Page 99 of Break Your Fall

He averts his stare toward Mom, his future ex-wife less of a disappointment now than his potential ex-son. “Tommy—”

“Let him talk, Ashby,” Mom cuts in with an encouraging look at me, knowing I have more to say, having faith enough that I wouldn’t have made this huge decision without a Plan B. I offer an appreciative smile, though it’s weak, unable to miss the worry lines in her forehead.

“I’m gonna get a job,” I start, seeing Dad shake his head down at the table in my periphery as I address the better half of this pairing. He’s already heard Plan B, and he’s eyeing me now while I regurgitate to Mom. “I’ll save money, find my own place, and then figure things out from there.”

“And you’ll start now.”

“Ashby,” Mom scolds again, hearing what he’s not saying in his pushy tone as I am.

My father’s kicking me out without actually using the words so he can’t be accused of them. Shoving me into thereal worldso I can become as unfulfilled as he is.

“No,” Dad argues back to Mom. “He wants to do this? He wants to hold off on getting a job so he can focus on school and basketball and map out a good future for himself to piss it down the toilet and get a job, anyway?” He directs the fire in his eyes and his words to me. “You’re throwing your life away, Tommy. Just think about this,” he pleads with me, wrapping his hands around the words like I’d wrapped mine around my invisible basketball when I attempted this conversation the first time, a pained look on his face. It’s hard to hold something you don’t want.

“Ihavethought about it, Dad. It wasn’t an easy decision, okay? But I had to make it, because I’m nothappy.” I emphasize the word, sounding out the syllables to get it through his head. “And I’ll never be you.Thisisn’t gonna be my future,” I say with a motion between him and Mom. They’re not going to fix their mistakes, change their lives, but I am. I’m not going to live with the attitude, the misery, losing the family I create over money, career. “I’m not throwing my life away. I’m getting a new one. And I’m gonna be fine. Whether you believe in me or not.”

I give Dad a look of finality; this is no longer up for discussion. I wanted my parents to know my decision, and I’m done talking about it.

Don’t beg. Don’t cower. Don’t call out for him.

“We believe in you, Tommy,” Mom says, trying to sound assuring through her apprehension. “We’re just worried—”

“You would encourage this,” Dad snides under his breath, cutting her off, and I fume.

“What happened to you?” The loss in my question bounces off each of us—how things used to be, howheused to be, expanding the emptiness in the kitchen. “Is this really worth losing me over? I won’t talk to you again. You won’t see me. I’ll choose Mom. Every holiday, each get together, I’ll choose her, every time. And you won’t have a son.”

His jaw clenches, his stare lolling until he can no longer hold mine. Now he is silent; he has nothing to say to my threat, my warning about the future of our relationship.

Choose me or lose me.

I turn and leave him with that the same way I came in, taking deep breaths to calm my tangled emotions. I said what I said, and my father knows what he has to do.

My torment finally fizzles to comfort and excitement once my feet are back in the grass, rounding the house to the backyard, reading texts from Reyna.

I’m gonna be on the walls!!

We’re celebrating tonight!

I grin and send back a string of exclamation points above aWhen?and aWhere?as I head to the guest house.

I haven’t kissed her since that last night in her bed—she’s been busy perfecting her series for Dominic and I’ve been busy letting a dream die, but if anyone had told me before this summer that I’d even be making that statement, that I would now know the feeling of Reyna’s kiss, I would’ve thought them insane.Istill feel a little insane, like I need to be pinched. There’s just no way.

Yes way.This is happening.

I only hope it doesn’t kill me.

I hear music coming from inside before I open the door, and when I step in, I see Reyna at the stove, dancing around and singing—adorably off-key—as she … cooks? She’s changing the lyrics to “Black Velvet” to match what she’s doing, and I laugh to myself as she sings about black pepper in a big, silver pot, sprinkling it in like fairy dust.

I draw closer, clearing my throat to announce my presence once I’m at the bar. She spins around, but continues to sing and dance for me, and my eyes drag down her body, trailing the sway of her hips until I force them back up to her face, longing for the day I can watch her this way and want her this much completely unabashed.

She winks at me, then whips back to the pot.

“What are you doing?” I ask over the music.

“Just tickling myself,” she says before changing up the lyrics again and laughing at herself.

“I think you’re trying to burn down the guest house,” I tease as I move in closer, my feet a mind of their own.

“Hey!” Reyna flings food at me and when it hits my chest then falls to the floor, I see it’s a noodle. “I’m actually doing a good job.” She frowns and casts a wary glance at the steaming pot as I transfer the noodle to the trash can with paper towels. “I think.”

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