Falling (Fading Series) (3 page)

After a long workout with Max, I decide to stop by the office and take care of a few things before heading out of town.

“Hey, Mel,” I say as I make my way past the bar to the stairs, and she gives me a flirty wink laced with mockery. Shaking my head at her, I go up to Michael’s office.

“Hey, I thought you were out of town,” he says from behind his desk. Michael started working here at the beginning of the summer. He’s in his mid-thirties with a wife and kids. Dependent on the paycheck I write him, he’s proven to be dependable.

“Tomorrow.” Taking a seat in one of the chairs, I tell him, “Max has a friend that’s gonna be calling you about a job. Check him out, and if he doesn’t work, I need you to find someone who does. We need another guy to work the door. Summer has been a little slow, but shit always kicks up when classes at the university start.”

“Got it,” he says as he files through a stack of orders. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, I need you to start booking out the bands for at least six weeks. I’d really like to find a few we can book steady, so see what you can come up with. You can always call Gavin to see if he has any leads as well.”

“Sure thing. When are you gonna be back?”

“Few days or so,” I respond as I stand up to leave. “You got everything under control?”

“Yeah, man. Don’t worry about things here. I’ll catch you when you get back.”

“It’s about time you got here.”

“Sorry. Got tied up this morning,” I say when I walk through the front door.

“Spare me the details,” Tori teases as she shakes her head before giving me a hug.

Walking into the kitchen, I ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“You just missed her. She ran to the store to get stuff for dinner.”

“Wanna head out so when we get back you women have enough time to cook for me?” I joke while she gives me a jab to my ribs.

Tori is only three years older than me. Our moms are sisters, so we spent a lot of time together growing up. I have three cousins, all girls, but Tori is the closest in age to me and the only one that surfs, so we were pretty inseparable when our families would get together. We’ve always been good friends. She married Trevor in her early twenties and now has two kids. Seeing her as a wife and mother never deters me from giving her shit the same way I did when we were younger.

“You know Indian Beach is going to be insanely busy today,” she tells me.

“Yeah,” I sigh and look out the windows onto Cannon Beach. The waves aren’t hitting as hard here, but they’re big enough. “Let’s stay here then.”

“You sure?”

“We can wake up early and hit Indian tomorrow before the crowds get there.”

Nice weather is short-lived around here. Once the grey skies clear and the rain slows, everyone swarms to the Oregon coast, and Indian Beach is the spot that draws in the most people.

Hopping off the couch, she says, “Sounds good. I’ll go grab my wetsuit.”

We spend the next hour in the water until I hear my mother calling my name up on the beach. Paddling in, I walk out of the water, and my mother knows me too well when she starts taking a couple steps back, but I rush in and wrap my arms around her, soaking her clothes.

She laughs, and when I let go of her, she grumbles, “Now I have to go in and change. Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” I tease.

Shaking off the mock irritation, she says, “It’s good to see you, honey.”

“You too.”

She tucks a lock of her short blonde hair behind her ear and asks, “How much longer are you guys going to be out here?”

“Not too long.”

She gives me a smile. “Okay. Well, I’ll be inside whenever you two are done,” and turns to go back in.

When I paddle back out, Tori is sitting on her board, and I join her as we bob up and down in the choppy water.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Taking a break,” she responds as she looks out to the setting sun.

I can tell something is bothering her, so I come out and say, “Talk to me, Tor. What’s up?”

She looks over at me, annoyed that I can read her like I do. Letting out a big sigh, she questions, “You ever wonder what it is we’re doing?”

“Meaning?”

“Life,” she says, taking a pause before continuing, “I guess I just thought I would feel more content than I do. Truth is . . . sometimes I feel like I’m too settled. Kids. Husband. Like I’m stuck.”

When she looks over at me, I grab her board, steadying it next to me. “You’re not happy?”

She doesn’t respond.

“No,” I answer for her.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re thinking too much.”

“Are
you
happy?” she asks.

It’s a loaded question. I’m numb most of the time. Friends are dropping off the scene, settling down with girls, and I’m still doing the same old shit. But the fear outweighs the jealousy, so I don’t get too hung up on the fact that I’m emotionally incapable of having that. I never have had that. Never allowed myself the opportunity. All I know how to do is care for myself. I’m selfish just like he was. I’m not a provider the way a man should be; I’m a taker. I stay disconnected—and take.

“I’m as happy as I can be, I guess.”

Tori never knew about my father, that he was a dick who used to pound his fists into his wife and son. Black eyes, broken ribs, bruises, and concussions. We kept it hidden well, my mother and I. They knew he drank, maybe not as heavily as he did, but that much they knew. Everything else, we never spoke about. Once he died, Mom was determined to start a new life. A life that had nothing to do with our past.

“Do you ever think about settling down?” she asks.

“No,” I respond with forced ease.

“So you’re happy? Having a different girl in your bed every night?”

I laugh. “Every night is an exaggeration, and those chicks aren’t in my bed either. They stay downstairs.”

“How is it that you haven’t gotten the shit beat out of you yet?” she jokes in disgust.

My laughter grows as I say, “Lucky, I guess.”

We sit for a minute or two when I finally ask the kicker, “Are you not happy with Trevor?”

It doesn’t take but a second for her eyes to gloss over as she admits, “I don’t know.” When the tears fall, she reveals, “Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. Maybe what I was expecting just isn’t reality. My reality is . . . I’ve lost myself along the way somehow. Between two kids and not working, I’m just lost. I don’t know of any other word to describe what I feel.”

“What does Trevor say? Does he even know?”

“He doesn’t want to hear me complain after he’s been at work all day.”

“Talk to him, Tor. Whatever is going on with you, he loves you and the kids. Maybe it’s time for you to get out of the house. Go back to work.”

She wipes her face and laughs softly. “The thought of not being with my kids kills me. I know you’re right, but mommy guilt is a bitch.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that,” I chuckle. Shifting, I lie down on my board and say, “Come on. Let’s drink,” before paddling back in.

After dinner, I walk into the kitchen to grab a beer and check my phone while Tori and my mom talk in the living room. Popping the cap off the bottle, I take a long sip before picking up my phone. I scan through some new emails that have come through and forward a couple to Michael.

Setting my phone back down, I lean against the counter and take another swig when my eye catches the cracked wood in the corner of the kitchen island.

“What the hell is your problem, kid?”

“I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

Quickly grabbing a towel to clean up the juice I spilled that is now pooling under his briefcase, large hands grab my neck and shoulder. He abruptly throws me onto the floor, and the force of his strength sends me flying into the center island. The sharp corner pierces my back and sends a fire of pain up my spine as my head ricochets hard against the wood. I hear the crack and start crying. I’m scared he’s gonna get more upset with me if he sees the damage.

I lie on the floor, avoiding eye contact, and grip the back of my head. I can already feel the bump growing.

“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” he sneers, throwing my words back at me as he slings a dishtowel at me. “Clean this shit up.”

That crack has been there since I was seven years old. It’s such a faint line that I doubt my mother has ever noticed it.

“I’m calling it a night,” Tori announces as she walks in and gives me a hug, pulling me out of my past.

“Early morning. Let’s try and head out around seven.”

“Sounds good,” she says before she turns back to the living room to tell my mother goodnight and then heads upstairs.

My eyes shift back to the crack briefly as I turn to go into the other room. I walk over and sit down with my mom on the couch.

“How are you doing, darling?” she asks, patting my knee as I get comfortable.

Thinking back to my conversation with Tori in the water, I ask, “Are you happy, Mom?”

“Where is this coming from?” she questions, and I mindlessly find myself rubbing the back of my head where that bump from twenty-one years ago doesn’t exist anymore, but the memory still does.

“You’re all alone here in this house. I worry.”

“I’ve always been alone in this house.”

She never remarried after my dad died. I haven’t even known her to date. We’ve never talked about it, but I just figured she was too scared.

“Can I ask you something?” I say as I turn to her.

“Anything.”

“How come you never sold this house?” I wonder if the past still haunts her like it does me.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s filled with so many bad memories.”

“But it’s filled with so many good ones too, dear.” She smiles when she continues, “I remember holding you in my arms when I brought you home from the hospital. This is our home. It always has been. The one thing that bastardized this place is gone.” She pats my knee as she says this. Nervous reflex. She isn’t convinced of her own words. I’m good at reading people, especially her. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you happy?”

I dig my thumbnail under the damp label on my beer bottle. Nervous reflex. I’m sure she sees it too. We are good at reading each other like that.

“I worry about you,” she says softly.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m good. Business is good,” I assure her.

She leans back on the couch and lets out a sigh as she says, “I don’t doubt that work is good, but I wonder how much longer you plan on keeping up like you are. I wonder when you’ll decide to slow down and settle.”

“You know why I don’t settle, Mom.” This is no secret between us. She has always known why I’ve never gotten involved with anyone. She knows my fears. I tell my mother nearly everything.

“You’re nothing like him,” she affirms sternly, and when I look at her, I deny her words.