Worth the Fall

WORTH THE FALL

by

CAITIE QUINN

* * * * *

Worth the Fall

Copyright © 2014 by Bria Quinlan

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

ONE

“You’re dumping me?”

I could
not
believe this was happening. Every time. Every time I thought this week couldn’t get worse—BAM! It did.

“Come on, Kasey. You can’t be shocked by this.” Jason looked at me over the very nice, very expensive dinner he’d invited me to, pity shining through those narrowed eyes.

I sucked in a deep breath, glancing away to focus because this just didn’t make sense.
 

“You’re really doing this tonight? Seriously?” At the moment, I was more shocked than heartbroken. Although, as I pondered it, heartbreak would probably attack as soon as I was home alone in my apartment…my very,
very
empty apartment.
 

I’d have to sit on the floor to have a good cry.

“I’m sorry you’re so surprised,” Jason said, although he didn’t sound the least bit sorry.
 

“Surprised? I was supposed to move in with you this weekend.”

He tipped his head to the side and looked at me like he might be humoring a child. “You can’t really move in now, right?”

“Well, not if you’re breaking up with me I can’t, can I?” My voice shot up. It sounded a bit hysterical even to my own ears. In the back of my mind, I realized people were beginning to look our way. Jason was going to hate that.

He reached across the table and wrapped his hand around mine, giving it a harsh squeeze. Even his fake comfort was…well, fake.

“If you moved, how were you going to pay your half of the rent? How would you be able to carry your weight?”

Carry my weight? We’d been dating for almost three years and now he was dumping me because I might not be able to pay rent for a couple months on a condo he already owned?

“Give me a break, Jason. I lost my freaking job yesterday. Do you think I have nothing in the bank? You pick the day after I got laid-off to do this?” The hysteria was gone. In its place my emotional cup was filled to the brim with near-blinding rage.
 

“The economy is tight.” He shrugged as if none of this really mattered. “Who’s to say you’ll find something right away?”

I could not believe this. Could. Not. Believe it. Just last week we’d finished selling all my furniture on Craigslist because his already “fit” in his place. I’d canceled my lease, paid the fine to break it, and was homeless as of the end of the month—which conveniently happened in two days.

“Here.” He handed me a card.
 

A card. I looked at the lavender sealed envelope. Was I supposed to open it? Did Hallmark really make an I’m-Dumping-Your-Ass-But-Good-Luck-With-Everything card?

“What’s this?”

“That’s the first month’s rent and half of the security you’d paid. I figured it was only fair to give it back.”

You think? I looked down at the card again, wondering what he’d written in it, tempted to open it right then. In retrospect, giving him the security deposit should have been the first sign.
 

Okay, maybe not the first.
 

“So, where exactly do you think I’m going to live?”

Scorn. I’d moved from rage to scorn. I was now officially a woman scorned.

No wonder men weren’t supposed to cross us. If hell had no fury like me at that moment, it still had a lot of leash to run on. I could have gutted him with the fancy fish knife resting against my plate.

“Well, I don’t want to sound heartless,” Jason continued studying his plate before looking up with the least empathic expression I’d ever seen, “but that’s not really my problem now, is it?”

The woman at the next table gasped and that’s when I realized most of the tables had fallen silent to the melodrama playing out that was my life.

“No. I guess not. I guess when you dump your girlfriend because she lost her job, you think just about nothing is your problem.” I pushed my chair out, wrapped myself in my Ann Taylor jacket, and picked up my purse. “Oh, wait. You know what your problem is?”

He shook his head, a small smirk yanking his mouth up into cruel tips on each side.
 

“Getting Bordeaux out of cashmere.” I picked up our half empty bottle of wine and dumped it out on his head. “Good luck with that.”

I stormed away, a smattering of applause following me in my wake. Angry tears nearly blinded me by the time I reached the lobby.

“Please. Allow me.” The host pushed the door open and held it for me as I marched into the cool, spring night. “Good luck, miss.”

Yeah. I was going to need it.

TWO

In front of the restaurant, off to the side, sat Jason’s BMW M5. Just sat there. Innocently enough. Of course, it wasn’t offering me a ride home and Jason had picked a restaurant nowhere near a bus or train.
 

But, there it was. Right there. Jason didn’t believe in paying for valet parking and this spot had been dumb luck.

I waited a moment to see if he’d come out to check on me. If maybe—just maybe—he was human enough to make sure I was okay and give me a ride home.
 

When two minutes went by with me adjusting to the slight sting of night air, I realized there was no way he was going to waste a perfectly good steak. He’d probably stripped off that sweater, tossed it at a waitress to soak, and dug back in.

I eyed the BMW.

I eyed the valet.

I eyed the BMW again.

To be fair, it hadn’t done anything to me. But, as an extension of Jason, this mess of a night, and everything that was wrong in my life right now, it was a pretty good target. Slipping down next to the front tire, I took the cap off the air valve. With my key, I sloooooowwwllly let the air out of the tire with a gentle
shush
until the rim rested on the ground.

Then I moved on to the next tire. And the next.

I considered leaving one tire inflated just because it looked out of place. But when you got right down to it, that little hiss of air was extremely cathartic. So, I deflated that one too.

Settling on a sidewalk bench, I called a cab hoping I’d wouldn’t have cause to stress about the expense later. I ignored the chilly end-of-summer night air and waited.

It took Jason seven more minutes to finally appear. I wondered if he’d had dessert. Probably. Probably even made sure it was that flan I loved, just out of spite.

He pretended not to notice me and he definitely didn’t notice all the flat tires. Until he opened the door. Then he noticed the car seemed to be a little lower than normal. Then the tires. Then me.

The look on his face—it was a beautiful thing.

He didn’t approach me or come around the Beemer. He just screeched at me over the hood.

“You slashed my tires?”
 

“No. I would never slash anyone’s tires. Even yours.” Then, because I could admit to myself this might have gotten a little ridiculous—no matter how cathartic it was—I added, “Grow up.”

Kettle, pot. Good times.

“So they magically flattened themselves?” Snide. How had I never noticed this snide streak in him?
 

Three years of not noticing? That seemed excessive even for someone as focused on her schooling and career as I had been. I began to question every conversation where he made himself out to be the clever one, smarter than everyone around him and realized clever probably hadn’t been the right word. That was definitely on me. I had better get a little more aware if I was going to survive in the world as an adult.
 

And maybe stop insisting that Jell-O was a food group. But, some standards remained with us past childhood.
 

“I don’t know about magic. I mean, what is magic anyway? I think it would have been magic if my cab had gotten here before you decided to see if I’d been picked up hitchhiking. But, alas. I’m still waiting.” I smiled at him. One of those big, shiny smiles that really says
Ha Ha To You Buddy
instead of
Hey, You’re Kinda Cute
. No more
Cute
smiles for him. “So, I suspect, the world of magic is dead.”

I picked up a newspaper someone had left on the bench and pretended to read. It must have looked silly there in the dim light of the streetlamp, but it seemed like a logical prop for this farce I was finally taking an active role in.

“You think you can just flatten my tires and I’m not going to call the cops?” He was already dialing. “Hello? 911? Yeah, I want to report an assault. No. I’m not hurt. I wasn’t the one assaulted.”

At this point I was having a hard time believing he’d called 911—that he was calling this an assault—not to mention I’d actually dated this idiot for thirty-three months. That was more than a month for every year of my life.

Maybe
I
was the idiot.

“No,” he continued, still glaring at me over the hood. “No one is hurt. Well, not hurt exactly…I’m not sure what the weapon was…No, I don’t need an ambulance. Just a cop.”

By this point, the host had come out to join the valet. The two whispered and stared. I heard a snicker escape from one of them.

“My car…She assaulted my car…Well, the tires are flat…Does it matter? I want a cop and I want one now.”
 

Christmas came the same time every year. Maybe, just for the heck of it, I’d send him a copy of
How to Win Friends and Influence People
. You know, with a nice little note in the front about his people skills and a good luck with life note.

“Fine. But he better hurry. What do I do if she tries to leave?” He looked my way again, laying his hand on the hood and petting the paint job lightly. “What do you mean I can’t hold her against her will? Fine. But I better hear sirens within the next three minutes.”

He hung up, shoved his phone in his pocket, and he stabbed a finger at me from twelve feet away. “Do not go anywhere.”

For the first time since I’d called the cabbie, I was kind of hoping he’d gotten lost. It might be worth having a record to watch Jason’s tantrum play out.

When the cop showed up a few minutes later, there was a distinct lack of sirens. I was almost disappointed.

The officer got out of the car and glanced at the BMW. He shook his head a little as he reached back in the car for a notebook, straightened his cap, and then headed toward Jason.

“What seems to be the problem here, sir?”

Oh. I liked this guy already. If the flat tone of his voice showed how he was really feeling about this situation, I
really
liked him. I didn’t think I was going to mind being arrested by someone who saw the ridiculousness here.

“My car has been assaulted.”

I really couldn’t believe he hadn’t rethought that wording since hanging up with the 911 dispatcher.

“She,” he stabbed that finger my way again, “attacked it.”

I was back to pretending to read the newspaper and ignoring him.

“She attacked your car?” The cop was walking around the car for the second time and squatted to look at the front tire closest to the restaurant’s lights. “These aren’t slashed.”

“They’re flat.” Jason sounded as if this was the equivalent of a mass war crime.

“But they aren’t slashed. Someone just let the air out.”

“But, they’re flat.” Jason finally came around the hood and kept coming. Before I knew what he was going to do, he grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “She flattened my tires. I want her arrested.”