Falling into You (Falling #1)(26)

When the last note quavered from her throat, I shuddered again, feeling more heart-blood leak out from my eye. I didn’t wipe it away, just let it slip into my lips, down my chin.

Mom set the brush down and stood up. “Sleep, Nell.”

I nodded and lay down. Eventually I slept, and dreamed. Haunted dreams, tortured dreams. Kyle’s eyes on me, dying; Colton’s eyes on me, knowing.

I read the note again, seven times. Recited the words under my breath like a poem.

I woke up and clock read 3:38 a.m. I couldn’t breathe from the pressure of grief. The walls of my room closed in around me, pressed in on my skull. I took off the melted bag of ice and rewrapped my ankle, then put on my favorite loose sweatpants and a hoodie. Kyle’s hoodie. It smelled of him, and that only made the pressure on my chest worse, but the smell comforted me as well. It pierced through the numbness and touched my heart, pinched it with hot fingers. I descended quietly, slowly, awkwardly, not able to use my foot much. Out the backdoor, down the steps, onto the cobblestone path leading to the dock.

Quiet guitar strains floated to me from the Calloway’s dock. I knew who it was. The grass was wet with dew and old rain under foot, cold, bracing. The night air was thin and cool, sky a black blanket strewn with silver. My bare feet were silent on the smooth-worn wood of the dock. The guitar chords didn’t falter, but I knew he knew it was me.

He was leaning back in an Adirondack chair, feet stretched out in front of him, guitar held on his stomach. A bottle of liquor sat next to him.

“You should have shoes on,” he said, picking a slow, lilting melody.

I didn’t answer. A second chair sat a few feet away from Colton’s, and he held the guitar by the neck as he reached out to drag the chair closer. I eased into it, aware of his tension, his hand waiting to reach out help me.

“How’s the foot?” He lifted the bottle to his lips, took a long sip, then handed it to me.

“Hurts.” I took a hesitant sip. Whiskey burned my throat. “Ohmigod, what is that?” I hissed, rasping and coughing.

Colton chuckled. “Jameson Irish Whiskey, baby. The best whiskey there is.” He reached down to the other side of the chair, and handed me a beer. “Here. Chase it with that.”

I took it and cracked the tab, sipped. “Trying to get me drunk?”

He shrugged. “You can always say no.”

“Does it help?” I asked.

He sipped from his own beer. “I don’t know. I’m not drunk enough yet.” He took another shot from the Jameson. “I’ll let you know.”

“Maybe I’ll find out on my own.”

“Maybe you will. Just don’t tell our parents you got the alcohol from me. You’re underage.”

“What alcohol?” I took another fiery slug from the whiskey.

I felt lightheaded, loose. The pressure of guilt and grief didn’t dissipate, but it did seem to be pushed to the back by the weight of the whiskey.

“If you don’t drink much, I’d hold off on anymore. It tends to sneak up on you.”

I handed the bottle back and clutched the cold beer can in my fist. “How do you know I’m not a hard drinker?”

Colton laughed openly. “Well, I guess I don’t know for sure. But you’re not.”

“How can you tell?”

“You’re a good girl. Kyle wouldn’t have dated a party girl.” He lifted his hips up and dug in his jeans pocket for his smokes and lighter. “Besides, your reaction when you took the first shot told me enough.”

“You’re right. I’m not a drinker. Kyle and I got hammered once. It was awful.”

“It can be fun if you do it right. But hangovers always suck.” He blew a plume of gray, dissipating into the starry sky.

We sat in silence for awhile, and Colton kept drinking. I let the buzz roll over me, helped it along with a second beer.

“You can’t hold it in forever,” Colton said, apropos of nothing.

“Yes I can.” I had to.

“You’ll go crazy. It’ll come out, one way or another.”

“Better crazy than broken.” I wasn’t sure where that came from, hadn’t thought it or meant to say it.

“You’re not broken. You’re hurting.” He stood up unsteadily and strolled to the edge of the dock. I heard a zipper, then the sound of urination.

I blushed in the darkness. “Did you really have to do that right in front of me?” I asked, voice tremoring with irritation and laughter.

He zipped up and turned to face me, swaying in place. “Sorry. Guess that was kinda rude, huh? I wasn’t thinking.”

“Damn right it was rude.”

“I said I’m sorry. Didn’t take you for the squeamish type, though.”

“I’m not squeamish. I just have to pee too, and I can’t do it like you did, right off the dock.”

He chuckled. “Oh…well..I don’t know what to tell you. You could try squatting off the edge?”

I snorted. “Sshh-yeah. That’d work real well. I’d either fall in or pee on my ankles. Probably both.”

“I wouldn’t let you fall in.”

“I don’t doubt that.” I levered myself to an upright position, struggling to find my balance without putting too much weight on my ankle.. Colton’s hand settled on my shoulder, steadying me.