The Falling (Brightest Stars, #1)(2)

I loved Atlanta, but he ruined that.

We ruined that.

We.

That was the closest I’d get to admitting any fault in what went down.


“What are you staring at?”

Just a few words, but they pour into and over me, shocking every one of my senses and all of my sense. And yet, there’s that calm, too, that seems to be hardwired into me whenever he’s around. I look up to make sure it’s him, though I know it is. Sure enough, he’s standing over me with his hickory eyes on my face, searching . . . reminiscing? I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that. The small café is actually pretty packed, but I hardly notice. I’d had this meeting all scripted, and now, with five words, he’s disrupted everything and I’m unnerved.

“How do you do that?” I ask him. “I didn’t see you come in.”

I worry that my voice sounds like I’m accusing him of something or that I’m nervous, and that’s the last thing I want. I need to be cool and make it clear that he doesn’t have the power to get to me, not anymore. But still, I wonder—how does he do that, really? He was always so good at silence, at moving around undetected. Another skill honed in the Army, I guess.

I gesture for him to sit down. He slides into the chair, and that’s when I realize he has a full beard. Sharp, precise lines graze his cheekbones, and his jawline is covered in dark hair. This is new. Of course it is: he always had to keep up with Army regulations. Hair must be short and well groomed. Moustaches are allowed, but only if they’re neatly trimmed and don’t grow over the upper lip. He told me once that he was thinking of growing a moustache, but I talked him out of it.

He grabs the coffee menu from the table. Cappuccino. Macchiato. Latte. Flat white. Long black. When did everything get so complicated?

“You like coffee now?” I don’t try to hide my surprise.

He shakes his head. “No. You like hot coffee now?” he questions.

I look down at the mug between my hands and shake my head. “No.”

I hate that he remembers small things about me. I wish I could erase them all from his memory. And from mine.

A half-smile crosses his stoic face, reminding me of one of the million reasons I fell in love with him. A moment ago, it was easy to look away. Now it’s impossible.

“Not coffee,” he assures me. “Tea.”

He isn’t wearing a jacket, of course, and the sleeves of his denim shirt are rolled up above his elbows. The tattoo on his forearm is fully visible and I know if I touch his skin right now, it will be burning up. I’m sure as hell not going to do that, so I look up and over his shoulder. Away from the tattoo. Away from the thought. It’s safer that way. For both of us. I try to focus on the noises in the coffee shop so I can settle into his silence. I forgot how unnerving his presence can be.

That’s a lie. I didn’t forget. I wanted to but couldn’t. Just like sometimes I wanted to forgive him, but I never could.

I can hear the server approaching, her sneakers squeaking on the concrete floor. She has a mousy little voice and when she tells him that he should “so totally” try the new peppermint mocha, I laugh to myself, knowing that he hates all minty things, even toothpaste. I think about the way he’d leave those red globs of cinnamon gunk in the sink at my house and how many times we bickered over it. If only I had ignored those petty grievances. If only I had paid more attention to what was really happening, everything might have been different.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I don’t want to know.

Another lie.

Kael tells the girl he would like a plain black tea, and this time I try not to laugh. He’s so predictable.

“What’s so funny?” he asks when the waitress leaves.

“Nothing.” I change the subject. “So, how are you?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like we’re strangers.”

I tuck my lips together and look away before I reply. “Aren’t we, though?”

He sighs and his eyes roam around the room before they land back on me. “Should I go?” he asks directly.

“I don’t know, should you?”

He moves his chair out slightly and I reconsider. I don’t really want him to go, but there are so many reasons to be mad at him and I’m afraid that being around him will soften me. I can’t have that happen.

“Okay. Okay. Just sit. I’ll be nice,” I promise him, with a small smile that’s about as convincing as my attitude.

I don’t know what bullshit we’re going to fill this coffee date with, but since we’re going to see each other tomorrow, it seemed like a good idea to get the first awkward encounter out of the way without an audience. A funeral is no place for that. And I had to be in the city today anyway.

“So, Kael, how are you?” I retry this whole being-nice thing.

“Good. Given the circumstances.” He clears his throat.

“Yeah.” I sigh, trying not to think too much about tomorrow. I’ve always been good at pretending the world isn’t burning around me. Okay, I’ve been slipping these past few months, but for years denial was second nature, a permanent habit I mastered between my parents’ divorce and my high school graduation. Sometimes it feels like my family is disappearing. We keep getting smaller and smaller. Sometimes I feel like I’m disappearing, too.