The Fall (16 page)

At my house, Dallas spent a few hours helping my mother in the kitchen as she drilled her incessantly on whether or not I was being a good boy. I rolled my eyes and was smacked on the back of the head as my mother explained to Dallas that a good turkey was covered in butter underneath the skin. She never missed an opportunity to teach. Dallas glared at me as I prompted her to pay close attention. My father reacquainted himself with Dallas and questioned her while letting his eyes drift to me every so often. He knew how I felt about her, as did my mother. It was obvious and had always been. I didn’t have to say a word. I could see the small amount of worry he held for the future we had planned together. He never cornered me, not once asking me if my plans were changing. He was letting me handle it the way he often did, on my own. I loved that about him. He trusted me, and though I was a lot like him in some respects, he also catered to the side that had nothing to do with him. Honestly, I think he was just as smitten with Dallas. She was a hard girl to resist. I should know.

She made me feel superior to other men just by breathing my name.

After the turkey had been devoured, at not one but both our houses, we separated, reluctantly. Dallas had left my parents with leftovers at my mother’s insistence, though Dallas repeatedly told her they had far too many at her own house.

I was settling in for a long night without her. I couldn’t stop thinking about what little time I had left with her. How everything would change the minute I left for New York. She had seven years left to my four. It seemed impossible. I would never ask her to give it up, and there laid the problem. She would never ask that of me either. It was our common goal that threatened to tear us apart.

I heard a scrape at my window but ignored it. A few seconds later, I heard a lot of the same and looked out my bedroom window jerking it open in alarm. “Dean!” Dallas was sliding down the shingles of the roof near hysterics, gripping them for dear life. I opened the window just in time to catch one arm before she fell off the roof and broke her neck.

“What in the hell are you doing?” I asked as she cried into my shoulder, shaken up from her near face plant with the concrete. She shook violently as I consoled her. I paused and twisted her to look at me. Her tears had turned into laughter, the laugh I loved where it was about to burst out of her. I clamped my hand over her mouth just in time to catch it and shoved us both in a closet. Her howling wouldn’t stop as I did my best to silence her. I didn’t know how my parents would react to finding her in the house, my mother being the most imminent threat. I finally gave up my struggle to keep control, picturing her out there grasping at straws and started laughing hard as well. We stood there for five minutes in a dark closet before she finally slowed enough to speak.

“Well, that sooo did not go how I pictured it,” she said. With tears in her eyes, we exited the dark space and stepped into the bedroom.

“That was fucking ridiculous and dangerous,” I scorned, shaking my head, unable to hide my chuckle. “What the hell were you thinking?” I grabbed her hands, which were cut pretty badly and walked over to get a cold washcloth. I wiped them clean and started to work out a splinter in her palm.

“I came here,” she said, her voice now shaking with nervousness. Her jade eyes were shimmering with emotion, and I stilled my hand. “I came here to tell you I love you too, always have.”

I smiled. “I know.” Elation seeped through my every pore as her face fell into a frown.

She shot up out of the bed, yanking her hand away and pointing at the window. “I damn near bit the pavement out there and all you have to say is I know?” She now had her torn up hands on the hips of her yoga pants, pants I had repeatedly told her I despised. The attire typical for Texas this time of year and her hair was a misted mess from the threat of rain. She’d never looked more beautiful.

“Sè cuando le estoy hablando a mi otra mitad. Siempre lo he sabido. Mi amor”

“Dean Jeffrey Martin, I don’t speak Spanish!” she said in a harsh whisper.

“I know,” I said mischievously as I joined her at the window. I reached in and tasted her lips, all the protest slipping from her as I repeated what I’d just said so she understood. “I know when I’m speaking to the other half of me. I’ve always known, my love.”

There was a whoosh of air as her lips puffed out. “That night I—” I pressed my finger to her lips.

I knew what she was asking about. She was wondering what I said the night of Reiner’s party. “It was more of the same.”

She suddenly looked guilty and I refused to entertain it. As far as I was concerned, she was always mine. “Dean,” she offered but I silenced her with my kiss and took her to my bed where I took her twice, saying words she couldn’t translate and making her understand them, anyway.

Dallas

• Now
  

I woke up with a headache I would classify as terminal. I had a water bottle in my hand and once the contents had been drained, I looked over to my right to see Josh sleeping peacefully. I stumbled from his bed, desperately seeking to fill the bottle and only made it as far as the bathroom and stubbed my toe on his cabinet door.

“Son of a bitch!” I declared to the cabinet as I pushed through the pain and put my bottle under the faucet for a refill. I was downing my third bottle when Josh came in and stood in the doorway, reaching up to brace himself on the frame.

“Nice,” he said, chuckling as he watched me struggle with my jeans, my bare ass to him.

“How could you let me drink that much? No, no, it’s my fault,” I said, barely able to get the words out. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Do you still like me?” I said, barely able to look at him.

“I won’t bother with a play-by-play, but you were the worst case scenario. Seriously, woman, you cannot handle your alcohol. And you made me plug in your phone and blare old school Snoop Dog the entire way home.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God,” I said, burying my head in my hands.

“You also ate an entire box of Captain Crunch and forced me to watch The Notebook,” he said, his smile faltering. “That was unforgivable.”

“Oh, shit, Josh. Really—”

“No, no, you can’t take it back, Dallas.” He chuckled. “And I won’t forget it.”

“Great, I thought you said you weren’t going to give me a play-by-play.”

“I lied. Kinda like you did...
Dally,”
he said, his tone changing. I looked up to see him turn and walk out of the bathroom. He must have heard Dean call me Dally.

Shit. Well, if the hangover doesn’t kill me, guilt might. I should just convert to Catholicism.

“Josh, look,” I started, seeing him crawl back in bed.

“Who is he to you?” he asked, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head.

“My past. Just some guy from my past and nothing more.”

“Hmph,” he said, rolling over with his back to me.

“Come on, babe, don’t do this to me. I’m dying,” I said, approaching the bed, willing to beg.

“You never call me babe. You are so guilty,” he said, lifting his arm to indicate I was welcome back in bed. I quickly crawled under the covers and drifted back to sleep. I woke up with a start, seeing I had just enough time to brush my teeth and fly to work to make rounds.

“Josh!” I said, screaming through his apartment with my bag in hand. He handed me a coffee in a paper cup just as his cell phone alarm went off. “You had almost half an hour, Dallas. I wasn’t about to let you sleep in.” He chuckled as I kissed him, thanking him profusely, then walked out the door.

I sat in my car, sipping my designer coffee, feeling more determined about the man I should be concentrating on.

You love
Josh.

“Good morning,” Dr. Peirce said half-heartedly as I approached him. He apparently had had a little too much to drink last night as well, and we both winced at the sun streaming through the blinds of the room of our first patient.

“Dallas,” he said, catching me off guard. I quickly read off her chart.

“Jeanie Santos, thirty-three, appendectomy scheduled this afternoon.” The words were like cotton balls in my mouth. I tried to wade my way through rounds, and when they were over, I hid in my office for the majority of the day, glaring at anyone who interrupted my inner dialogue of self-loathing. I jumped from half-sleep to awake when my phone vibrated on my desk.

ROSE: Dallas! Are you there?

DALLAS: No.

ROSE: Come on, sis, I have great news.

DALLAS: I don’t care.

ROSE: God, what now?

DALLAS: Stop screaming.

ROSE: I told you never to drink again. I can only imagine the pain of your victims today. I will pray for them. Did you sing to anyone? That’s the worst. Oh, God, please don’t tell me you played DJ.

DALLAS: Is there a reason why you are still texting me?

ROSE: I’m getting married.

I texted back quickly, sure she was joking.

DALLAS: Great, to who?

I got a text of her now occupied ring finger then called her immediately.

“What the hell do you mean you are getting married!” I yelled into the phone as I grabbed my forehead and squeezed it.

“Grant asked, I said yes. Oh, my God, Dallas, I have so much to tell you,” she said happily, and I heard her shushing someone in the background.

“Is that him? Is he there? You can’t just get engaged to a man you barely know, Rose. That’s crazy. You are smarter than this!” I pleaded. I could practically see her rolling her eyes at me. Rose wasn’t a rash person, not in the slightest. I was sure at any second she would tell me she was joking.

“Dallas, you will meet him very soon. Please, please, listen to me. I’m happy. So, so happy. Let me be happy.” I nodded as I closed my eyes tightly.

“Dallas?”

“I was nodding. Of course I’m happy for you. I know you aren’t an idiot. I just...can’t believe it.” I sat in my chair, staring at the ceiling. My little sister was getting married.

“This won’t affect the practice, okay? We are going to stay here. Grant has some land and we are going to build a house. It’s so beautiful. I have so much to tell you.”

“I’m not worried about the practice, and yes I want you to be happy,” I said, tears sliding down my cheeks. I was crying...again. “Be happy. I’m off in two days, make time for me.”

“I promise...bye.” And she was gone. I buried my head in my arms and silently cried at my desk, for my sister, for my head, for the absolute disaster I made of my relationship, and for the mourning of the semi-normal and professional doctor who had suddenly abandoned post the minute Dean Martin waltzed into her hospital. I ended up dozing off and woke to a familiar male voice.

“Dallas.” I looked up to see Dean standing in my doorway. He looked alert and freshly showered. His clothes were neatly pressed and there wasn’t a hair out of place. I noted how his purple tie made his eyes pop.

I swallowed the sand in my throat. “I’m sorry. For whatever I said, for whatever I did, I’m sorry, okay? I just can’t battle it out with you right now,” I pleaded as I dropped my head back into the safety of my arms.

“Dallas, I need your help,” he said quietly. “I’m still pissed at you, and trust me I would ask anyone else to help me, but this situation is personal. Can you help me?”

I looked up to see the worry on his face and pushed my own selfish crap aside immediately. I couldn’t remember a time this man had ever asked me for anything. I nodded quickly.

“What is it?”

“I need you to come somewhere with me tomorrow. I’ll explain everything on the way. Will you come? Can you get your shift covered?” he asked while sending a text.

“Yes, sure,” I answered, wanting to comfort him somehow. He nodded as he read a text then looked up at me. “Try to lay off the vodka tonight. I need you alert tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah. And, Dean, I know I said—”

“You said what you meant,” he said, finally giving me his full attention. His stare was distant and it instantly hurt me. I was familiar with distant.

“I was drunk and angry,” I defended. “And you just barreled—”

“Look, we can talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll pick you up early at your place.” He picked up my phone and programmed his number in. “Text me your address.”

“Okay,” I said, taking my phone back quickly. He nodded then walked out without another word.

What in the hell?

Dean

• Then
  

Seven months later, I stood waiting nervously on the porch of the frat house. I was more nervous than I’d ever been waiting on Dallas as I stood underneath the banner my frat brothers had tactlessly made stating “Dallas’s Ass is Twenty.” I rolled my eyes as people passed me to enter the house for her party. She would show up at any minute. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Summer making an early appearance in the middle of spring wasn’t helping my case. This kind of nervous didn’t need the assistance of Texas heat. Just as I pulled my phone out to text her, she appeared, looking beautiful as she took in her banner with a loud laugh.

“Awwwe, they even spelled it correctly,” she said as she joined me on the porch.

“At least you know it wasn’t me. Happy birthday, baby,” I murmured, pulling her to me in a long slow kiss.

“Wow,” she said, breaking away. “Way to go, Martin. I’m a sure thing after that kiss.” She looked beautiful in a pink, sleeveless dress, her hair down, the way I loved it. She looked on at me as I fell speechless then pulled her to the side of the house, trying desperately to make the words I’d carefully rehearsed come out. I ended up pacing for several seconds as she eyed me. She said nothing as she stayed quietly confused.

“So, this has been great. You and me finally together,” I said, deciding to just go with whatever came out.

“It took you long enough.” She wrinkled her nose. “If I hadn’t thrown myself on your literal throne, who knows how long it would have taken you.”

“I’ve made up for it,” I said, stopping suddenly and grabbing her, nuzzling her neck. She whimpered as she pulled away from me.

“Don’t tempt me, Dean. It took me an hour to get ready.” She wrapped her arms around my neck.

“You look so beautiful. I have always thought you were so perfect,” I said absently, still trying to come up with the right words.

Her smile was dazzling. “What are you up to, Dean?”

I pulled her hand from around my neck and placed the box in it.

“I want more, Dallas. I want you to agree to more.”

“What do you mean?” She gaped as she looked down at the box. It was a little deceptive.

“Open the box,” I choked out, my heart expanding to fill the entirety of my chest.

“No. You are leaving again,” she said, her lip quivering.

I shook my head. “We can worry about that later. Open the box,” I said, smiling as I leaned in, taking her lips gently to keep them from shaking.

When she opened it, I didn’t see relief nor disappointment, though I could feel something else rolling off of her. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“It’s the year I make you my wife, Dallas,” I whispered in her ear as she held up her hair so I could clasp the necklace behind her.

She expelled every bit of breath in her lungs as she turned to face me. “Come again?”

“It’s the year we get married,” I insisted, weighing her reaction to the year of the necklace. Her graduation year.

She nodded, grasping the delicate chain, and then her face twisted as her tears came out in a rush.

“You’re leaving,” she heaved out. “I mean, I knew it was coming. I thought I was ready.” She crumbled before me as I rushed to get to her. I actually heard my heart go silent before resuming its pace.

“Look at me,” I said, raising her tearful gaze my way. “It’s a promise from me to you that I’ll come back for you, Dallas.”

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” she said, suddenly looking exhausted. It was if she’d been fighting the looming dread of my departure for too long. There would never be a good time to talk about it. The longer we stayed together, the harder it became.

“Dallas,” I tried again. “I told you when we started this that you meant more to me than just sex. I love you. I want to marry you.”

“I love you, too. I was scared...of this—” she motioned with her hand “—feeling this way.” Now she was the one pacing nervously. “So you want me to wait for you? For three years after you leave?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want, Dallas, and I’ll wait for you,” I murmured as she tracked the hard wood of the porch.

“And then what? I come to New York when I graduate?”

“I don’t know. We can work it out,” I said, knowing it wouldn’t be that simple. I’d still have a year left.

“It’s too much pressure on us. Let’s just enjoy the night, okay? We’ll talk about it later,” she dismissed as she tried to escape for the party. I gripped her arm, turning her around.

“Too much for who?” I snapped.

“For you, Dean. It’s your track record I’m worried about. And it’s kind of a ridiculous notion.”

Jagged pieces of my heart flew out of my grasp as she threw my proposal away.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” I was furious now, the hurt seeping through my veins, overpowering my intentions. I knew I was out of line. I was panicking.

“It’s three years, not three months,” she reasoned, as if she were talking herself out of it.

“We will see each other. I’ll fly down as much as I can,” I said, knowing that would be next to impossible. I was making promises I couldn’t keep. The pain tore through me as I watched her face contort with the same. We’d avoided this for a reason.

“You fly down as often as you can from medical school?” she asked, calling my bluff. “It’s only going to get harder for me here.”

“You don’t think I’m good enough for you,” I snapped, dropping the hand of hers I was holding to keep her still. “You never have.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. I’m the one who had to compete with half the school, Dean!” she reminded me, the way she did every time we fought, throwing it in my face.

“And you can’t fucking let it go!” I roared, truly angry and hurt. I’d never seen her so upset. It was clear to me we were both exaggerating an argument because we were terrified of losing each other. Our fights were typically fun. This was just plain painful.

I pulled her tightly to me and she resisted at first and then let her tears fall. She looked up at me, helpless. “I brought you here to propose, and I fucked it all up, forgive me.” I kissed her, drawing it out as long as possible to avoid what came next.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dean. I love you. Those words are all I’ve ever wanted to hear. I just can’t deal with how I feel about you and you being gone.” She cried quietly as I watched her. “So what do we do?” No amount of closeness at this point could dull the impending heartbreak for either of us. “It’s been the best year of my life.”

“Mine, too, but we could try. Dallas, say you will try with me,” I pleaded.