In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(38)

“Casey, I—”

“Please,” he whispers before I finish. I shift to look at him, but he doesn’t break his concentration on my brother. His eyes are terrified, glassy, and red. He swallows hard to keep the pain at bay just as his eyes close and his breath comes in ragged. This is the man I saw in the parking lot—the one wearing his pain.

“Yes, Casey,” I say, feeling his eyes move to look at me. I should say no, even with his plea. Going with him to this—it won’t be good for me. It’s only going to make me feel sorry for him, and I can’t do that, because that clouds my judgment. Those lines of trust have already been blurred though. And maybe…maybe they should be. I never really knew him well. Perhaps this is the real Casey Coffield, and the picture I had in my head four years ago was all wrong. Maybe he isn’t as selfish as everybody thinks—as I think. Maybe he just needs someone who’s willing to walk through the fire with him and hold him through the ugly parts.

Maybe I’m stronger than I think.

I keep my focus on Lane even though I feel Casey’s eyes on me. I look at my brother because he’s brave, and I’m scared. I’m scared because I like this Casey Coffield. I really like him.

“I’ll go with you.”





Chapter 8





Casey


“You look nice,” Joyce says as I trickle down the last few steps into the Orr’s living room.

“Thank you. Tell Houston I’ll get this back to him,” I say as she leans in and straightens the collar on the gray suit jacket.

“Casey, Houston hasn’t worn that thing since high school. I doubt he’ll miss it,” she says, tugging the front lapels one last time to make sure everything’s straight. I smile and she pats my cheek.

I called my sister Christina after Murphy and Lane left my apartment. She didn’t tear into me as I expected. She cried. I let her.

She told me that Mom wanted us to dress nice for dinner, like we would for the holidays. I missed the last round of holiday meals at my parents’ house, so I was at a loss for what to wear. I called Houston, of course. We’ve always been the same size. He called his mom, since he wouldn’t be home. I can tell she knows the full story—about my dad—but she hasn’t brought the reason I need a suit up once.

I didn’t mention to Houston that Murphy was coming with me. Not that it’s a secret, but it’s also not something I want to dissect. Houston wouldn’t necessarily say anything, but he would sigh, and there would be that look. I’d like to get through this dinner first. And then I can move on to looks and questions.

Murphy’s meeting me at my apartment, and as I glance at my watch, I realize she’s probably going to beat me there. Because I’m always late.

I kiss Joyce on the cheek and thank her again, then step out through the back door toward my car in the driveway. Joyce calls after me, and when I turn, she has a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in plastic.

“Here, I almost forgot. Bring these. You don’t have to say they’re from me. Make them from you…for your mom,” she says. I smirk at them, recalling the last time I tried to bring my mom flowers.

“Thanks,” I say, taking them in my hand and nodding goodbye one last time.

I get a lucky break on the small distance between Houston’s house and my apartment, and somehow manage not to catch a single light. Murphy’s still waiting for me in her car along the curb, though. I pull up behind her, and neither of us gets out right away. I know the minute I do, she’ll step out of her car and walk toward mine, and then this dinner thing will really happen.

With a deep breath, my eyes set on the face reflecting in the review mirror in front of me, I kill the engine and open my car. I walk to Murphy’s car and open her door for her, catching her hand in an awkward moment as she slips sideways on one of her heels and falls into me. Selfishly, I love that’s she’s so unsteady. Her hand squeezes mine for balance, and the grip draws my focus. She lets go quickly as she rights herself, but my fingers flex wanting her hand back.

“Sorry. I’m…I’m not good in shoes like these,” she says, sweeping her uneven skirt to the side and kicking one foot forward to show me her brown shoes that wrap up her leg to her knee. “My friend Sam got them for me a year ago, and I’ve never worn them.”

My eyes stick to her leg because the shoes make them look unbelievably sexy.

“Well, if ever you’re going to try out something new, I’d say tonight’s the night to try it,” I say, my mouth falling into a tight smile.

“Well, that new thing might be walking around barefoot before the night’s over,” she giggles. “These things hurt like hell.”

I glance from her feet to mine, which are in a pair of black Converse. I don’t really own dress shoes, and Eli and Houston’s feet are nowhere near my size. Murphy notices my feet and kicks her toes forward, catching my attention.

“I should have done that, too,” she says.

“Huh?” I shake my head, finally looking up at her, and losing my awareness again the minute I do.

“Worn shoes like that,” she explains.

“Oh…yeah,” I smile, moving my gaze toward my apartment, pinching my brow and acting as if I’m thinking about something else rather than the way she looks right now. Her dress is this plaid country-style thing that’s shorter in the front and long in the back, and it fits her like a corset—hugging every curve and ending at her bare arms. She has a small tattoo on her right shoulder that I’ve never noticed, and between flits of my eyes from her bare skin to anything else I can think of to look at, I take in the form to see a small music staff with a few notes. Eventually, I give in and look long and hard, and she twists to the side, her chin tucked in to look at it with me.