Page 11 of Fall for Me

He didn’t push it.

For a moment, we just sat there in silence. Despite the adrenaline still shooting through me at the punch-up, I was hit by a wave of nostalgia. We’d been in this position a lot as kids. We’d tussle over something and then collapse into a mutually apologetic silence. Sometimes we’d just be quiet together. Other times we’d talk about what was really going on with us. Our parents—both of ours were around back then. School. Girls.

Eli had a lot to say about girls.

Whenever he asked me about them, I’d mumble something about how there was no one I was interested in.

He always knew when I was lying, though.

“I see the way you stare at her,” he’d say about whoever my current crush was. I’d deny it, but my cheeks would go hot every time. I had just as many crushes as Eli. I just didn’t go on and on about them.

Sometimes, Eli would ask me about my older brother.

I’d shrug and swallow down the burning in my throat.

“You never talk about him.”

“That’s because there’s nothing new to say,” I’d throw back. Because what was there to say? My brother Kevin’s picture hangs over our mantle, and every night I know if I go downstairs I’ll find Mom sitting in the living room, staring at it, her hands white-knuckled on her rocking chair.

At her funeral, everyone said the same thing: She died of a broken heart.

Eli picked at the grass under him, just like we used to do when we were kids and trying to work through something tough.

After a few minutes, I knew I needed to say something about Chelsea. But all I managed was, “How is she?”

He took a long time to answer, looking over to my cabin, with its painted wood siding and black trim, which he helped me fix up last year. The low wood porch and the hammock I strung up between the two posts. Then he looked back at the grass. “She was so beautiful.”

I know. I know better than he thinks I do. But I just nod, noncommittally.

“I worried about her; about guys taking advantage of her. About her getting into trouble because of her looks. Now—” Eli trailed off. Then his face crumpled into a grimace and he buried it in his hands.

He was crying. Shit.

Maybe I should have gone over there and clapped him on the back, told him something comforting. But instead I sat there, stiff and, inexplicably, with a spike of anger running through me. I wanted to tell him she was still beautiful. I’d seen her in the hospital bed. In my mind, nothing had changed, except for what I’d done. But did Eli know I’d kept vigil that night? That after Cass took him home I’d stayed by her bedside, promising Cass I’d text if Chelsea so much as breathed differently?

I bit my cheek to keep from saying any of that. “She’s not ruined,” I said instead.

When he looked at me, I couldn’t read his expression. Then he nodded. “I know. I know that. She just… she was so damn self-destructive. I’m not even sure this will scare her straight. What if she gets worse? What if some asshole takes advantage of her now because she thinks she can’t do any better?”

“Don’t you think she can take care of herself?”

“Not really. You saw what happened. Christ, thank God you were there. I should be thanking you. You were the one trying to get her home safe.”

My stomach plunged as I thought of the way I was thinking of her earlier. Eli had been right to punch me. If he knew how I’d been thinking about his sister that night, and worse, now even after everything that had happened, he’d have every right to kick the shit out of me. Maybe he was right. Maybe Chelsea did need to be protected—from me.

But I didn’t have a chance to say anything more because just then the rumble of another vehicle sounded, popping gravel out on the road. Confusion hit me as I tried to think who it might be now. We both looked up to see a red Jeep turning into the driveway.

That was Jude’s car.

Eli’s brother was the last person I’d expect to see here. He hopped out, sprinting over to us. The guy was fast. I remembered, inanely, that the press used to call him Jumping Jude on the tennis court: his signature move was where he’d sprint toward the ball, fast enough you almost couldn’t see him move, then he’d jump the last few feet, lobbing the ball so hard and fast his opponents barely had time to react.

“Eli!” Jude exclaimed, running in between us. “What the hell did you do?”

I guess it looked bad—we were both on the ground. I had blood on my face and Eli’s knuckles were raw.

“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s—” I was going to say it was over, but before I could think of the words, they dried up in my mouth.

Jude hadn’t come alone.

There, opening the door to the Jeep and gingerly slipping out, was Chelsea Kelly.

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