Falling (Fading Series) (35 page)

I’m not talking about this shit with anyone. Max knows and that’s where it stays. It won’t come up again. I won’t talk about her like that. Whatever happens, it’s private and stays between Candace and me.

Candace’s roommate wasn’t home when I went over to help her get a few bags packed. Most of her belonging were all ready to go by the time I got there, so it didn’t take us too long before we left, which was good because she was really upset about the whole thing.

We spent a while moving things around in my room to make space for her. She didn’t want to go through the hassle, but I wanted to make sure that she was comfortable and that all her things had a place in my home. She didn’t say how long she was staying, and I told her to play it by ear. I’m just happy that I don’t have to say goodbye to her at night anymore. That she will be here every day with me.

Getting into bed, I sit back against the headboard and watch her as she ties her hair up on top of her head.

“Come over here,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her.

She slips her arm around my waist as we lie here. It feels good to have her close after the shit day I’ve had. She’s always has this effect on me, and I’ve never needed it more than I do now.

When I kiss the top of her head, she runs her fingers along my scar, asking, “How did you get this?”

“My dad.”

“Sorry,” she says as she looks up at me.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to bring it up if you aren’t comfortable talking about it.”

“Babe, I’d tell you anything.” She keeps her eyes on me when I open up to her and show her the side of me that no one else gets to see. “I came home from a party one night and walked in on my father beating the shit out of my mom in our kitchen. He smashed a coffee mug into the back of her head, and I lost it. I started whaling on him. Eventually, he managed to get his hands on a butcher’s knife.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers. I know it can’t be easy to hear, but I give her this, knowing that I hold what is probably her darkest secret.

“That’s the night he died. He left, and my mom called 911, so we were taken to the hospital by ambulance. The next morning, we were back home, and two cops showed up at the front door to tell me about the car crash.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she quietly admits.

Running my fingers up and down her arm, I tell her, “There’s really nothing to say. I hated him. He had beaten the shit out of me my whole life. He didn’t even need a reason. Sometimes he would just come home from work and knock me around for the hell of it.”

“But why?” she asks, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are rimmed with tears.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I do know that he couldn’t stand me. He hated me just as much as I hated him.”

“What could anyone possibly hate about you?”

Her words are sweet, and I lean down to give her lips a quick kiss before she continues, “So . . . nobody knew?”

I shake my head.

“How did you deal with all of that alone?”

“Vices. In high school I used to do a lot of drugs, but I stopped shortly after my dad died. I felt like what happened to my mom that night was my fault. I was wasted and passed out at a party when I should have been at home with her.”

“That wasn’t your fault though,” she tells me.

“I know that now. But it got me to give up popping so many pills. In turn, I just traded one vice for another. I was searching for a way to numb myself. I’d been doing it since I was a little kid, and by the time he was dead, it was all I knew to do. So I kept looking for ways to escape.”

“I can see that,” she responds. “The need to hide.”

I shift us down so that we’re lying on our sides. She hides behind her dance and school. She busies herself when there isn’t anything to really keep her busy. She’s an overachiever, but I don’t point out her vice, instead I reveal, “I don’t want to hide from you though. You’re the only one I can say that about.” She runs her hand along my cheek, when I go on, “I’ve always been scared to connect with women.”

“Why?”

Giving her my fear, I let it all out there. “Because I’m afraid I’ll wind up just like him.”

Keeping her hand on my face, she whispers softly, “That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re the kindest person I know. Because you’ve never put yourself before me. You’re a genuine guy, Ryan.”

“You’re probably the only woman who would say that about me.”

“But how well did they know you?”

“They didn’t. Nobody does except you.”

“Can I ask you something?” she says coyly.

“Anything.”

Closing her eyes, she lets out a slow breath and then asks, “If you never wanted to connect with those girls, then why sleep with them?”

“Because they offered me an escape. If even for a few minutes, it was my way of disconnecting.” Tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear, I lean my forehead against hers and tell her, “I was too scared to feel because I hadn’t ever done that before. I don’t know what it’s like to care more about someone other than myself.”

“But why me?” she breathes.

“You’ve always intrigued me. You aren’t like any girl I’ve ever known. Without even trying, you get me thinking about myself and what I want out of life. You’re everything I never thought I wanted, but when I met you, you were everything I needed.”

She rests her hand on my jaw, and slowly runs her thumb along my lips when she says, “Somehow, you make up for everything I was missing before you. I have a hard time opening up to people; I know that. But I don’t want you to doubt that you have me, because you do.”

I know she struggles, and I’m still waiting for the day she will drop that wall with me to feel safe enough to tell me she loves me, but this . . . this lets me know that she’s trying.

“God, you are so much more than I deserve,” I breathe against her mouth before I kiss her.

I take what I learned last night and refuse to let it stand in the way of what we have together. I’m not gonna beat myself up because I want to touch her, because I know that each touch I want is because I love her. And that’s the only reason. I simply love her.

“What are you doing?” I ask when I walk through the front door and see Candace bent over in my kitchen, wrapping her thighs in Saran Wrap.

Peeking her head up, she tells me, “Helping my muscles recover,” as if this image isn’t anything out of the realm of normal.

I start laughing at her while she continues to wrap her legs. “Explain this to me because I’m dying to know.”

She rips the plastic from the roll and sets it on the counter before defending, “I swear it works. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Wrapping yourself up like leftovers?” I tease.

“No,” she drags out. “You see, I use Tiger Balm,” she says as she hands me a tiny brown jar that can’t hold any more than an ounce. “Then, I seal it in with plastic wrap. It traps in the vapors, which allows for maximum absorption, bringing more relief to my muscles.”

Setting the jar down, I say, “Are you not worried about a chemical burn or some shit like that?”

“It’s never happened before,” she says as she walks out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Watching her, I laugh at the image . . . and the sound.

“Candace, this is some crazy shit you do, you know that right?”

She takes a seat on the couch as I move to join her.

“Yes, I know, but I swear it helps. Look, I have my audition in two days, and I’m freaking out because I keep getting these cramps in my legs. I’ve upped my calcium and potassium, but it’s still bothering me.”

“Give me your legs,” I tell her and she shifts to lie on her back, kicking her feet onto my lap.

“What are you doing?” she asks when I turn to the side to face her.

“I’m gonna give your calves a solid rubdown.”

She smiles as I start to knead my fingers into her muscles. I can’t get enough of her legs, even wrapped up like she has them. They are solid and sexy, and I take my time, thoroughly enjoying myself, as I give her calves a deep massage. She closes her eyes and relaxes while I make good use of the next thirty minutes.

When I’m done, I take her up to my bathroom where she begins to unwrap her legs.

“God, that shit stinks,” I complain as she wads up the wrap and tosses it to me.

“Be nice,” she scolds playfully. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll come to bed in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” I say when I lean down to peck her lips before I leave and close the door behind me.

I run downstairs to plug my cell into its charger in my office before locking up. Candace has her dance bag by the front door with her toe shoes lying on top of a towel. Walking over, I kneel down and run my finger over the dirty, torn pink satin. You can see the burn marks on the ribbon where I can tell she has used a lighter to stop them from fraying.

It’s ironic how these shoes mirror Candace. On the verge of falling apart. Barely holding together. Yet they do. She’s strong even though she’s breaking. I don’t see her doing anything to heal; she’s hiding and masking what I know is eating away at her. And these shoes, as worn as they are, they’re still strong and beautiful.

Turning off the lights, I head back upstairs and lie down. When Candace is done drying her hair, she crawls in next me, and I curl myself around her. We don’t talk as we both drift off to sleep.

When I stir awake, I’m alone in bed. Sitting up, I lean over to her nightstand to check the time on her phone. It’s after two in the morning. I roll out of bed and walk out to the top of the stairs and see her. She’s downstairs, sitting on the couch in the dark, watching the rain fall. The past couple nights since she’s been staying here, she hasn’t slept well. I haven’t said anything to her, but she spends most of her nights in a fit of restless sleep, keeping me awake while I hold her and just watch.

Quietly, I walk down the stairs and across the room. As I round the couch, I see her wrapped up in a blanket, and she’s crying. My heart is so heavy, and I don’t know what to do. All I want is to take it all away, but I don’t know how to do that.

She senses me and turns to look. I see it all over her face—the pain. She’s so tired. Without any words spoken, I sit down next to her and wipe the tears that stain her cheeks.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispers to me.

I look over her face, searching for words, but my own sadness wells up inside of my chest, and I can see the pleading in her eyes. She doesn’t want me to question why she’s crying, so I don’t. I already know. Pulling her closer to me, I hold on to her as she draws her legs up to her chest, cuddling into me. She turns her head and continues to watch the rain while I sit here in a painful silence. All that fills my head is the sound of her shrieking cries from that night, and I do everything I can to keep my emotions intact. Eventually, she dozes off and I scoop her up, carrying her back to bed.