Page 68 of He Falls First

“Those sound like excuses to me,” she argues, her eyes narrowing. “We could make this work, Hendrix. We could be happy together.”

I need to shut this conversation down. It’s only leading to where I don’t want to go—confessing my true feelings for her. If I tell her how much I love her, it might change everything, and I can’t risk that. I need to protect her from the potential fallout of our fake engagement and my tumultuous life.

“Elizabeth, you don’t know what you’re asking for.” I’ve made my voice cold and distant. “You have no idea what it would mean to be with someone like me.”

“Will you stop acting like I can’t possibly know you?” she shouts. “Why are you so scared of opening yourself up to something real?”

I pause, realizing there’s only one way to make her forget about having a real relationship with me. I have to be cruel, to hurt her badly enough that she won’t want anything more than our charade.

“Because,” I say slowly, pushing past the pain in my chest as I force the words out, “if we were together for real, it wouldn’t count for your ‘He Falls First’ pledge. And you deserve someone who truly falls for you, Elizabeth.”

The tension in the room is palpable, a tangible force that threatens to suffocate us both. There. I’ve told her I haven’t fallen for her. It’s a lie, and it hurts to say it, but it’s the only way I can protect her. If she believes it, maybe she’ll stop fighting for something that can’t happen.

“Fine,” she says quietly. “If that’s how you feel.”

With that, she rolls away, getting up and leaving the room without another word. I watch her go, my heart breaking with every step she takes. I have to fight the urge to follow her, knowing that if I do, I might just confess everything and lose her forever. Fabric pushes into my palms as I clench my fists around the bedsheets.

As she reaches the door, her hand hesitates on the knob, and for a fleeting moment, I hope she’ll turn around and see right through me. I hope I’ve failed to push her away. I hope she’ll come running back to me without giving me another chance to stop her.

But she doesn’t turn around. Instead, she opens the door, casting a shadow on the wall as she steps out into the hallway. The door closes with a soft click, and I’m left alone in the room, enveloped by the silence.

I throw my arm over my eyes, but even in the darkness, I can’t escape the truth—I’m in love with Elizabeth, and I’ve just pushed her away to protect a heart that’s already broken.

Chapter 29

Elizabeth

My dad’s front lawn is bullshit.

I realize this for the first time as I pull into the driveway of his cookie-cutter suburban pad. It’s all smoke and mirrors—the pristine lawn, the blooming flowers, just lipstick on a pig, really, hiding the dirt lurking underneath.

The door swings open and there he is, my father Samuel, looking chipper as ever.

“Hey, Lizzy!” He puts his arms around my stiff shoulders. “How’s life treating you?”

“Fine, Dad.”

We settle into the living room and I can’t even force a smile. Not with all this tension building inside me. He doesn’t know that I know about his affairs. I should tell him. I feel like he’s asking how much money the Tooth Fairy gave me last night, but he doesn’t know I cracked an eye open and saw that he was the one pretending to be a mystical creature the whole time.

Every tooth in his grin represents a lie.

It’s been a little while since I just stopped by like this. I don’t know what led me to do it today, exactly, except that I had a rare afternoon with no work meetings and for once, I didn’t feel the need to spend every possible moment by Hendrix’s side.

Seeing as, apparently, it doesn’t make a difference to him whether I’m around or not.

Of course, since the bosshole’s my least favorite topic right now, it’s what my dad goes in on right away.

“How’s things with that Hendrix?” he says. He’s sitting in his favorite armchair, the leather throne that always seems to get him in the mood for dispensing unsolicited advice.

“Things are fine,” I answer, too quickly, too sharply. My fingers curl into my palms, nails digging crescents into the skin.

“Is that so?” Dad frowns, his expression one part concern, two parts judgment. “You know, a man like that—”

“Stop.” His affairs hang in the air between us, festering like a wound. “Don’t you dare sit there and judge my choices.”

I bet he thinks his smile is kind, but it’s not. It’s condescending.

“Your choices are just misguided, Liz. Your boss is the one who should know better.”

---