.”

As I walk away from
him, I pull out my phone and do what I should’ve done a few days ago.

Me:
How are you?

A few minutes pass,
but Carter doesn’t text me back.
Don’t read too much into it
, I tell
myself. There’s no reason to freak out if he doesn’t text you back right away.
He could be in class or sleeping.
He could also not want to talk to you
,
a little voice in the back of my head tells me. With each second that passes, I
feel horrible for not calling or checking on him sooner. It’s not that we are
really that close or anything, but I still should’ve called. When he tackled
Travis he had been sticking up for me, and calling to see how he’s doing is the
least I could’ve done.

When I walk into
class, I see a few familiar faces from the football game this weekend.
Apparently, seeing me triggers their memory and whispers begin to fill the
room. I walk over and sink into my chair, wanting to pull the hoodie over my
head to hide. Becca sees me, closes her notebook and scoots down two chairs to
sit beside me. She had called me a few times this weekend, but I didn’t answer
or call her back. I feel bad for that, though I know what she wants to gossip
about and I’m not in the mood for it—I wasn’t then and I’m sure as hell not
now.

“Holy shit. I heard
about what happened this weekend at the Sigma house. Was it as bad as everyone
says it was?” she asks me, her eyes are wide as she stares at me, anticipating
my response.

I nod. “Yep, it was
pretty bad.”

She scoffs and
falls back into her chair. “God, men are such idiots. They’ll find any reason
to start throwing punches. So tell me, what happened?”

Professor Langford
saves me by walking into class, making the stares and murmurs die down.

“We are so talking
about this later.” Becca sits up straight in her seat and flips open her
notebook, preparing to take notes. Just as he opens his mouth to speak my cell
phone starts to ring, causing the entire class to shift in their seats and look
in my direction.
Shit
.

Professor Langford
sighs. “It seems that someone has forgotten the rules. Cell phones are to
remain off or on silent during class.” My face is on fire as I reach into my
bag and fumble around until I have my phone in my hands. My heart pounds when I
see Carter’s name flash across the screen. I reject the call and the class
turns back around as the lecture begins. I turn the ringer on silent, but then
an overwhelming need to leave class and call him back takes over.

“Becca,” I whisper
through my teeth.

She leans over and
tilts her head in my direction, but keeps her eyes focused on the professor
who’s writing something on the board.

“Can I get a copy
of your notes later? I have to leave.”

She turns to face
me and gives me a please-tell-me-you’re-kidding-me-right-now look.

“It’s kind of an
emergency,” I continue.

“Um, so is this
class.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “He’s about to go over what will
be on the test... you know, the killer ones.”

I nod. “I know.
Just take really good notes, okay? I’ll call you later.” I shove my notebook
into my backpack and slide out of my seat as quietly as possible. The professor
is facing the whiteboard and I’m only a few steps away from the door when he
turns around and zeros in on me.

“Do we have
somewhere we need to be, Ms. Treadwell?”

Shit
, he knows who I am… so much for blending in. My body
freezes a few feet from the door. I swallow a couple times and I can feel the
entire class’s eyes on me.

“Yeah, I have to
leave. It’s kind of an emergency.” My knees are shaking now and I wait for him
to threaten my grade, or tell me to sit back down, but he doesn’t. Instead, he
stares at me for a short moment, nods his head and turns back towards the
board.

My legs move again
and I hurry out the door before he changes his mind. Once I’m a safe distance
from the classroom, I lean back up against the wall and place my hand on my
chest. My heart is beating so hard, I’m afraid it is about to explode.
Professor Langford knows who I am. He knows me by name and I just walked out of
his class. The professor who has a reputation for flunking students for one
freaking absence! The professor that gives out killer tests, the same tests
that can totally cause me to not graduate if I flunk one. What the hell am I
thinking? I’m so freaking screwed.

To be honest, I’m
not sure what drove me to get up and leave. I told both Becca and Professor
Langford that it’s an emergency. Calling Carter back isn’t really an emergency,
but I just know that I can’t wait until class is out to talk to him. When I get
my breathing under control, I pull my phone out, scroll to his name and my
thumb rolls over the call button for a second before I finally hit it.

“Hey,” he answers
on the first ring.

“Hi.” I swallow
back my nerves. “How are you?”

He doesn’t answer
me, but I know he’s there because I can hear him breathing.

“Are you okay?” I
ask, sensing something’s not right.

“I’m—I don’t know
what I am anymore.” His words are almost incoherent.

“Have you been
drinking?”

He sighs. “Maybe.”

“Where are you?”

“Home. In bed.” His
voice sounds muffled.

“Is Josh there?”

I hear a lot of
static and then a loud clunk. “Hello?” Panic shoots through me as I press the
phone harder against my ear.

“Shit, sorry. I
dropped the phone,” his slurred voice comes back over the line.

“Are you alone?”
I’m already outside and jogging down the steps, heading towards my car.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I’m gonna come
over.” I’m not sure why I just said that. I have no business going over there,
especially when he’s like this, but for some reason, I don’t want him to be
alone.

“I don’t need a
babysitter, Holly.”

“I know,” I try to
reassure him. “I’ve just finished up with school and… I, uh… I don’t feel like
going home.” I roll my eyes and bite my lip at the poor attempt of an excuse.

There is some more
static and I assume he’s dropped the phone again. I hear him cuss before he
comes back on the line. “Are you coming over now?”

“Yeah, I’m getting
in my car, so I’ll see you soon.”

The line goes dead
and, before I pull out of the parking space, I scan through my phone until I
find Josh’s name. I press call, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi, Josh, this is
Holly. I’m on my way over to your house. I just talked to Carter and he sounds
drunk… really drunk. Anyway, I thought you may want to know.”

I hang up and throw
my phone in the seat beside me, putting my car in drive.

“Shit!” I shout,
jumping off my bed. After I try calling Holly and get nothing except her
voicemail, I decide I’m going to pass out and sleep off my drunkenness. It
takes me by surprise when she calls me back and tells me she’s heading over to my
house.

Using both arms for
support, I lean against my dresser and get a good look at my reflection in the
mirror. I grimace at the man staring back at me. The puffiness on my right
cheek has started to diminish, but the swelling and cut on my lip still look
pretty fresh. “What the fuck are you doing, man?” I ask the reflection staring
back at me and my head falls down between my arms. “Shit,” I breathe, realizing
I have about fifteen minutes before Holly gets here. Fifteen minutes to pull
myself together. Fifteen minutes to sober up.

Yanking my shirt
over my head, I throw it on the bed and do the same with my jeans. I don’t even
bother letting the water warm up before I jump in the shower. The ice cold
water covers me and zaps me awake, making the reality of the situation all too
real. After brushing my teeth and rinsing my mouth with mouthwash a few times,
I throw on my jeans from earlier and pull on a clean t-shirt.

Just as I’m putting
on my boots, I hear a soft knock at the door. Before heading down, I lean over
and look at myself in the mirror again. My eyes are still red and bloodshot,
but it’s still an improvement from a few minutes ago. After running my hands
through my hair a few times, I jog down the stairs to the front door.

“Hey,” I say,
opening the door and trying to keep the right side of my face turned away from
her—the side that’s still red and puffy from the fight.

“Oh, my God.” As
hard as I try, she sees it anyway. Her eyes look me over and I feel embarrassed
that she’s seeing me like this. I didn’t want her to see me get angry the other
day with Travis, or the marks he left behind, and I sure as hell don’t want her
to see me shitfaced drunk, either. I open the door a little wider and she walks
in, never taking her eyes off me.

“Hey, let me see,”
she says, taking a step towards me. Slowly, she raises her hand and grazes my
right cheek. It doesn’t hurt too badly, but it’s still tender. I watch her face
as she assesses the damage. I’m frozen where I stand, realizing at that moment
that, even if it did hurt, I wouldn’t have flinched or breathed a word. She’s
touching me... and any pain is worth that.

“Does it still
hurt?” She glances up and our eyes meet.

“No,” I breathe
out. “Not really.”

She grins at me
with sympathetic eyes, and if I didn’t feel like a pathetic loser about two
seconds ago, I do now. The last thing I want from her is pity.

“When was the last
time you ate?” she asks, dropping her hands from my face and moving past me,
towards the kitchen.

My heart aches from
the absence of her touch and I’m still drunk enough that I almost ask her to
touch me again. “I don’t know. What day is it?” I answer instead.

She turns her head
back over her right shoulder and frowns at me. “It’s almost eleven a.m. on
Wednesday.”

I scan my mind,
trying to remember the last time I ate something, but nothing registers.
Shaking my head and feeling like even more of a pathetic loser, I answer her
truthfully, “I’m not really sure.”

She gives me
another sympathetic grin and continues into the kitchen. She starts opening and
closing cabinets. “Where do you guys keep the bread?”

Pointing to the
cabinet on her left, I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s moving around the
kitchen like she’s on some type of mission. When she reaches up high to grab a
plate from the top shelf, her shirt lifts, too, showing off her flat stomach.
Tearing my eyes away, I slide down onto a bar stool and try to distract the
thoughts running through my head—the thoughts about what the rest of her must
look like with no clothes on. Damn, drunk thoughts. I shake my head and try to
empty the dirty thoughts, knowing she deserves better. She turns and opens the
refrigerator, pulling out some sliced cheese and butter.

“How does a grilled
cheese sound?” She twirls around and looks at me, smiling.

To be honest, it
sounds like the worst thing on the planet, but nothing sounds appetizing at the
moment. As I sit here and look at her, I wonder why she’s being so nice to me
and I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. “Sounds good.”

My eyes continue to
follow her every movement around the kitchen.