Fall Back Skyward (Fall Back #1)

God.

“Let’s not do this here,” my father says, gently rubbing my mom’s shoulder. She frees herself from my arm, opens her handbag and rummages inside for something. Dad, the ever-loving gentleman he is, covers her trembling hand with his and tucks a white cloth handkerchief in it. Then he pulls Mom into his arms and gives her a kiss on her forehead.

Pain cuts through my chest. I remember when I was an enthusiastic nineteen-year-old boy full of romantic dreams, which Nor had stealthily injected in me. When my life was so bleak, I hoped Nor and I would mirror my mom and dad. They have a kind of love that breaks down dams and lasts forever. Nor and I had that. But it obviously wasn’t supposed to last forever.

“Is Nor in there?” Mom asks.

I shake my head and tell them that Megs picked her up earlier on.

“Did you and Josh chat? You know. . .about everything?”

I frown. “Everything? You mean Cora and Joce?”

They exhale in unison and exchange a look of relief. Mom nods. “Have you met them yet?”

I shake my head. “I wanted to head out after seeing Josh. He’s sleeping now so—”

Mom takes my hands in hers. “Where are you staying? Come stay with us. Please.”

I should politely refuse and offer an excuse because I still need time to work out everything in my mind without anyone getting in my head. But at the same time, I need them so much it fucking hurts. I nod and I’m rewarded with the most brilliant smile ever. “I’ve missed you and Dad.”

She cups my face in her hands and kisses my cheek. Then she digs around inside her handbag and pulls out a bunch of keys. “You will need these.”

After saying our goodbyes, I take the elevator down to the parking lot. My head is pounding, sending excruciating pain down my spine. Once I’m seated inside the truck, I tug the beanie from my head, open the glove compartment and grab the bottle of painkillers I keep in there for emergencies. I twist the cap and pop two inside my mouth, recap it and toss it back. I chase them down with the bottle of water sitting in the cup holder on the console and then lean my head back on the head rest. I close my eyes and wait for the medication to do its magic.

I jolt awake suddenly, feeling as if a heavy weight is pressing on my chest. Taking deep breaths, I squint at my watch. I’ve been asleep for almost thirty minutes. My head feels much better although my neck is cramped from the awkward position.

After checking my phone for text messages—most of them from Tate, checking how everything is going—I roll my neck to ease the tension there, and then start the car. I have no idea where Nor lives. Plus I don’t know if the girls know who I am to them.

I drag my fingers through my hair as nervousness fills my chest. I can’t do this without Nor. If I’m going to meet them, I want her around. I’m excited and worried in equal measures. What if I don’t make a good impression? I don’t want Cora and Joce to look back one day and think that their father was a nervous wreck. Or worse.

I peel out of the parking spot and drive to the hotel.





AFTER TAKING A SHOWER AND packing my bags, I head down to reception with Sirius safely inside the carrier, check out and leave the hotel. I’m pushing almost fifty-two hours without sleep. I hadn’t slept a lot the night before I left Boston.

I’d woken earlier than usual to double-check the floor plans for the Boston Project. Our client, Mr Kiplinger—a stubborn son of a bitch—suddenly changed his mind about the door placements and extending some rooms at the last minute. Tate had entrusted me to work the floor plans. I’d been more than happy to do it. Knowing that he trusted me enough to leave it in my hands boosted my confidence. After editing the plan in the drafting software to fit the client’s instructions, which took almost half the night, I met him and Simon for breakfast the following morning to go over the plans again. And still, after the meeting, the client seemed disgruntled about something else. Eventually, Tate informed him to call our office for another appointment once he decided exactly what he wanted. Mr Kiplinger seemed to sober up after that.

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