Page 15 of Fall Into Me

He didn’t reply. He just kept eating. It was at that moment I caught sight of my parents. They were staring at us like two people who were absolutely not in love.

So, I did what any sane person would do, I laughed. I did this weird, forced chortle that had my dad half out of his seat prepared to do the Heimlich.

“Well…” I swallowed a lump in my throat that refused to dissipate. “Clearly, the day has gotten to me.” The forced chortle continued, and it didn’t stop until both my parents visibly relaxed.

“Hey, kid.” My dad reached over and squeezed my hand. “I know you love this town. We all love this town. Think about it this way, you’ll be able to be his guide on why he shouldn’t meddle. You’ll have plenty of time once Fane gets settled in at home.”

Home.

Myhome.

I’d probably be clawing out my eyeballs if it wasn’t for the horrified look on Fane’s face. Because,of course,we would be living together. Why, on God’s green earth, would my long-distance-turned-short-distance boyfriend live anywhere but with me? At home. In myhouse.

Oh my god.With Jerry!

“And I don’t like you doing all those improvements on your own.”

“Improvements?” Fane asked, his voice half amused and half uncertain if he even wanted to know the answer.

“She’s refused to let me help her fix parts of that house that are falling apart. I hate to say it, but it’s a bit of a shit box.”

“Dad!” This wasn’t the first time he’d called my little cottage a shit box.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. It has character, but I’ve gotta call a spade a spade, and you refused to let me help you fix it up. It wouldn’t be a shit box if I had my way with it for a weekend.”

“I’m handling it. It’s a homeowner’s rite of passage,” I grumbled, knowing the argument was weak, but I wouldn’t put more on his plate. All he needed to do was keep himself healthy.

When Mom got sick, he sort of fell off the wagon. It wasn’t until I could actually smell him from across the house that I realized he hadn’t showered for a whole week.

That’s when I knew how bad things had gotten for him, so anything that wasn’t focused on him just trying to be okay, to live and breathe and operate, became so incredibly unimportant.

Dad focused on Mom, and I focused on Dad. That’s how it had been for the last two years.

“You don’t own that damn house,” Dad grumbled back.

“You—” Fane started to say something that I was certain I didn’t want to hear.

“Well, it’s getting late.” I cut him off with a beaming smile and narrowed eyes that saidyour opinions, thoughts, and feelings are unwanted here.

“Look at that,” my mom said, peering into the kitchen at the clock that read half past nine. “Honey, you haven’t eaten much. Let me pack it up for you.”

I placed a soft kiss on her cheek before we started to move around the table in a practiced pack-up routine that I’d been doing since I was a kid. I would do the plates, Dad would do the dishes in the middle of the table, Mom would do the cutlery, and Abbey usually did the glasses. Fane took it upon himself to take over that part despite the neon sign on my forehead that expressed how unwanted he was here.

Then we were out front on the gravel drive staring at each other, and I was still pretty confident that I could throw a mean punch.

“I have somewhere to stay,” Fane said. His voice was rough and low, and I hated that it was the equivalent of honey running down the back of my throat.

“Too bad,” I said, loathing what was about to happen but knowing that it needed to. “This is a small town, and that”—I pointed at his truck—“is a very big, very noticeable truck. If it’s not parked at my house, then they”—I pointed at my parents’ house—“will know before we’ve even woken up in the morning.”

I didn’t wait for him. I just turned and walked toward the cars and tried to ignore how much my car looked like roadkill next to his brand-spankin’ new wheels. It didn’t take long for his strides to overtake mine.

“You’re going to have to follow me,” I bit out between clenched teeth.

“I’m sure I can find my way,” he mumbled over his shoulder, grinding out the words with the same restraint I was exercising. Which made no sense to me because of the two of us here, he was the asshat.

“You don’t know the address.” I stopped, looking at the back of his head incredulously.

“I’ll just look for the shit box,” he said before jumping into the cab of his truck and driving off before the echo of his words had even dissipated.

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