Falling Harder (18 page)

“I like to imagine that they’re happy,” Garrick goes on, a
faint, sad smile creeping across his lips. “Like...Maybe Conway found some
boring dude, with a good job and a dog, to marry. Nice dude. Little house.
Maybe a kid or two. And maybe Nadia went to college and became a doctor or
something. She would make a bomb ass doctor, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I agree, “That she would.”

“Guess we’ll never know for sure, though,” Garrick says,
digging the toe of his boot into the sand.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“What do you mean, why?” Garrick asks, “It’s not like we can
go looking them up on Facebook, or something. After what happened to all of us?
Reaching out now would just be mean. Like, ‘Hey girls! Thought you might like a
nice reminder of how shitty our lives have been. So, howdy doody’?”

“It wouldn’t have to be like that,” I say.

“But it would,” Garrick insists, “Trust me. They’re better
off without us in their lives. I love you like a brother, Trace, but you know
as well as I do that we’re trouble. Conway and Nadia were always way too sweet
to be hanging around with us. Even though Conway pretended to be tough as shit.
I mean, look at us. Ex-cons, dealers, now killers?”

“We’re not killers,” I say fiercely, “We’re soldiers.”

“I know that, and you know that,” Garrick says, “But are you
sure that Nadia would see it that way?”

His question catches me right below the ribs. I have to
admit that I’ve been fantasizing about getting in touch with Nadia with
alarming frequency these days. Being in the middle of all this chaos, all this
death and destruction, has forced me to realize what and who I truly care
about. And in all my life, the only people I’ve ever cared about are Conway,
and Garrick...and Nadia.

“It was just a thought,” I say quietly, pulling myself to
standing.

“Don’t be mad,” Garrick says, standing up beside me, “I’m
just being straight with you.”

“I know,” I tell him, “You always are.”

All around us, the camp is rousing itself from sleep. Our
fellow Marines are walking with bouncing steps today. Everyone is excited to
get on the plane home, to see spouses and parents and children. Me, I’m pretty
stoked to have a decent burger and a beer, but that’s about as far as my
enthusiasm goes.

As Garrick and I turn to collect what few things we have here,
the distant sound of gunfire rings out across the valley. Everyone around me
tenses, ready to go to battle in an instant. By now, we’re well-versed in
danger. There’s still fear, and plenty of it, but we scarcely let it show.

As the explosions peter off, we begin to move once more. But
the enthusiastic energy in the air has been dampened. Even though I don’t have
anyone to go home to, being Stateside will still beat the hell out of this
place. After three tours, I’ve had my fill of this brand of violence, thanks
very much. I’d take whatever’s waiting back in the city any day. 

Our final day flies by in a flurry of activity. Those of us
heading home at long last hurry to tie up our loose ends, say whatever goodbyes
we wish to, and make what shaky peace we can with this place. The intricacies
and nuances of this war are so hard to grasp, especially from the front lines.
I feel so removed from all the politics of America’s involvement here that any
talk of motives and power plays just goes right over my head. In my mind, this
has always been my battle to fight. It’s strange to finally be leaving.

We pile into the plane, those of us shipping off for home,
and watch as our camp falls away beneath us. I don’t feel attached to the
compound itself, just as I’ve never felt attached to any place I’ve ever lived.
I realized long ago that I wasn’t born to stay in one place. I’ve been whipping
around this world like a leaf on the wind my entire life, and I figure that’s
the way I’ll always be. Settling down, finding a wife, starting a
family...those are plot points in someone else’s story. Someone kinder, and
smarter, and better than me.

Garrick and I hang back as our fellow Marines exit the
plane, so many hours later. Let them savor the moment of seeing their loved
ones once again. The two of us are all we have in the world, after all. And
it’s not like that’s such a tragedy. Some people don’t even find one other
person on this god forsaken rock they can trust.

I watch through the window as soldier after soldier is
reunited with his or her family. Just before I step off the plane, I turn to
Garrick and mutter, “Jesus. I need a fucking drink.”

Chapter Three

Trace

Stateside

“Oh, wow,” breathes the young blonde beside me at the bar,
“You were over there for, like,
years
.”

“That’s right,” Garrick says, smiling at the raven-haired
beauty at his side. “Three tours. Hell of a long time.”

“I think it’s so wonderful that you sacrificed so much for
this country,” the brunette says, her voice rasping sexily.

“Just doing our duty,” Garrick winks.

“It’s not like we had any kind of lives to sacrifice,” I
say, taking a long swing of my beer.

“What do you mean?” my blonde admirer asks. I catch Garrick
shaking his head at me desperately, trying to get me to shut up. But his
anxiety only eggs me on.

“Garrick and I are hardened criminals,” I say, adopting the
cheeriest voice I can mutter.

The girls break into nervous laughter, trying to determine
whether or not I'm kidding. I warned Garrick that I wouldn’t be a great wing
man tonight, but I don’t think he counted on me being
this
bad. But I just can’t help it.
Somehow, the idea of scoring some chicks by bragging about our service just
rubs me in all the wrong ways.

“So I guess you’re the joker of the bunch, huh?” the blonde
asks me.

“Nothing funny about our pasts, I can assure you,” I smile,
“Garrick and I, we have seen some shit. We grew up in the foster system
together.”

“That must have been terrible,” says Garrick’s brunette,
laying her slender hands on his muscular forearm.

“It was,” Garrick says, giving the girl his best puppy dog
eyes. “But I think all that suffering made me a better, more compassionate man.
You know?”

“Oh, totally,” sighs the girl on his arm.

“Oh, please,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

“Can we buy you girls another drink?” Garrick offers,
steamrolling my cynicism.

“Sure!” chirps the blonde, slipping her arm through mine,
“I’ll take whatever you guys are having.”

“Whiskey. Neat,” I say firmly.

The girl’s smile falls. “OK...Maybe just a margarita for
me.”

“Coming up,” Garrick says, flagging down the bartender. He
and his dark haired lady friend move off down the bar, leaving me to entertain
Windy City Barbie here on my own. It’s not that I feel rusty or out of practice
with women. I just can’t muster up the energy to care. I shift away from her,
freeing my arm from her grasp. The girl’s light brows knit in hurt and concern,
and I brace myself for the backlash.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” she says quietly, taking me
off guard.

“Wh-what?” I stammer.

“I don’t mean to throw myself at you. You’re probably not in
the mood. I get it. A couple of guys from my home town went off to fight in the
war, after 9/11. It’s not the kind of shit you bounce back from.”

“No,” I say, “No, it’s not. Thanks for...getting that.”

“Sure,” she smiles, dropping the flirty act entirely. “But
can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” I say.

“What...Well, what are you going to do now that you’re
back?”

I realize, as I meet this strange girl’s gaze, that I have
no earthly idea. “I’ll figure something out,” I tell her. “I always do.”

“Here we go!” Garrick roars, arriving back with a foursome
of drinks in hand. He passes out the cocktails and raises his own glass high.
“To coming home again!”

“To coming home!” the girls say happily.

I’m the only one who can’t force the words out of his mouth.
Instead, I simply take another drink.
Welcome
home indeed
, I think, before the world starts to blur blissfully.

***

“Hey...Hey, Trace...” says a girlish voice from a million
miles away. A slow, steady pounding begins to ring through my head as I rise
back up from unconsciousness.

“Mmm?” I manage to mutter, keeping as still as I possibly
can.

“I’m going to make some breakfast,” says the voice, growing
nearer, “You want anything?”

I crack my eyes open as slowly as I can, fighting to keep
the impending headache at bay. Two bleary blue eyes look back at me in the near
darkness, and for a moment I can’t quite remember where I am. That is, until I
hear Garrick’s telltale snore echo through the cramped apartment.

Then, the events leading up to this moment start to fill
themselves in. The first bar. The second bar. The third and fourth bars. The
cab ride home. The girls bringing us upstairs. The feel of my blonde haired
companion writhing on top of me. Me, too drunk to really care either way.

Some welcome wagon.

“That would be great,” I whisper, forcing a smile onto my
lips. “Thanks, Mindy.”

“No problem,” she says, “But, for the future, it’s Mandy.”

I groan softly as the girl makes her way out of the room.
Looking around the lightening room, I see Garrick and the brunette from last
night curled up on a twin bed just across the space.
Well, that is far too close for comfort
,
I think. In the semi-darkness, I managed to locate and put on my clothes. Proud
of my effort, I follow Mindy—Mandy—out into the kitchen.

The apartment has all the markings of
barely-twenty-something life. Twin MacBooks, splashes of pink and green
everywhere, cute crafts and store-bought Bohemian touches. Not that I have any
room to be judgmental. The apartment that’s waiting for me just screams “almost
thirty commitment-phobe with trust issues”. So, there’s that.

Mandy’s heating up some butter in a saucepan when I trudge
into the kitchen. She smiles over her shoulder, wearing nothing but a beat-up
DePaul tee shirt. As cute as she looks there, I’m sorry to say that whatever
lone spark might have flown last night is totally extinguished, now. She’s very
sweet, and even seems pretty bright, but there’s no way that I could ever see
her again once I walk out that door.

I’ve learned, by now, that women are only interested in bad
boy types when they still think there’s some hope of fixing them. The women
that have wandered into my life for days or weeks at a time are all enamored
with the idea of my troubled past, for sure. But once they realize that the
shadow hanging over me isn’t going to be dispelled by a batch of cookies or a
back rub, they all run for the hills.

I’m used to it, by now. And I don’t blame them, either. I
wouldn’t want anything to do with me either, if I was a girl. The fact is that
I found the one woman who could ever understand me, ever truly love me, and I
lost her for good.

“You want some coffee?” Mandy asks, her back to me.

“Sure,” I say, my eyes falling on the morning paper. “Leave
it black, though. It’s not coffee if you put anything in—”

The breath leaves my lungs in a rush as my tired eyes focus
on the front page of the paper. For a moment, I tell myself that I’m
hallucinating, that this is just another of my goddamn daydreams. But as I pull
the paper toward me with shaking hands, the room for doubt closes up all around
me.

It’s her. Smiling triumphantly in a crisp blazer with her
hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Even a decade older and wearing
some crazy kind of lawyer costume, I recognize her immediately. How could I
not? Hers is the face that’s starred in every one of my sweet dreams these past
ten years, scarce as they’ve been. And now, there she is—or at least, the
newsprint version of her. It’s Nadia, no doubt about it.

“They finally closed that case,” Mandy says, setting a cup
of coffee in front of me.

“Huh?” I ask, bewildered.

“Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know,” she goes on, “There
was some gross kiddie pornographer on trial, just now. Big news. All the
pundits going crazy. But they finally managed to put him away. The trial got
all kinds of press because the prosecutor was so young. And hot, obviously.
That goes without—”

“She’s in Chicago,” I say to myself, staring down at the
paper. “Here, in the city.”

“Well sure,” Mandy says, “She’ll probably run this place one
day. I know I’d vote for her. Hell, I’d go door to door with little ‘Vote for
Faber’ buttons if I—Where are you going?”

“I just—I have to—” I say, standing in a rush and tearing
out the front door, “Thanks for the coffee, Mandy!”

“No problem...” she says, as I slam the door behind me.

All at once, it’s like my body shifts to a whole new center
of gravity. My legs pump beneath me, carrying me out into the city below. She’s
here, hidden somewhere in this mess of mortar and steel that I tentatively call
my hometown.

And I’m going to find her.

Chapter Four

Nadia

Work Work

I shoulder through the front door of my apartment building,
arms loaded with files and reports. My entire body is practically vibrating
with excitement and energy. I always get this way right before I start digging
into a new case.

No matter how many tangled webs of crime I set to unraveling,
that rush never seems to diminish. Maybe, once I’m old and jaded, this will all
feel rote and dull. But I have trouble imagining a time in my life when taking
down dangerous criminals ceases to be a thrill. This work is what I was born to
do.

The congratulatory cake had hardly been cleared when the
partners pounced on me with another case. I take it as the ultimate compliment
that I’ve become their go-to associate lawyer, even if the workload can be a
little intimidating at times. The three horsemen of the firm cornered me in my
office earlier today and presented me with a fresh, juicy case for me to sink
my teeth into.

“You’ve got momentum on your side, Faber,” Mr. Brewer had
told me, his rich voice boosting my confidence by the syllable.

“It’s a doozy of a case,” the ruddy Mr. Roberts had gone on,
smiling excitedly, “Huge drug ring in the city finally showing signs of
weakness. These guys have been eluding us for years, but one tiny misstep, one
little chink in the armor, can easily be all we need to bring them down for
good.”

“This is exactly the kind of thing you’ve always gone nuts
for,” Mr. Santos had pressed, his eyes gleaming, “The guys running this thing
are real lowlifes. They recruit kids, young guys, to do all their risky
business for them. I can’t tell you how many juvenile homicides we can link
back to their operations.”

“It does sound like the kind of case I crack best,” I’d told
the partners with an admittedly cocky grin. “When can I start on it?”

In response, they’d dumped a pile of paperwork a foot high
onto my desk and told me to have at. I was a little overwhelmed by the
immediacy of the assignment, but eager all the same. The fact that they’ve
trusted me with something so huge, so important to them, bodes really well for
my future at the firm. Hell, it bodes well for my future just about anywhere.
These guys aren’t the biggest team in Chicago, but they are one of the best. If
I can establish myself here, I can pretty much waltz into any job I want on the
other side.

But
no pressure
, I think to myself as I hurry into the elevator. If I just
think of this as any other case, everything will be fine. I don’t want to work
myself into a frenzy and choke for no good reason, after all. This may be a
tough, complicated case, but I’m one hell of a lawyer. It’s nothing that I
can’t handle if I really put my mind to it.

I catch myself holding my breath as the elevator passes the
floor below us. I’m half hoping that the car stops and half praying that I can
make it up to my floor uninterrupted. Today has been such a whirlwind that I
really haven’t even had time to process my interaction with Gerard, my
oh-so-handsome and seemingly brilliant neighbor.

I have to admit that his sticky-note advances aren’t exactly
the way I prefer to operate. I don’t like to do a lot of chasing, where men are
concerned. Even if that just means making the first phone call. If a guy is
interested, I rather he make it clear. It’s not like I have hours of free time
at my disposal.

Still, it might be nice to have a new man around. It’s been
a couple of months since my last successful date, and the batteries in my
trusty vibrator are starting to wear out. It could be nice to have someone to
blow off steam with, especially once this case starts heating up. Maybe it’s
not commonly considered good practice to date someone in the same building you
live in, but I’ve definitely found myself in stranger situations.

As I fumble for my apartment keys, balancing the precarious
stack of files and folders, I find myself remembering my time at the Daniels’
once again. Those fleeting months have been occurring to me more and more, of
late. It’s like the memories of my foster siblings and everything we went
through together are vying for my attention. I suppose I never really dealt
with everything that happened to me in that house, in a lasting sort of way.
Repression has always been my go-to strategy for dealing with the past.
Questionable, sure—but effective.

Hurrying into my crisp, familiar apartment, I’m suddenly
struck with how far I’ve truly come since my time in the foster system. Walking
into the Daniels’ home, for instance, was like walking into a crypt. A crypt
populated by the not-quite-dead. The foundation seemed to shudder beneath us,
every dish and utensil was resolutely sticky, and the air always smelled of
beer and stale cigarettes.

And yet, for all of that, there was a quality of hominess to
the bedroom I shared with Conway, and the basement room that Garrick and Trace
shared. This apartment that I share with Carly...it’s never managed to feel
like home the way those tiny spaces did.

There’s some adage about home being wherever the people you
love happen to be. But if Conway and Garrick and Trace are the only people I’ve
ever loved in this world, then what the hell am I left with? If I have no idea
where any of them are in the world, then how can I ever feel at home again? For
all I know, they could be scattered around the country, or even the world. Or
maybe even...No. I won’t allow myself to think that they might be gone. That
would be far too painful to consider.

I hear the front door swing open once again as I skirt into
my bedroom and unload the files onto my desk. Carly must have skipped her usual
happy hour routine and come straight home, for once. My ears perk up as I hear
her voice, lowered in a sexy whisper. Even more interesting is the voice that
answers hers—a male voice that sounds awfully familiar. My curiosity is piqued as
I listen to Carly rummage around for a bottle opener, giggling girlishly the
way she only does when she’s seriously flirting.

My fascination gets the better of me, and I poke my head
through my bedroom doorway. Carly is standing with her back toward me, cradling
a bottle of red wine to her ample chest. Her voluptuous body is wrapped up in a
creamy, hip-hugging dress that would put the ladies of
Mad Men
to shame. I follow the line of
her gaze, peering around her stunning figure to determine who, exactly, she’s
summoned for a glass of wine and some sultry conversation. A man’s form shifts
into view in the kitchen, and I feel my jaw drop open.

It’s
Gerard
.

A deep pang of annoyance and frustration runs through my gut
as I watch Carly flirt shamelessly with the handsome man downstairs. I realize,
of course, that he’s fair game and all, but seriously? He dropped his number
off for me this morning. Even if I’d planned on jumping at the opportunity,
Carly didn’t even leave me a decent opening. There may not be a ring on his
finger, but there are certain courtesies that you give your roommate of, what,
five years? She could have at least waited until I passed on the guy before she
pounced.

“Oh, you’re home!” Carly says, catching a glimpse of me from
the kitchen.

“That’s right,” I say, forcing a congenial smile onto my
face, “How’s it going, Gerard?”

“Nice to see you again,” he replies warmly, “It’s been a
while!”

“Ha. Yeah,” I say, painfully awkward as I can sometimes be.
“Well, I’ll just leave you guys to...whatever.”

“Nonsense,” Gerard says, waving his hand to dispel my words,
“Come have a glass of wine with us!”

“Yeah,” Carly says, her tone not quite convincing, “Come on,
Nadia.”

I look back and forth between them, wanting nothing more
than to disappear into my bedroom with a stack of law books pushed up against
the door. I hate getting myself into situations like this—charged with drama
and tension and a whole mess of crossed lines. There’s nothing that makes me
more uncomfortable than being drawn into other people’s relationships.

Ever since I realized that my looks could get me into
trouble with unwanted attention, I’ve been as careful as can be. I was almost
throttled by Nancy Daniels when Paul started leering at me all those years ago.
I’d rather not repeat the experience.

“That’s OK,” I tell them curtly, “I actually have a lot of
work to get done. New case.”

“Oh. Shoot,” Carly says, pouting theatrically.

I don’t buy it for a second, but at least she’s letting me
off the hook. My roommate can be a little selfish sometimes, especially where
men are concerned, but it’s not like she’s going out of her way to make me
miserable.

“Some other time, then,” Gerard says, “You two would make
for fascinating company, I’m sure.”

“Right,” I say, ignoring his odd phrasing, “Later, then.”

I close my bedroom door with a sigh of relief. Better to let
those two play their little mating games alone. Sure, it would have been nice
if Carly hadn’t blatantly stepped on my toes with the whole Gerard thing, but
it’s not actually that big of deal. I probably wouldn’t have followed through
with him, anyway. Knowing my luck, he’d hear a single detail about my childhood
and try to head-shrink the daylights out of me. Not exactly my idea of
successful foreplay, thanks very much.

Tuning out the giddy conversation in the kitchen as best I
can, I turn my attention to the case at hand. I settle down at my desk and pour
over the reports of the intel that’s been gathered so far. It looks like there
are some key suspects that have been singled out as possible ringleaders of the
drug operation, so that’s certainly somewhere to start.

I haven’t done a lot of work with huge networks of criminals
in the past. Usually, I’m focused on catching one creep, rather than an entire
ecosystem of crime. But if the partners think that I’m up to the challenge, who
am I to turn the case down? If I can just make sense of how the cells all
operate within the drug ring, I can start to figure out who needs to be
punished, who we can bring in, what my next moves are going forward.

The rest of the world starts to fade away as I burrow deeper
and deeper into the details of the case. Justice may not be cut-and-dry, but
every case still feels like a puzzle to me. Not much has changed since I was
the dorky girl at mock trial, getting a kick out of fake witnesses and
evidence. Of course, the whole thing has stopped feeling like a game anymore.
These are people’s lives that I’m investigating, people’s fates that I’m
deciding. No one takes this more seriously than I do, that’s a fact.

After what feels like five minutes, I hear the front door
close again. I glance at the clock and have to check it twice. Two hours have
gone by since I first sat down with the case file. Time flies when you’re
trying to bring dangerous criminals to justice, I suppose. I’m just about to
jump back into the task at hand when my bedroom door swings open a hair.

“Nadia?” Carly says, her voice loose and happy.

“Hey Car,” I say shortly, keeping my eyes on the papers
before me, “What is it?”

“I just...Wanted to say sorry,” she says, “I can tell you’re
pissed that I invited Gerard over. You’re not that hard to read.”

I grit my teeth and turn to face my roommate. The last thing
I want to do is have this conversation right now. Carly’s framed in my doorway,
her gorgeous features pulled into an expression of genuine concern.

“It’s totally fine,” I assure her, “I really wasn’t that
interested, anyway. Gerard is all yours if you want him.”

Carly’s nose twitches in irritation. “Oh, how kind of you,”
she drawls.

“You know that’s not how I meant it,” I say, “And don’t go
getting pissy with me two seconds after you apologize, OK?”

“God. Why are you so wound up? she asks, “It’s not like you
to get this way over a guy thing, Nadia.”

“I’ve just got a lot of work to do,” I tell her, “The
partners just handed me this new assignment, and I think it’s going to be
really important in my career. Plus...I don’t know. My mind’s just been all
over the place, lately. I guess I’ve been all wrapped up in my work
and...feeling kind of lonely, honestly.”

“Oh, Nadia...” Carly says sympathetically, taking a step
toward me.

“No, no, don’t feel bad for me,” I say as my roommate
approaches.

“Come here,” she insists, wrapping her arms around my
shoulders. I can’t help but laugh at her unapologetic approach to literally
everything, even being a source of comfort. “If you want to talk about
anything, you know where I live,” she says.

“That I do,” I say, wiggling out of Carly’s embrace.
“Thanks, Car. But look, I’ve really got to get a move on with this.”

“Say no more,” she says, turning away. “Oh, but one more
thing...”

“What?” I ask.

“Just...mull this over for a while,” she begins
mischievously, “Gerard brought up a rather interesting idea while he was
here...”

“Yeah?”

“He suggested, and please be a tiny bit open minded,
here...He suggested that it might be really fun to try a little three-way
action. Him, and the two of us—”

“Goodnight, Carly,” I cut her off.

“But—”

“I said goodnight, you sex maniac,” I say, turning my back
on her completely.

“You never let me do anything fun,” she whines, turning on
her heel and fake-storming away, closing her bedroom door behind her.

I shake my head in wonder as Carly departs. What must it be
like to be so free of inhibitions as that? What kind of spotless, carefree life
does one have to lead to not have a single care in the world? I’ll certainly
never know what that’s like, try as I might.

Resigned, I dive into my work once again. My sex life might
not be thrilling right now, but there are other kinds of satisfaction in the
world. At least I can always chase down the feeling of a job well done without
running into any weird hangups. That will have to do for now.