The Fall Up (The Fall Up, #1)(6)

It was my turn to laugh. Stewart continued to fume.

“Okay, go get dressed. I’ll see you in a few hours,” I told him while straightening my long dress and preparing to go back out.

Henry’s gentle voice caught me before I hung up. “Hey, Levee. Do me a favor. Take it easy, okay? You’ve got a show tonight. I know you want to be there…but don’t get lost in the past. They aren’t Lizzy.”

He was wrong.

They were.

Every single one of them.

I didn’t tell him that though. Instead, I replied, “Thank you.”

He sighed at my non-answer. “See you tonight, babe.”

“Yeah. Tonight.” I dropped my phone into my bag and began rummaging through the boxes of CDs and T-shirts we’d brought to give away. “Are we out of the copies of Dichotomy that Henry signed?” I asked.

“Yep. We’re out of damn near everything, Levee. Yet another reason you should come back another day.”

“Oh, shove off!” I called as I headed to the door. With the VIPs sorted, I had a little girl named Morgan to properly apologize to.





AT LEAST IT wasn’t raining. That had to be a good sign, right? Turning my back to the wind, I lit a cigarette. I was staring off the bridge just as I had done every night for months. The chill was still in the air, but thankfully, the depressing, grey clouds had moved out of the bay overnight. Some people loved a good thunderstorm, but to me, the dreariness that accompanied them was stifling. I was already grappling to find the light in the whole struggle known as life; I didn’t need the weather making it that much dimmer.

“Shit,” I cursed to myself when the gauze I had wrapped around my palm unfurled. Biting the cigarette between my lips, I quickly rolled the bandage back around my hand. I attempted to secure it in place with the worn-out tape but ended up tucking the edge under when it refused to stick.

I was such a *.

The moment that splintered wood had sliced my palm open, the whole world had begun to spin. It was a miracle I’d even stayed upright as the sight of the blood dripping from my hand had forced my ass to the dusty floor of my workshop.

Slitting my wrist was officially never going to happen.

But killing myself was never going to happen, either. With my luck, Hell was real and I’d only end up spending an eternity longing for the emptiness my life was already full of.

My life was fine. My job was fine. My house was fine. My love life was fine. My friends were fine. God, I was sick of f*cking fine. I needed something—anything—to be great.

Why I thought death might be that, I wasn’t sure.

But it had worked for them.

Most recently, it had worked for her.

Plus, I’d tried everything else. Over a hundred hours in the tattoo chair, skydiving, base-jumping, bungee-jumping, gliding. You name it, I’d tried it. And, while those brief moments had given me the highest of highs, the low on the other side f*cking sucked. I hated every single minute of fine. There had to be more out there. There had to be a great lurking in the shadows.

I groaned.

My mind swirled with inner ramblings that had me rolling my eyes at myself. Even my emotions were logical and average. I couldn’t even be extraordinarily irrational. That would have at least been exciting.

After dropping the butt of my cigarette to the ground, I snuffed it out with my boot. As I leaned over to retrieve it, I caught sight of a pair of heels I knew had cost a f*cking fortune.

What the hell is she doing back?

She was not supposed to be there, despite how much I’d secretly hoped she would be.

Heading in her direction, I allowed my eyes to flash to her legs, but any possible new injuries were covered by a long, black dress.

“So we meet again,” I said, dragging a new cigarette from my pack as I tucked away the old butt.

She pressed her sunglasses up her nose before stating the obvious. “You own a coat.”

“Yeah. My doctor made me get it after I recovered from a bout of hypothermia last night.”

Her painted-red lips parted in a smile. She was absolutely gorgeous—at least from the nose down. Who knew what the hell she was concealing underneath that silly wig and shades though. Or, better yet, why the hell she thought she needed them. Sunglasses, fine. But a wig? Who was she hiding from?

“Hypothermia. Ha! You’re the wimpiest half Eskimo I’ve ever met,” she said, compelling my mouth to mirror hers.

“This is probably true.” I took a drag off my cigarette, then switched it to the hand farthest away from her when she started waving away the smoke.

After gathering the back of her wig, she pulled the hair over her shoulder. “But I don’t know any others, so that also makes you the toughest.”

“Awesome. Winner by default.” I smirked. “I’ll take it.”

“What are you doing back up here tonight?” she asked absently.

I took a drag. “The view.”

“Me too,” she whispered. “Hey, can I bum a smoke?”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I thought you broke up with lung cancer?” I pulled my smokes from my pocket, offering it forward.

“Everyone has the occasional one-night stand with the ex.”

I laughed as she took the pack from my hand only to be silenced when she hurled it off the bridge.