The Fall Up (The Fall Up, #1)(29)

“I didn’t know who she was at first. She was always wearing shades and a wig, but I could see her intentions like a beacon of light.” I cleared my throat. “She was going to jump. I know she was. She kept sticking her legs through the railing like she was testing out the wind on her skin. I couldn’t stop worrying about her, so, on the third night, I struck up a conversation with her. I’ve been meeting her up on the bridge every night since, and last night, she finally told me her name, and after dinner, we…uh…went back to her place.” I smiled and shook my head at how perfect the first half of the evening had gone. Then I groaned at the memories of how it had ended. “Anyway, I told her bodyguard that she was planning to jump, and when she found out, she exploded and kicked me out of her house. I have no f*cking idea what to do, Ryan. I really want to go back over there and apologize tonight, but a woman like that is going to shred me. You remember how I was with Anne. I’d just be a sitting duck waiting for an instant replay. But I…um…like her.”

He sighed. “You can’t be with someone like that. Your personality cannot handle the crazy.”

“Come on, dude. Don’t call her crazy.”

“I just mean you need someone a little safer and more on an even keel. You know I’ve always considered you a brother. But the fact that you made me lunch and folded my clothes every day in college definitely made it easy to keep you around.”

I glared up at him, unimpressed.

“You’re a caretaker, Sam. It’s what you do. You did it for your mom when your dad died. You did it for me when…” He paused and swayed his head in consideration, “Well, you still do it for me. You did it for Anne. You do it for Morgan. And now, you’re gonna try to do it for Levee freaking Williams. You did the right thing by letting someone know what was up, but I really think she’ll be okay without you. If you want to have under-the-covers fun with her for a while, by all means, go for it. But, since I know your vagina doesn’t work like that, you need to stop this now. What you really need is for someone to take care of you—not the other way around.”

He was right.

I’d spent years of my life taking care of my father. Then even more years repairing the damage he’d caused our family when he’d ultimately hung himself in his workshop. Most recently, I’d spent my life trying to prevent Anne from sharing his same fate—a task I’d monumentally failed at.

Yeah. I couldn’t do that with Levee.

Not again.

Clearing my throat, I pushed to my feet. “You’re right.”

He was so f*cking wrong, and I knew it even as the agreement tumbled from my lips.

She was right.

We were right.

I was just too afraid to start the cycle of pain all over again.

So, like a coward, I repeated a lie. “You are absolutely right.”

“Good.” He stood up too and buttoned his suit coat in a very professional manner. “Are we done here?”

I sighed and nodded, preparing to leave, but Ryan stopped me first.

“You want to grab some coffee? Off the clock, of course.” He winked and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah. I could seriously go for a smoke and some caffeine,” I replied, deflated.

“Awesome. Now, spill it. Was she a freak in the sack? I can see her being kinky. And don’t even try to avoid answering. You can’t f*ck the world’s biggest pop star and keep this shit from your best friend.”

I cleared my throat. “My best friend doesn’t know I had sex with Levee. Just my attorney. And since you’re off the clock…” I trailed off, tossing him a shrug.

“You are worthless.” He pouted, and I made a mental note not to let Ryan ply me with alcohol any time soon.

“That’s not what Jen said,” I joked, dodging the punch that I knew would be heading toward my shoulder.

Ryan talked the whole way to the coffee shop, but I didn’t have anything left to say. How was I supposed to just forget about her? Or stop worrying about her? Or stop myself from getting in my car and heading up to her house? God, I hoped Devon was going to truly get her the help she needed and stop taking her to that f*cking bridge every night.

There was only one way to be certain about that though.




For seven days, I fought the urge and somehow managed to stay away from her. Her house was only fifteen minutes from mine, and my palms itched to touch her again.

For as much as I wanted to see her, it wasn’t like Levee was reaching out to me, either. She had my cell number from the night I’d given it to her at the bridge, but I didn’t know if she’d kept it. She knew where I worked though. I’d given the receptionist at rePURPOSEd full permission to give my cell number to anyone who called asking for it.

A million clients called; Levee didn’t.

Anxiety wouldn’t allow me to just write her off though. Every night, I marched up that bridge hoping to find a pair of designer shoes lurking in the shadows.

They never were.

For as much relief as it gave me each night when she wasn’t there, an ache grew in my chest.

I miss her.

It wasn’t long until I’d lived up to the nickname she’d given me and became a legit Internet stalker. During one of my many Google searches on her, I found that she’d canceled several of her upcoming performances. Tabloid speculation was that she was pregnant with Henry Alexander’s love child. They’d even posted obviously edited pictures of her alleged baby bump. More reliable sources reported that she was headed to rehab. I couldn’t imagine Levee being hooked on drugs, but how well did I really know her? And the pendulum of my anxiety swung, leaving me worried all over again.