This Is Falling (3 page)

Sounds great. I’ll meet you at the
elevator.

-333

Chapter
3

Nate

I know the second he finds out Ty is going to
give me shit. She’s totally my type. I know I have a type. People
have types for a good reason, to help weed out all of the jerks on
earth. And my type looks exactly like her.

I have pretty good instincts. It’s why I’m a
catcher—I can anticipate the bad pitches, the short swings, and
what the batter is going to do. But my instincts run deep. I can
read people off the field, too. And Thirty-three? She’s not the
kind of girl that spends an hour getting ready to go out for the
night. She’s blue jeans and T-shirts. Burgers and fries.

Her fingers were bare—no annoyingly long fake
nail shit or sparkly colors. She was wearing an old T-shirt to bed,
not some special outfit that probably costs more than everything in
my closet. And, while I know this would probably mortify her that I
noticed, her underwear was simple—plain-white, cotton. Not granny
panties. They were tiny and delicate and
far
from granny
panties. In the slight seconds they were in my hand, I imagined
them on her, and believe me, that fantasy is going to haunt me for
the rest of the night.

Even her name was perfect.
Rowe
. No
room for bubble letters and hearts. Just four letters that cut
right to the chase. Okay, so I’m probably still a little buzzed
from the party I bailed on an hour ago, and her personality could
totally blow it tomorrow. But tonight, I’m deciding to believe this
girl is perfect, and I get idealistic and romantic after I drink,
so I’m going with it.

I’ve dated lots of chicks, and some have come
close to perfect. But somewhere along they way, there’s always that
one
big issue.
Sadie, my ex from high school, was really
close—all the way until she slept with my best friend at our
graduation party. That was her big issue, and apparently it had
been her big issue for a few months. I just hope I don’t uncover
Rowe’s tomorrow, because I’d like to enjoy this for a while.

Thank God for Facebook. I promise I’ll do
something good for the world later this week, because people are
supposed to thank God for things far more important than some geeky
billionaire computer-developer’s invention. But, right this minute,
I’m giving the grand ole mighty shout out to Facebook.

She doesn’t seem to post much on her page.
Maybe it’s private? I feel lame sending her a friend request, but I
guess I already sent her a message, so what’s one more level of
stalking? I wish like hell she had a picture posted. Probably would
have spared me my first attempt that went to some pre-teen in
Arkansas.

“What’s that smirk on your face for? Are you
watchin’ porn?” Yeah. Here comes Ty’s shit.

“No, asshole. I do that on your bed.” I’m not
even surprised when his notebook flies at my head. I duck just in
time, but he gets me with the follow up of his hat.

For a guy who can’t move his legs, my brother
is pretty nimble. He’s lived with paralysis for almost six years
now, and he’s half the reason I decided to come to McConnell. He’s
here for grad school—an MBA. And part of the deal when I committed
to play here was that we’d get to room together.

Ty is the good in me. For some, it’s hard to
see that, because my brother can be blunt and crude, and he’s a
real asshole to women. But he’s also exactly who he is—no
apologies, no pretending. The day he woke up in the hospital and
the doctors told him he wouldn’t be able to walk anymore, he asked
them what he
could
do. And he’s been putting all of his
energy into those things ever since. It’s probably why he’s so
damned good at school.

I tried harder in baseball because of him. He
was better than me, and even as a junior in high school he was
being scouted. But then he tore his spinal cord. Baseball became
my
dream then. At first, I did it because I felt like I owed
it to him, like a tribute or something. But he slapped me around
over that more than a few times, so now I play for me. And like Ty,
I don’t apologize for who I am or what I want out of life. And
right now, all I want to do is find out more about Rowe.

“Are you cyber-stalking girls? Fuck, man.
That’s creepy.” Ty’s chair has me pinned to my desk, so no use
hiding this now.

“Met a girl,” I smile.

“Oh God. You’re going to get all sappy and
shit. Man, we just got here! All right, who is she. Show me who
we’re stalking.”

I tilt my computer, and Ty slides it over to
his lap. I get nervous when he smirks at me, and it only gets worse
when he starts to click on things. When I reach to grab my computer
back from him, he just twists away, jamming my leg into the side of
my desk and pushing me away with his massive forearm.

“She wrote you back, dude,” he teases. I’m
somewhere between wanting to punch my brother and dying to know
what Rowe said. “Rowe, huh? That’s cool. You know who she looks
like, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know; I have a type. So sue
me.” I reach again, and he turns completely away, pushing off to
the other side of the room and holding his arm out to block me
again.

“She says she’ll meet you at the elevator.
Oooooo, whatcha doing in the elevator? Have you been reading my
Penthouse
?”

“Don’t be a dick,” I grunt, kicking his wheel
enough to twist him toward me so I can get my laptop back. Ty can
tell he’s pushed me far enough, so he eases up…for now.

“You know you have workouts tomorrow,
right?”

“Fuuuuuuck!” It’s like I thought I was on
vacation or something. I completely forgot about workouts.

“It’s not mandatory,” I say, hoping he’ll
corroborate my plan to play hooky.

“Right. Yeah, you could skip. It’s just one
workout. It’s not like you’re a freshman fighting for a starting
spot or anything. I mean this
elevator
appointment is really
important. It could determine your future with…what was her
name?”

“Rowe,” I say, my lips pushed tightly as I
try to hold in my frustration with Ty. I’m frustrated because he’s
right. And I might still be a little drunk. And I might just be
imagining how I felt when I ran into her in the hall.

I mutter a few swear words under my breath
and take my laptop back over to my bed to write Rowe back.

I forgot I have something in the morning.
Won’t be back until after lunchtime. You free in the afternoon? Or
maybe going to the mixer? Let me know.

- 57

“Asshole,” I say, tossing my closed laptop
down by my feet and pulling my pillow up over my eyes to block out
the light…and to block out Ty.

“Just your angel of responsibility, my
brother. That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles; I give him the
finger before I fall asleep and dream about Rowe and those damn
cotton panties.

Chapter
4

Rowe

I feel like an idiot. I’ve been sitting in
the hallway next to the elevator for twenty minutes now, and I’ve
watched about a dozen more students move their belongings in.
Almost every room is full, and parents are nagging their sons and
daughters and some are crying about leaving. The whole thing is
making me appreciate how fast my parents were with this process.
But they had different motives—if they stayed too long, we all
would have bailed on the plan. And I would never grow up.

Paige and Cass were dead to the world when I
woke up. That’s another element of the sleeping medication—when
it’s done doing it’s job, my eyes are wide and ready, no matter how
badly I’d like to keep them closed.

I woke up a little after seven. My hair had
dried overnight, so I just put on some eyeliner—to make myself look
older than twelve—and slipped on my running shoes to go exploring.
Being outside makes me nervous. Ross says I have a slight
agoraphobia brought on by my trauma, and the best way to overcome
it is to push myself a little more every day. I have four days
until classes start, and if I want to show up to any of them, I
have to push myself out the front door of our dorm. So that’s what
I spent the first three hours of my morning doing. I paced the area
around the front desk. Then I sat in the lounge. Eventually, I went
outside and stood on the steps, forcing myself to count to fifty.
By the time my breathing slowed down, I did a full lap around the
building, and soon it was almost eleven. I’ve been sitting here
ever since.

He isn’t coming. What has me upset is that
I’m surprised he isn’t coming. I’m starting to think I dreamt the
entire thing. The Ambien makes me do that sometimes—and the dreams
feel so real. I pull out my phone to check my Facebook messages and
see if that conversation is even in there, but while I’m waiting
for it to load, a folded up paper airplane lodges itself under my
knee.

“Hey, mind throwing that back?” I look down
the hall and my eyes are met with a face that’s oddly familiar. He
looks just like Nate—or what I imagined Nate to be? But this guy is
older, and he’s in a wheelchair. His smile is disarming, and I’m
starting to feel like someone is pulling a trick on me.

Getting to my feet, I bring the plane into my
hands and look it over for bends in the folds before squinting my
eyes to line it up in his direction. I give it a push, and it sails
several feet past him, which for some strange reason makes me
really happy. Yes, if airplane throwing were an Olympic sport, I
would surely take home the gold.

“Hey, nice toss. Thanks,” he says, wheeling
back to pick it up again. I smile and nod, tugging down my shorts
and the back of my shirt, which have crumpled from sitting in the
corner by the elevator for so long. I’m about to slump back to my
room when Nate’s mystery twin stops me.

“You’re Rowe, right?” It’s strange how my
heart speeds up just by his question. Maybe I didn’t dream any of
this at all?

“That’s me,” I say, folding my arms around
myself and squeezing my stomach for strength.

“You must not have gotten Nate’s message.”
He’s coming closer to me now, and the closer he gets, the more
familiar his features are. His face is almost an exact replica of
the one I saw last night, but his eyes are a little different, and
his cheeks are fuller. All I can do is shrug in response.

“Nate had workouts this morning. I think he
sent you something on Facebook,” he says, and I’m unable to stop
myself from swiftly pulling out my phone to check. I’m sure I look
desperate, but whatever—I’m not good at this. No sense in
pretending. When I tap on my Facebook app, his message alert is the
first thing I see.

“You know what? Why don’t you come out with
me? We can see where our classes are, and then I’m heading to the
gym. Maybe Nate will be done by then,” he’s already heading back to
his room with his keys out. I can’t get my voice to work, so I just
look from him to my room and back again, constantly calculating if
I have enough time to run. Cass squashes that plan, though, when
she’s suddenly next to me in her full workout clothes.

“You missed a hell of a party last night.
You’re coming to the mixer with me tonight, no excuses,” she says,
looping her arm through mine. I don’t have time to answer her
either, because suddenly the mystery man is back.

“Hey, I think I met you last night,” he says,
a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he looks at Cass.
It’s the same face Nate made when he introduced himself, and I
recognize it—he’s full-on flirting with Cass.

“Yeah, we hung for a bit I think. I got
pretty shit-faced,” she laughs, and I’m a little surprised. I don’t
know why really—I know it’s normal for college kids to party and
drink. But the thought of it all scares the hell out of me. I’ve
never been drunk. I’ve barely had a drink. I mean you don’t go from
missing your prom and hiding in the house all the time to life of
the party. And just listening to these two people, whom hours ago
were strangers, bond and laugh and flirt in front of me, is making
the scars on my side hurt and my head is getting dizzy.

“What was your name?” he asks, and I can tell
he’s faking the expression he’s making. He doesn’t know her name at
all, but this is his way of finding it out.

“Cass,” she says, and an actual giggle
escapes her. Every second ticking by in this interaction, I’m
learning more about my roommate.

“Cass. That’s right. I’m Ty,” he reaches his
hand in front of me to shake hers, and I notice the toned muscles
of his arm. I can tell Cass sees them too, and when we make brief
eye contact, she looks almost like she’s trying to signal something
to me. “Rowe and I were just heading out to the gym. We were going
to stop by a few of the buildings on the way. You know, scout out
our classes? Wanna come? You look like you’re heading that
way.”

Cass bunches her brow, clearly confused at
how I know Ty, and why I’m making plans with him. I’d love to give
her an answer, but I’m not even sure how I got here and into this
situation, so I just smile and stuff my hands deep into my pockets,
my thumb rubbing obsessively over the grooves on my room key to
keep myself calm.

“Sure, sounds great,” she says, tugging on my
arm again to walk closely alongside her.

The elevator ride is quiet and uncomfortable.
Several others join us on the next floor down, and we have to wait
for everyone to file out when we get to the ground floor. All I can
focus on is the front door of the building, the one I practiced
walking in and out of all morning. It’s always easier to venture
outside when I’m not alone. And Cass makes me feel comfortable, so
I take in my deep breath and move my feet forward until we’re
finally outside. I must be squeezing Cass’s arm too tightly,
because by the time we make it to the next building, she leans into
me to ask if I’m all right.