The Fall Up (The Fall Up, #1)(72)

“Seriously?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that. That wasn’t anywhere close to as good as ‘I want to struggle with you.’ Sorry, Sam. I think you were a one-hit wonder.”

“Well, we can’t all be Levee Williams, I guess.” I tickled her until she rolled off the bed with the phone to her ear.

“Stewart? We need to talk.”

For over an hour, Levee paced the room, talking on the phone. Henry sat in the corner, alternating between listening to her and whispering his opinion. I sat silently on the bed, wondering what the hell they were talking about. I was a smart guy. But I swear they were speaking a different language. From what I gathered, they were debating the pros and cons on what details Levee should release in her official statement.

Finally, when she hung up, she dropped her chin to her chest and announced, “And now, we wait.”

“That’s it?” I asked, rising to pull her into a hug.

“Yep. My publicist will do the rest.”

“Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to see if the sexy photog sends dirty pictures.” Henry rubbed his palms together before heading down the hall to his rooms—plural.

When Levee had originally said that we needed to do a press release, I hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn’t lying in bed while staring at our social media accounts.

“Oh, oh, oh. It’s up,” she said, sitting up in bed.

When I refreshed my rePURPOSEd Instagram account, a notification appeared that I had been tagged in a photo.

It was a picture of Levee and me from earlier that night. I was pretty sure Meg had taken it on her cell phone, but it was utterly breathtaking. We were huddled together while talking to Henry. I was holding a beer and laughing, and Levee was pressed up on her toes, kissing my cheek, her smile visible even from the side. My arm was anchored around her waist, and her hand sat lovingly on my stomach.

The post read: Once upon a time…I fell in love with Spiderman. #TrueStory

I knew that Levee hadn’t posted that picture. Some publicist or assistant somewhere had pressed the magical button, sharing our intimate moment with the world.

But I knew with absolute certainty that Levee had penned the message, and even though it was a load of shit, it meant the world to me.

Grabbing my hand, she intertwined our fingers. “Don’t let go. No matter what, okay?”

Staring into whiskey-brown eyes that represented the rest of my life, I knew there was only one answer. “Never.”

My life changed that night.

She was right.

Everything was different.

But, even as pictures of us flashed on the screen while news stations reported that Levee Williams was checking into a mental health treatment program for depression and a possible suicide attempt, one thing remained the same.

Us.

She drew circles on my chest as we stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, laughing and talking like two people madly in love.

And, at the end of the day, that was all we really were.

Our relationship had absolutely nothing to do with Levee’s celebrity status or my lack thereof.

She wasn’t the princess.

And I wasn’t the pauper.

She was just a sad girl who liked to write songs.

And I was nothing more than a simple guy who was lucky enough to have made her fall in love with him.





LEVEE HAD BEEN gone for thirty days.

Thirty unbelievably chaotic days.

The first week had been hard. Just like in Maine, Levee had gone into a black-out period where she didn’t have her cell phone. It was probably for the best though, because the world was aflutter with all things Levee…and Sam.

I was just aflutter for a smoke. An urge I resisted…barely. Quitting smoking was the hardest thing I’d ever done. And I, even one month later, wasn’t sure I’d really done it. But I kept going. I’d made a promise to every single woman in my life, and come nuclear warfare or the zombie apocalypse, I was keeping up my end of the bargain.

World-ending disaster seemed easier though. God, it’s hard.

But back to my new celebrity status…even if it was a miserable, smoke free one.

With the exception of rePURPOSEd’s online orders, nothing exploded after Levee had released the truth about her sudden departure from music. If anything, the public had rallied around her. There was a massive outpouring of support, and while, yes, a ton of critics were predicting that this was all a big publicity stunt, for the most part, everyone was supportive. Even the fans who hated my guts. But especially the ones who thought I created unicorns.

Reporters weren’t camping out on my doorstep the way Levee had feared, but there was no shortage of people grilling me for information about her. I’d had to change my phone number three times, and more than once, I’d been followed by a photographer while walking Sampson at the park. I just smiled and kept going.

I’d gotten the girl. It was going to take more than a few pictures to bring me down.

I landed my first tabloid cover on week two. It was a completely fabricated story about how I was really Levee’s stalker who she’d fallen in love with after I’d held her captive for a weekend. I was relatively sure they didn’t know about our stalker joke, but Levee and I got a big laugh out of that article. It was a delightful little piece of horseshit that I promptly framed and hung over our bed.