The Fall Up (The Fall Up #1)(30)

Originally, I’d been grateful for the distraction Levee had provided me. If only I could have figured out how to distract myself from her. It wasn’t like we had some torrid love affair I’d never be able to recover from. It was simply a flash-in-the-pan romance that never should have happened in the first place.

I needed to let her go and move on.

I just couldn’t actually do it.

At all.





“I REALLY WISH you would stay home,” Henry said, sprawled across my bed.

When he’d arrived at my house the night Sam had walked away, he had done it with a huge suitcase wheeling behind him. I hadn’t initially questioned it, but by day three, when a moving truck had shown up in my driveway, it had become abundantly clear that he was moving in. He hadn’t necessarily asked if I was okay with living together again, but I hadn’t exactly argued as a herd of movers had transformed two—yes, two—of my guest rooms into Henry’s personal sanctuary.

“I have to get out of this house. I’m dying of boredom,” I replied, stepping into a pair of washed-out skinny jeans. “Why don’t you go out and do something tonight?”

After riffling through my drawers, I pulled on a New York T-shirt that hung off one of my shoulders. Simple, comfortable, and exactly what I needed.

“Hideous,” Henry vetoed from the bed. “And no, thanks. I need some downtime.”

I huffed then yanked the shirt back over my head and stomped into my closet. “When did you become such a homebody?” I called as I began searching through the rows of shirts.

“When the cockless love of my life decided she was going to jump off a bridge,” he said, appearing in the doorway.

I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Meh. I’ll get over it. You just scared the piss out of me. I’m not much in the mood for going out without you these days.” He smiled absently as he became enthralled with his reflection in the full-length mirror.

While I wasn’t exactly in the know about Henry’s schedule, I knew that it wasn’t open. He was a busy guy. Yet, somehow, he’d managed to spend every waking minute of the last week at my side. Which meant he’d witnessed me obsessing and worrying about Sam firsthand.

Which also meant he already knew the answer when he asked, “Still nothing from Sam?”

Over the previous week, I’d slowly begun the process of getting my life in order while preparing for a month-long stint at a luxury resort. (Read: crazy camp/rehab.) I wasn’t addicted to drugs, but according to the doctor Henry had forced me to see the morning after Sam’s little revelation, depression, anxiety, and exhaustion were my poison. I couldn’t say that I disagreed. I also couldn’t say that I liked it. The press was going to have a field day, but Stewart assured me that we could keep it quiet. I laughed. Nothing was ever quiet in the music industry. The rumors were already circulating.

During all of it, I had mostly been concerned with what Sam would think when he heard the news. Would he be happy? Relieved? Still angry? Would he allow me a chance to at least apologize? I felt like an ass, but I missed his wicked grin and his golden eyes.

I missed the way his hands warmed me. And especially the way they sent chills down my spine.

Honestly, I missed the calm I felt with him just standing next to me smoking a cigarette.

“Nope,” I replied curtly, taking the emerald-green tunic top he’d picked out from his hands.

“Then stop moping and call him, Levee. Put your damn pride aside and just call the man.”

“And say what? ‘Sorry I’m a basket case workaholic who can’t even remember to eat on my own’? ‘Sorry I kicked you out of my house for trying to help me’? ‘Sorry I met you on the top of a bridge while contemplating suicide The exact same bridge that your sister jumped off. You want to go on another date with me?’ Yeah. No, thanks.” I laughed even as tears built in my eyes. “Let’s not forget that, even if I could magically find the words to say, I have no one to tell them to. He hasn’t exactly been beating down my door.”

Just because I hadn’t seen Sam since he’d stormed out of my house didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about him. I’d flipped my house on end but never could find that scrap of paper he’d given me with his cell number. I’d finally given up. I’d called rePURPOSEd more times than I’d ever admit, hanging up before anyone had the chance to answer, sometimes even before the first ring.

For a person who could tell an entire story within the lyrics of a three-minute song, I couldn’t find the words to fix things with Sam. I was mortified about the way I’d acted the last time I’d seen him. Here was a guy I genuinely liked, who’d gotten a front-row seat to one of the biggest meltdowns of my life. Embarrassment couldn’t even begin to cover it.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Maybe you should lead with sex. ‘Hey, I’m sorry, but can you at least stop by for another romp in the sack, and this time, let my pal Henry touch your cock?’”

My mouth fell open in a mixture of anger and disgust, but Henry threw his hands up to stop me before I had the chance to unleash it on him.

“I’m kidding!” He lowered his voice and mumbled, “Kinda.”

I hurled a coat hanger at his head.