Page 8 of When We Are Falling
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I had it under control. It’s nothing new.”
Ethan’s gaze doesn’t waver, and for a moment, it’s like he’s looking right inside me. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
“It’s fine. He wasn’t a threat, just a nuisance.” The last thing I want is Ethan thinking I need a knight in shining armor to save me. I’ve always stood on my own two feet. I’m not going to stop now, even though a little voice in the back of my head said I didn’t mind feeling just alittle bitprotected.
“I know you can handle yourself. Just... be careful, okay?”
“Always.” Ethan’s a good guy, but I don’t need him, or anyone else for that matter.
Ethan hesitates for a moment, as if he wants to say more, but then his head drops a little, his hair falling into his eyes. He turns away and I watch him go, my heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with the unwanted attention from earlier.
Chapter 4
Blake
The night winds down,and the Tidal Tavern slowly empties. I start cleaning behind the bar, wiping down counters and stacking glasses. It’s been a long day and I’m ready to crawl into bed.
Lucy waves goodbye—her boyfriend is here to pick her up—and John and Yu Chan are working overtime to clear and clean the tables. Carlos moves through the bar, telling the few remaining groups that it’s time to wrap up.
“Last call, folks. We’re closing.” His voice is firm but friendly.
The Valiant Hearts boys file out. Ethan stops at the door, looking back over his shoulder, and our eyes meet, something intense in his gaze. He steps out into the night, the door swinging shut behind him.
A moment later, the door swings open again. I call out, “We’re closed!” without looking up, but footfalls on the tiled floor lets me know the person is still walking toward me. Finallyglancing up, I do a double take: it’s David Rawlinson, my one-time foster brother.
Time stands still for a few beats. I’m looking at a ghost from a life so long ago that it almost seems like it belonged to someone else. Memories slam into me, his worn-out features and haunted eyes bringing it all rushing back.
“David?”
I come around the bar and give him a hug. He feels thinner than I remember, his frame almost fragile. His short brown hair is unkempt, and his pale blue eyes look tired and stressed, lines deepening and appearing where I’ve never seen them before, but he looks sober, at least. His jeans and T-shirt are clean but worn, slightly ill-fitting.
He steps back, holding my gaze before his eyes flick away, darting around. “Hey. It’s been a while. The bar is looking great.”
The last of the customers file out, followed by John and Yu Chan. I turn to Carlos, who’s standing ten feet away, hands on his hips and a frown on his face.
“I’ve got this, Carlos. I’ll lock up. You don’t need to stay. David’s an old friend.” It’s not untrue and has the advantage of being faster than having to talk about being in the foster system and all that bullshit. People get thissad and concernedlook when they hear about my past and I don’t have time for that. Best that David is labeled afriend.
Carlos narrows his eyes at David, but he knows not to ask twice when I tell him I can deal with something. “Alright. See you tomorrow. Call if you need anything.” He gives me a final concerned look before heading out, the door swinging closed behind him.
David and I are alone, the bar falling into a hushed silence. Pouring us both a glass of water, I motion for David to join me at one of the tables where the faint smell of lemon cleaning spraylingers. The music is off, and the light over the bar casts long shadows over us.
We both sit, and I study David’s face for a few moments. He looks troubled, his eyes avoiding mine as his fingers trace lines in the condensation forming on the surface of the glass.
“You okay?” I ask gently. “I haven’t seen you in years.”
He takes a sip of the water, sets it back down. “I’ve been better.”
“I’m glad you came by. It’s been too long.”
David smiles, but it’s so far from reaching his eyes it might as well be on a different face. “Yeah, it has. I’ve missed you.”
We sit in silence for a beat, the quiet of the bar comforting in its own way, memories of the foster home we shared flooding my mind. It’s like a dam breaking, the past rushing in with overwhelming force.
I picture Sylvia Thompson and her house, the worst and last of all the homes I was placed in before I was adopted. Sylvia was manipulative and cold-hearted, but she had a way of presenting herself to the outside world as caring and compassionate. It was a front that fooled every case worker who set foot in the house, but we knew the truth.
I met David there. We were both scared kids trying to survive a world that seemed determined to break us. Sylvia’s house was a place of rigid rules and punishments, where kindness was a rare and fleeting thing, and David and I clung to one another.