Falling (Fading Series) (21 page)

“So, you’re going over to see them then?” I ask, already feeling like I want to keep her from going. I know I have no right to say anything, but I can’t stand the thought of her being here alone if she winds up in another fight with them.

“Well, yeah, I don’t really want to, but it’s Christmas and all. I’m just a little scared about how it will all go. The last time I saw them, we said some pretty nasty things to each other, and I have never gone this long without talking to them.”

“What are they so upset about?” I ask, confused by what this girl could possibly be doing that they don’t approve of.

“Everything,” she says as we walk into her house and into the kitchen. She grabs a bottle of wine that has already been opened and starts pouring a glass, adding, “Turns out I’ve been nothing but an embarrassing disappointment to them all along.”

Taking a beer out of the fridge, I can’t help the sigh of irritation that comes out of me. I follow her into the living room, and when we sit down on the couch, I wrap my arm around her, just wanting her to be close to me any way I can get it.

“I’m sorry, babe,” I say softly and immediately catch the slip and hope she isn’t freaked out by what I just said. But when she continues talking, I wonder if she even noticed that I called her ‘babe’ or if she did notice and is okay with it.
Shit, I really hate this grey area.

“Honestly, it’s nothing that I didn’t already know deep down, but it was the first time that it actually hit me that these were their true feelings toward me.”

I feel it. It’s strong and causes a reaction I can’t control, and I act on it, demanding, “I don’t want you going over there.” She looks up at me, and there isn’t a hint on my face that I’m anything less than serious about what I just said.

“Ryan, I have to,” she defends. “They’re my parents.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want you going over there for them to treat you like shit.” My words are hard, but they come out before I can even think to soften them up for her.

She sighs and leans back into me, resting her head on my chest, and I enjoy the contact.

“I have to go,” she whispers. “It’s Christmas, and I really should be there. I’m only going for dinner. That’s all.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“What?” she says as she pulls away and sits up.

“I don’t want you going alone, Candace,” I tell her. “I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, but I’m not letting up on this.

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re going. So we can argue about this, or you can just say okay.”

Her eyes are locked on mine, stunned by my tone, but the feeling that I have to shield her from getting hurt again is powerful, almost uncontrollable. It takes her a moment, and I watch her brow twitch right before she turns and slowly leans back.

“Okay,” she resolves with uncertainty.

Certain or not, I don’t care. She said ‘okay,’ and I take it a step further, pushing her when I add, “And I don’t want you spending Christmas alone either, so why don’t you come home with me. I could use the distraction at the madhouse.”

“What?! No. Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” she says in a high-pitched voice.

“I’m sure you will be fine, but I don’t like the thought of you sitting here alone, so you’re coming with me.” I need her to come with me. I just need her . . . with me.

“Ryan, it feels weird,” she argues.

“Why?”

“Because. It just does. I know you have a big family, and I just don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s not an intrusion,” I assure her as I move to face her. “My family isn’t like that.”

She drops her head and takes her time contemplating. Questioning.
Shit, did I go too far? Did I scare her?
As soon as I start to regret my words, she speaks.

“Okay, but no gifts. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. It just always has. Please,” she says, almost begging, and I don’t push it any further.

Excitement rushes through me, a feeling that’s all too new for me. But I can’t help it, knowing that I get to have her with me for a solid chunk of time.

“Okay. No gifts,” I say with a smile.

We both sit back, and when she gets comfortable in my arms, she asks, “So when did you start making all the rules?”

“When you started making me worry about you,” I respond, completely transparent.

Sitting there, I continue to hold her. We don’t talk at all. It’s quiet and peaceful, and having her warm body tucked in close with mine gets my heart racing. All I can think about is how I want to kiss her, touch her. Pick her up and make good use of her bed. But I know once that happens, I’ll never want to leave that bed. The thoughts alone turn me on, and I need to get control of myself.

“Hey,” I whisper, looking down at her. When she tilts her head and peers up at me, she’s close. So close, that if I lean down slightly, I could kiss her. Maybe I should. But I know myself. I won’t want to stop. I don’t think I could with her, so instead, I say, “I should get going.”

She nods her head, and feeling the movement against my jaw makes leaving so difficult, but that’s what I do. I stand, and she walks me to the door.

“Thanks for helping me out tonight.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” I tell her and then walk out to my car after she gives me another nod.

The drive home is almost painful because all I want to do is turn around and take her, claim her as mine, but nothing about this girl is telling me that I should handle her in that way. I’m holding back, and I’ve never had to do that before. The anticipation drives me crazy, wondering when I’ll get to see her again, hear her voice when she calls, or read her words when she texts me.

I need to talk to her. Be honest and tell her how I’m feeling. But I just got her to agree to spend the holidays with me, so I’ll selfishly take the time and won’t mention anything right now. God, this is killing me.

When I wake up, I fix myself a cup of coffee before calling my mom to tell her about the change of plans.

Taking my coffee over to the couch, I kick my feet up and call her.

“Hi, dear,” she says when she answers the phone.

“Hey. You busy?”

“No. How are you?” she asks.

“Good. Um, I have a minor change of plans for Christmas,” I tell her. “I’m gonna bring Candace with me.” I say this, almost cringing at what her reaction is going to be. I’ve never brought a girl home with me—ever.

She’s surprisingly understated when she says, “That doesn’t sound like something minor. So what’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“But you’re bringing her here. Home. With the whole family. And nothing’s going on?” she pries.

“She’s alone, and I don’t want her to be. That’s all,” I explain, but we both know that’s not all.

“Alone? Where’s her family?”

I take a long sip of my coffee before explaining, “She doesn’t have a good relationship with her parents. The last time she saw them, they wound up in a huge fight and they said some pretty bad things to her. She’s going back to see them for dinner on Christmas Eve, and I told her that I would go with her.”

“Oh. So, when are you coming home?”

“We’re gonna drive down on Christmas, so I won’t be there in the morning with the kids,” I tell her, feeling a little guilty that I won’t be there when they wake up.

“They’ll understand. I’ll talk to them,” she assures me. “I’m glad I finally get to meet this girl,” she says with excitement.

“Mom, she can be really shy,” I warn. “I know she’s gonna be overwhelmed with everyone at the house, and I don’t want to make it any more awkward for her if anything was to be insinuated. It’s just not that way with us.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” she teases, and I know she will be. “Well, I should run out and get her a little something.”

“No gifts.”

“It’s Christmas, Ryan,” she says, annoyed by my demand.

“She made me promise. Told me that gifts make her uncomfortable.”

“Ryan, how much do you know about this girl?” I can hear the uncertainty about Candace in her voice.

“Why?”

She lets out a heavy breath before saying, “It just sounds like she has some issues going on, and I wonder what you really know about her.”

I take a moment because all I want to do is defend this girl. Truth is, I know she has issues. I’m not blind to the odd behavior I catch glimpses of and the couple of things that Jase and Mark have said about her. But whatever is going on, I don’t think it could ever be enough to keep me away. So, I bypass my mom’s concerns and leave it at, “She’s special. I don’t know what’s going on with us, but she’s important to me.”

I can almost hear my mother’s smile when she says, “Well, then she’s important to me too.”

“She’s a good girl, but her walls aren’t that easy to break down.”

“Sometimes it isn’t about breaking walls, dear. Sometimes it’s simply about proving yourself to the other person that they’re willing to just let them down.”

My mom’s support is a constant in my life, and I’m grateful that I can depend on that from her.

“Thanks, Mom.”

There’s no doubt she’s nervous when she gets into my car and I start driving up to Shoreline to her parents’ house. She doesn’t speak as she sits there, looking all proper in her plum, knee-length dress and black high heels. She hardly ever wears jewelry or makeup, she doesn’t need to—she’s perfect. But I don’t like seeing her so worried.

“Relax,” I tell her.

“Ryan. You need to know that—”

“Candace, relax.”

“They’re just very judgmental people,” she warns.

“There is nothing that they can say that I haven’t heard before,” I tell her. If anyone can deal with people who degrade you, it’s me. I spent my whole childhood listening to a father telling me, every way he could, what a piece of shit I was. I’m sure I can handle whatever it is I’m about to walk into. But it isn’t me I’m worried about, it’s her.

When I pull into the gates of The Highlands, an upscale affluent community, I look over at Candace and lay my hand over the two of hers that are clenched tightly together. I weave through the neighborhood and when she points to the house, I pull into the drive and shut the car off. She doesn’t open the door or move in any way. She sits, and I let her take her time.

After a few moments pass, I ask, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she sighs and then opens the door.

Walking up to the large, two-story home that overlooks the Sound, she takes a deep breath before opening the front door. We walk in, and I take in my surroundings. I knew that she came from money—I do too—but there’s a big difference between affluent and wealthy. This is wealth.

“Bunny,” her father beams as he walks through the foyer with his arms out to pull her into a hug. From his demeanor, you would never expect the family drama that lies underneath the surface. My father was the same way. No one would ever suspect the violent man that he was behind closed doors.

He takes a step back from Candace and turns to me. He wears a tailored charcoal suit and has almost polished, silver hair. “And you must be Ryan. Thanks for joining us,” he says to me, shaking my hand.