When We Fall (Take the Fall, #2)(25)

“Neither did I.”





Piper


Princess.

I hate the nickname. It is not born out of a tender moment, not a spontaneous endearment…he mocks me. He mocks who I am.

My stomach roils, but I won’t back down from telling him what I think. I backed down my entire life and it got me absolutely nowhere.

“You know, the last time you called me princess, you were a huge jerk to me,” I say.

“I have no excuse for that…only seeing you reminded me of what I wanted and couldn’t have.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I say incredibly stupid things sometimes…and I honestly didn’t mean—

“Fuck it all.” He storms back to the bed and snatches the pillow out of my hands before he hauls me to him. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to call you that.”

“You don’t have to hurt me to make sure you don’t get hurt. I would never hurt you—at least not on purpose.”

His fingers follow the line of my spine, tracing each vertebra and giving me goosebumps as they travel lower and lower. “This isn’t easy for me. Most women…they don’t want this kind of thing from me. I’m a good f*ck, and in the past, that was enough. Hell, Piper, four months ago, I would have said it was enough.”

“Did Giselle hurt you that bad?” I ask, and for the first time in my life I want to hurt someone. Though it is to my benefit that his ex-girlfriend finally became toxic enough for him to leave, I can’t stand the thought of him hurting in the first place.

“No.” He shakes his head. “She didn’t hurt me, not like you think…or at all, really. I didn’t expect her to sit with her legs closed while I rotted away—I could’ve been killed, never paroled…there were a thousand different reasons why we wouldn’t work out. I never asked her to wait for me.”

“I would have waited for you, and you wouldn’t have had to ask me, either.” I did wait for him. Foolishly or not, I waited for him to come home.

He tilts his head to one side, his ocean-blue gaze assessing. “You would have, wouldn’t you?”

I nod. “When you lo—care about someone, you wait as long as it takes.”

“Make a doctor’s appointment today, Piper. When you decide that you’re ready for the next step, I want to be prepared.”

My heart swells. “I promise,” I say, drawing an X over my heart.

“We good?” he asks, settling me back down in the bed and tucking the covers around me.

“Very good.”

“Text me the date and time.” He gives me one last kiss before leaving.

—

Contrary to what anyone believes about me, I am not a late riser. I’ve always been up with the sun. The only downside to that is I am a horrible date for late-night functions. Once, Rowan and I sneaked out to go to a Linkin Park concert and I fell asleep in the middle of their most popular song.

Mother blames my habit for getting up so early on my father. His hours made it nearly impossible to see him before bedtime, so I made sure to catch him before he left for the day. We would eat breakfast together while he would tell me about all the bad guys he caught to keep the world safe.

In those moments, my father was a hero, a man who took the time to spend some with me, but as I got older, he stopped showing up for breakfast. No matter how early I got up, I couldn’t manage to catch him. When I found out he’d taken to eating in his office—which was off-limits to me—I stopped waiting for him.

My heart aches. It shouldn’t still hurt over something that happened so long ago. I was twelve when he stopped and, most likely, he didn’t know what to say to a prepubescent girl. Unlike my mother, who couldn’t find enough things to talk to me about.

Sit up straight.

Legs crossed at the ankles.

Such a shame about the color of your hair.

You have the Ross family’s hips—that will never do for Cotillion.

Turning this way and that in the mirror, I suck in my gut and attempt to look as poised as Mother always does. It’s impossible. No one on this earth is as poised as she.

My phone rings just as I slip on a pair of kelly green slingback pumps. They perfectly match the cashmere cardigan I’m wearing. Although it’s August, Jase and Emmett keep their shop cold enough to hang meat in.

“Hello, this is Piper.”

“Piper! This is Ginger Davidson-Prattley.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ginger is one of the few women my mother is friends with that I actually like. Despite the fact that she’s richer than God from selling her share of a start-up company that went global, she’s down-to-earth and nice. Ginger’s late husband also left her a fortune and she’s made it her mission to spend every last dime on her favorite charities and causes. The North Charlotte Women’s Shelter is one of them.

“Please tell me you have time in your schedule to work for us,” she says.

“You want me to come work for you?” I’m in total shock. Yes, I applied for the job, but my chances of getting it were slim to none. I don’t have an advanced degree and social work positions aren’t exactly easy to come by, especially nonprofit ones. “You did read my application?”

“I am well aware of your lack of advanced degree, but we’re changing the job description to reflect your internship position. The salary won’t be the same, but the experience will be.”