Page 43 of Don't Fall

Chapter Eleven

Tessa

By the time Burt shows up, the cops are finished with me and Cara, but now the creepy dude is wailing about being assaulted, so Lane’s caught up in the mix all over again, this time around with Burt, who’s all too happy to march everyone back inside for a nice viewing of the security tapes.

Well, everyone except Cara and I. The two of us are sitting together, huddled against one another on the bench near the main doors where we have a clear shot at everyone in the office without having to be crammed in there beside everyone else. Feels safer that way somehow. Even more so because I notice Lane glances out to check on me every ten seconds or so.

“Still think he’s an asshole out to torture you?” Cara mumbles under her breath.

“I’m willing to give up the asshole argument, but I think we both know, this will end up being torture for me, no matter which way it goes,” I whisper back, slouching down a little more, depleted of the energy required for sitting upright.

“You need therapy in such a big way,” she says dryly.

I laugh.

“I’m serious. The kind of issues you have, you need a professional to fix.”

I laugh harder.

“Why the hell is this so funny?”

Tears. I’m crying real tears I’m laughing so hysterically. “Because,” I say, gasping for air and trying to get ahold of myself mid-hysterics, “he’s my psyche professor.”

“Oh.” Cara’s stern frustration starts to melt away. “Wow. Talk about convenient.”

And now, we’re both laughing. So much so, we’re drawing all sorts of attention from the men in the office. Well, all of them except for Burt, who just waves us off in a dismissive gesture grumbling, “Yeah, they do that.”

By the time we manage to quiet down, Lane is free to go thanks to a very clear shot on the surveillance tape proving that creeper dude was in fact the aggressor, and Burt is shooing us all out of the building, insisting he’ll worry about getting the place cleaned up in the morning. We’ve had enough for one night, and frankly, so has he.

“I’ll drive,” Lane says, his hand on my lower back guiding me into the parking lot.

At least five different arguments spring to the tip of my tongue at once. The fact I’m fully capable of driving and I don’t want to leave my car jumping to the forefront, but I don’t say anything. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other until we reach his vehicle. Whether he’s oblivious enough to believe it should always be this simple with me or rather prefers not to tempt fate by saying anything else, I don’t know, either way, we both remain silent even as he opens the door for me to get in, and then when he joins me in the car and starts it up.

We’re halfway home when I conclude the silence is worse than any attempts at awkward small talk could possibly be.

“Finally decided to make contact with your past again?” I ask, staring straight ahead through the windshield.

“Not exactly,” he says quietly.

I turn to look at him. “You were with a whole group of people tonight. And I didn’t know any of them, so they were your people. From wherever you’re from.”

“They were not my people,” he answers quietly, “They were my sister’s people.”

“You have a sister?” I probably didn’t need to sound quite so surprised. I mean, he could have a sister. He could have ten for all I know.

“I do.”

“Older? Younger?”

His lips hitch up ever so slightly. “Older. By about three minutes.”

“You’re a twin?” Now I really am surprised. Legitimately. I mean, being a twin, I feel like that’s something you tell people. Up front. Like, hey, my name is Michael McMichael and I’m a twin. At least that’s how I would do it if I were a twin. That’s some cool shit.

“I’m a twin.”

“I feel like you should elaborate,” I explain, quite impatiently.

He sighs in his dramatic but entertained way. “Alexis. That’s her name. Outside of having shared a womb for nearly nine months, we have virtually nothing in common. She’s a pediatric surgeon, married to her college sweetheart. Went to all the finest schools. Graduated with honors. She’s perfect, basically.”

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