Falling (Fading Series) (47 page)

When she nods, I swallow hard and reveal, “It was her, Mom. That girl was Candace.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers as she removes her hand from mine to cover her mouth. She’s in complete shock when she asks, “How did you . . .?”

“She doesn’t know,” I confess. “I didn’t even know it was her for a while. I thought it could be, but I wasn’t sure. I was so confused, thinking my head was just trying to make something out of nothing with her weird behavior. But I honestly didn’t know.”

“I don’t understand. Where did you meet her?”

“I grabbed a coffee from where she works. And then I kept seeing her because she’s friends with a couple buddies of mine. But there’s this tattoo,” I say as I fight to hold back the tears that threaten. “I saw it on that girl, and then after I had already fallen for Candace, I saw that same tattoo on her. I was scared, so I never told her.”

“Ryan . . .”

“We weren’t fighting earlier. She told me that what happened to her was her fault. I was trying to talk to her about it, and she got really upset.” Pressing my palms to my forehead, I tell her, “God, Mom, you have no idea what that fucker did to her. What she looked like when I found her.”

It’s when I drop my hands that I see the tears running down my mom’s face and that’s what sends me over. I don’t cry, but I feel it stabbing inside of me.

“Honey, you have to tell her.”

“It felt like the right thing to do at the time. That I was keeping it from her for all the right reasons,” I try to explain. “I didn’t want to hurt her, but now . . . now it feels like a lie, and I’m scared. I’m scared I’m gonna lose her.”

“But now things are different with you two, and she needs to know.”

I can feel the heat of the tears welling in my eyes when I ask, feeling desperate, “Do you think she’ll understand?”

She takes her time before responding with, “I think you have a girl that’s been shown, in the most horrendous way a person can be shown, just how gruesome life can be. She’s been stripped of her security and faith in people. It’s awful, and people like that don’t trust easily.”

Dropping my head in my hands, I nearly beg, “What do I do? I love her.”

She takes my hand and pulls it down when she looks at me and tells me to do what I’m terrified of doing.

“You have to tell her . . . You just have to.”

But I don’t want to. I can’t risk losing her. All I want to do is keep her forever, so I selfishly go back upstairs, crawl under the sheets next to her, and hang on to the one good thing that finally came into my life and changed everything about me. I can’t lose her.

Waking up with Candace just didn’t feel right with the dread that has made its home in the pit of my stomach. And seeing how clingy she’s been with me all morning, and now on the drive home, makes the thought of telling her that much worse.

She has kept a hold on my hand ever since she opened her eyes this morning. I don’t question her about it; I just give her the closeness, the security that I’m here and I’m not leaving. I can’t tell her. Not now. Not when she’s vulnerable like this.

Thinking about what sparked the whole conversation with Candace yesterday, I say, “I hate that your tattoo makes you feel the way it does.” I hate the way it makes me feel too. It’s hard for me to look at because almost every time I do, I see the girl from that night, and I can’t stand thinking of her like that, the way she looked lying there unconscious. There have been a couple times in the past where I’ve had to cover it with my hand while we make love because it hurts too much to look at.

“I thought about having it removed once.”

“Have you thought about changing it?” I ask as I glance over at her, giving her hand a little squeeze.

“I just don’t know what I would do. I don’t want anything bigger than it is now,” she explains.

“Did Roxy’s boyfriend do it?”

“Jared? Yeah.”

“When we get home, why don’t we talk to him, see what he can do?”

“I guess,” she says, unconvinced.

“I just think if it looked different, or you could add something to it that was meaningful to you, that you could associate it with something new, instead of what you’re doing now. Give it new meaning.”

“We can go talk to him,” is her only response, and I don’t say anything else about it because I know it’s a difficult thing to talk about.

When we arrive back in Seattle, I take Candace to her house to spend a little time with her before I have to run to the bar to take care of some work.

Setting her bags down on the bed, Candace quietly says, “I don’t want you to go to work.”

I hate that she’s feeling like this today, and that she doesn’t want to be alone, but I tell her, “Baby, I have to. It’s Saturday night, and I’ve been gone all week.”

She leans into me, sliding her arms around my waist. She’s needy, and I don’t want her to be alone either, so I offer, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“You don’t even have to be around everyone. Stay with me in my office.”

I’m not expecting her answer when she says, “Okay.”

“Really?” I question, stunned that she would agree so easily, especially for a Saturday night.

“Just park in the front, okay?”

I was relieved to see Candace enjoying herself when she went with me to the bar. I was nervous because Saturday nights are really busy, but I had Max with her the entire time. Jase was there to hear Mark’s band play and was able to talk her into going downstairs with him while I got my work done. Once I finished up, I hung out with her for the rest of the evening. Aside from meeting Max, she also met Mel. Candace has always been a mystery to them, so to have them finally meet her was nice since they know what a big part of my life she’s become.

When Candace walks down the stairs, I ask, “You ready?”

“Yeah, I just need my coat,” she says as she walks towards me.

“I got it,” I tell her when I stand up and help her put it on.

We head out into another rain-filled night to go spend the evening at Max’s place. He invited us over when he met Candace at the bar last week. Zane is back in town for a few days, so he and Mel will be there as well.

It’s an odd transition to be coupled off and doing things like this tonight, but it’s a welcome change that seems to better suit me now.

When we pull up to Max’s place, I help Candace out of the car and then head inside and out of the cold. We walk in, and I introduce her to Zane and Traci, who is now very pregnant. We sit around and talk for a little bit until Traci takes Mel and Candace back to see the baby’s room, leaving the guys alone in the living room.

“Dude,” Zane says as he nudges me with a smirk.

“What?”

“Who’s the chick?”

“Candace?”

He laughs when he says, “Yeah, man. What’s going on?”

Last I spoke with Zane, I was still into going out a lot with Gav, so I clue him in when I tell him, “We started dating soon after you high-tailed your ass to L.A.”

“What?!” he exclaims, nearly spitting out his beer. “What the hell have I missed around here? Seriously, I come back and you’re settled down with some chick, and this guy,” he says, pointing the neck of his beer bottle towards Max, “has his girl knocked up.”

Max laughs at him and says, “That’s what happens when you ditch town and don’t check in.”

“I guess,” he says and then turns to me. “Just never thought I’d see you with a chick.” Taking a swig of his beer, he asks, “Are you guys serious?”

“Yeah, man. Pretty serious.”

Max butts in, and asks Zane, “Tell us what’s going on with you and Mel.”

“I have no idea. She refuses to come to California, but I’m not giving up this opportunity so that she can stay close to her family.”

“Stop bullshitting,” I say, calling him out. “She said you told her you didn’t want her to go with you.”

“Why would I?” he responds. “I mean, she has done nothing but bitch about all of this, so why would I want her to tag along with her piss-poor attitude?”

Our attention is distracted when we hear a burst of laughter coming from the girls in the back of the house. In this moment, I smile. I just can’t help it. Candace doesn’t have any girl friends aside from Roxy, so to hear her laughter spilling through the house is infectious, and I let out a light chuckle.

Looking back over at Zane, I tell him, “She was upset when you left.”

“When I left? What about now?” he questions. “Seems to me that she’s doing pretty well on her own here.”

“God, you’re hard to talk to,” Max interjects.

“Can we not talk about my shit?” Zane says. “What about you?” he asks as he eyes Max. “I can’t believe you’re gonna be a dad. How are you not freaking the hell out right now?”

“I did when I found out, but it’s all good now,” he states simply.

We continue to catch up for a while until the girls eventually join us again. Candace has a smile on her face when she sits next to me on the couch as she continues to talk with Traci and Mel. Max and Zane are in their own conversation while I find myself focused on Candace. She’s happy and light-hearted tonight in this new circle of people. She’s so tight with Jase and Mark, but I’d like to see her widen her group of friends. She needs it even though she doesn’t see it.

On the drive home, I look over at her and ask, “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, Mel’s pretty funny.”

“She definitely keeps things entertaining at work,” I say with a grin. “So what did you talk about? We kept hearing you all laughing.”

“Traci was just talking about her pregnancy. I was a little shocked with some of the things she was telling us,” she says with a dramatic shudder.

Laughing at her, I ask, “Like what?”

“Stuff I had no clue about,” she tells me in a high-pitched voice, reeling with disbelief. “She told us that she has hemorrhoids!”

“What?!”

“Yes!” she squeals.

“I don’t wanna know about that shit,” I say, disgusted.

“Well, I don’t either, but I do now, thanks to Traci!” she says as she begins to laugh, and I join right in with her. “She said that most pregnant women get them! It’s so gross!”

“Shit, are you serious?”

“Mel said it was true too.”

We both continue laughing as she fills me in on more than I ever wanted to know, and the theatrics of Candace telling me all of this and freaking out is completely entertaining when I’m not cringing at the unwanted information.

Once we have quieted down and composed ourselves, I look over as we’re stopped at a red light and ask, “Do you think that’s something you want?”

“What? A baby?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I’ve always been scared to be a mom.”

“Why’s that?”

When she leans her head back against the seat, she tells me, “Because I’m not sure I know what it is to be a good mom. I mean . . . how would you know if the choices you were making were the wrong ones? I wonder if my mom thought she was making the right choices with me.”

She says this and I understand her fears. I get it because they’re my fears. Scared to become what we are products of. But I know that she would have nothing to worry about because she’s the most non-judgmental person I know.