Page 85 of Fall for Me

Chelsea

Ispent the whole ride home from Seamus’s place with my heart—and brain—on a roller coaster. There were moments when I couldn’t stop thinking about how incredible he was. Swooning, even, when I thought about how we’d been together. How we’d felt.

My body hurt, but in the best way. Even sitting in my car sent a delicious, bruised ache through my lower half. Taking that walk up the mountain had been an exercise in careful strides.

But then I thought of the walk, and what we’d talked about—and everything that had happened the night before—and I’d be wracked with panic so strong it sent adrenaline coursing through my body. I was so ashamed I hadn’t been able to find the right words for him when he shared what he had about his brother. But it had scraped me raw, thinking about my own mom.

How I’d held the only person who really knew me in my arms as she took in her last breath. How I’d not only not talked to anyone about what that was like, I’d also tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. I’d numbed myself to it.

I shouldn’t have said that thing about the paintings—how could that compare to what had happened to him? It was too much, his faith in me.

When I pulled into the parking lot at my place, I pulled out my phone, switching it on for the first time since last night. I was met with a barrage of texts, almost all from Eli.

But there was one from Dad, confirming our lunch date today.

My stomach roiled. The last thing I wanted to do was meet with Dad, to hear whatever it was he’d been trying to talk to me about. I knew it was going to be something about his regrets at leaving, and maybe his disappointment that we’d barely seen each other since he’d gotten back. I couldn’t do it, not today. I typed a quick reply, apologizing but telling him I needed to reschedule again.

I didn’t even look at the messages from Eli. First, I’d have a shower and maybe another gallon of coffee. Then some pills for the headache gathering at the base of my skull.

But when I got upstairs and pushed through the door to the hallway, I froze.

Eli was sitting slumped over against the wall outside my door.

“Eli!” I exclaimed, making him jump. He’d been asleep.

“Chelsea.” My brother stood up, shaking his leg out like it was asleep.

I’d never seen him look so awful. Actually, that wasn’t true. When he’d visited me shortly after his divorce from Kelly, he looked wrecked like this—bags under his eyes, lines on his forehead too deep for his years. I think he might have looked like this at Mom’s funeral, too, but I hadn’t been looking at anyone too closely then.

But now, it was that bad and worse. He sagged as he stood, and even from here I could see the knuckles of his right hand were crusted over with blood.

Guilt rang through me. I’d spent the night tangled up in Seamus—Eli’s best friend—while he’d been so hurt. Emotionally and physically. And I’d taken away the one person he turned to when he felt this bad.

I walked down the hall to him, thinking of all the times he’d come down here all jovial, asking if I wanted to walk to the hotel with him. Or those times he’d pranked me and Cass by jumping out at us as we opened the doors to our apartments.

“Chelsea,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

“Have you been out here all night?" I asked.

"I slept for a bit," he said. Then he hesitated. “Chelsea…”

But I shook my head, lifting his hand in both of mine to inspect it.

When I pressed on his knuckle, he winced. But when I pressed the tendons on the back of his hand, he cried out.

“Eli, I think you’re really hurt. You might've broken your hand.”

“I’m fine.” He wiggled his fingers, and while he was clearly in pain, I thought that probably meant they weren’t broken.

At least there was that.

"This is my fault," I whispered, feeling my throat constrict.

Eli gave a sad smile; a painful shadow of his normally prize-winning grin. “Did you know that when we were kids, Mom told Dad never to get any of us into trouble in front of you?”

I frowned, dropping his hand and opening the door to my apartment. I held it for Eli, and he followed me in, slumping down at my kitchen table.

“What are you talking about?”

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