Page 16 of Fall Into Me

It was settled. I officially hated Fane Mackenzie.

6

Fane

After

I had intended on driving right to her house, but I also knew that I’d have to explain how I knew her address, and that would open up a whole can of fucking worms I wasn’t at all equipped at handling right now.

I parked my truck on the shoulder of the road just up from her parents’ place and waited for her to drive by me in her car, which looked like it could be dismantled by a stiff wind. I kept the glare firmly on my face when she stopped and motioned for me to roll my window down.

This wasn’t going to amount to anything good, that much I knew.

Despite the very high possibility that she was going to rip me yet another asshole, I rolled down the damn window.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just started rummaging around in her car for a second before her face lit up with a manicsort of grin. It looked like she was reaching for something in the footwell of the passenger side, and when she pulled back to show me, it was in fact her middle finger.

“Have you gotten less mature in the last two years?”

“Yep!” She beamed at me. “Feel free to get lost and never come back!” she yelled before zooming off. I was only glad that it was dark because I knew she wouldn’t be able to see me in her rearview mirror, and it was really fucking hard not to laugh.

I hadn’t laughed much in the last two years. I had a plan—one goal that ruled my life. The same goal that had destroyed it. Whether the woman in the car ahead of me ever found out or not, I knew she’d never forgive me.

So, I let myself laugh, just for a second, because as much as I wanted to throw her over my knee and see the imprint of my hand glowing red on her ass, I’d missed the challenge that was Calista Rose Grey.

Never one to take anything lying down, even when it was in her best interest.

Cali pulled into the gravel drive of a small house that suited her down to the ground. It was bordered with hedges that went as high as the sagging eaves that surrounded the exterior, with flowers planted out front and along a walkway that led right to the sidewalk. A small gate sat on an angle at the end of the footpath, even though there was no fence on either side of it. It held a sign that looked handwritten on cardboard, wrapped aggressively in tape, and severely water-damaged, but the words were still legible. It said, “Jerry is large but full of love. Don’t be frightened.”

The slam of her car door yanked me from a dumbfounded spiral about her sign, who Jerry was, and why that name pinched something deep inside me. It also gave me just enough time to smooth the contorted look off my face and reset my glare before she saw.

Everything Cali did, from the moment she stepped out of her car, was accentuated by the anger rolling off her in waves.

Look, I wasn’t an idiot.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t completely true, but I wasn’ttoomuch of an idiot to where I thought continuing to rile up a woman who was clearly channeling the fear of God into everything she was doing was smart.

Then again, I wasn’t too smart either.

Calista didn’t even look back at me when I jumped out of my truck and walked up the path. It was then I realized I didn’t even think of going and getting my stuff.

“Not bad for a shit box!” I called after her.

I’d dumped my duffel bag under the desk meant to be mine at the office we were renting on Main Street. A group of strangers swooping into a tight-knit community with promises ofimprovements?

Yeah, that never went over well.

The central, accessible location was supposed to help. Spoiler: it didn’t.

It rarely ever did, and I couldn’t blame them. It was just one of the many reasons I told my father to go fuck himself every chance I got. I didn’t agree with a damn thing he was doing.

That look of disgust that colored Cali’s features over dinner was the same look I had on my own face when I looked in the mirror at the end of each and every day.

It was a certain type of torture in working for the man who beat my mother in front of me from the time I could remember.

My earliest memories are of fear, anger, and hatred. Shaped by the lessons my father thought he was teaching me as I huddled in the corner, forced to watch.

Forced to witness it.

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