Fallon #2
“Fallon,” Cyrus begins as we near my street, one over from his own home.
So close, yet miles away. “I know ‘sorry’ isn’t enough.
It won’t fix what I did. But without our time apart, I wouldn’t have Liam—my son—who I’ll never regret.
My regret is the time lost with you and Billy.
If you give me a chance, I’ll cherish every moment. ”
I press the top of my sundress to my face, hiding tears I swore I wouldn’t let fall because of him. I’m a weeping wreck, yet I have no shame—merely regret that he inflicted this pain. Broke my trust. Doomed me to love anyone other than him. Because it will only ever be him.
“I can’t take that risk again. This isn’t about us, Cyrus. Billy and Liam would feel devastated and confused if you decide that we aren’t worth the fight it takes to be ours.”
“Fallon, I won’t leave.”
His truck stops outside my home. It’s mine—built without him. No one can take it away from us. No one can hurt us here. I face Cyrus, wet Dodgers shirt clinging to his tanned skin, eyes locked on mine—determined and vulnerable.
“Cyrus, you’ve said that before.”
“We were kids.” His eyes plead. I wish I could let everything go and love him openly. I do.
“How do I know you won’t change your mind again? You have no idea what it’s like to be a single mom, born on the wrong side of town.”
His eyes flash. “That small-town shit never mattered to me.”
“It matters to them!” I gesture to the neighborhood.
“Billy and I have lived here for years. Not once have we been invited to a cookout, birthday, or baby shower. That wasn’t out of pity.
You don’t get it. The one time I was invited to do something, I didn’t donate to.
Tasha Daniels grilled me loud enough for everyone to hear.
” My tone spikes to match her haughty one.
“You poor thing, was your mom a prostitute? Is that how you bought your house and salon? Can you fathom the level of humiliation? Can you imagine? I have climbed out of the gutter by pure spite and conviction. My stubborn pride keeps my spine straight. I won’t let our children suffer that kind of life. ” My voice cracks.
“Every day, I combat the awful shit that’s drummed up about me with good deeds, hoping that one day, this community can be as much a sanctuary for Billy as our home is.
It takes a copious amount of mental gymnastics to keep our lives afloat without wallowing in misery and self-pity.
Cyrus, my heart will always find its home with you, but you were tested once, and you failed miserably.
I won’t take that risk again. Whatever we are,” I gesture between us, “whatever this is—this is all it will ever be. And I don’t know what frightens me more.
The thought of only having half of you, or losing the little bit of me that I have left. ”
I stop, my chest rising and falling, pumped by adrenaline and shame. I’ve shared my deepest humiliation with him. “I didn’t mean to unload.”
“Fuck all of them.” Cyrus scoffs. “Start giving shit right back to them.”
My smile is sad. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
He shrugs. “It might lift your spirits.”
I laugh softly. “I’m happy with the friends I have.”
“Can we get back to us? You, me, and the kids. Stop changing the subject.”
“Cyrus, I can’t, honestly. I’m scared of falling for you and the fantasy of a happy family only for you to run again.”
“Fear didn’t chase me away last time. Anger did. Hurt did. My damn pride did.”
“You didn’t have a reason to be angry,” I fire back. “You left me standing there choking on the dust you kicked up behind you. I can’t survive that again, Cyrus.”
His jaw locks hard enough to twitch. Blue eyes pin me in place while he wrestles silently with whatever words are trying to claw their way out of him. One calloused hand drags over the steering wheel.
Once.
Twice.
He opens his mouth, stops, then exhales sharply through his nose before ripping his cap off and tossing it onto the dashboard with enough force to make me jump. The truck falls heavy with silence. I don’t push him. Not this time.
Cyrus has never struggled to speak his mind before. If anything, his words usually come too fast, too sharp, without apologies attached to them. But now he looks trapped inside his own head. Frustrated. Cornered.
His fingers rake through his unruly hair before he snatches the cap back off the dash and jams it onto his head again, like surrender. His Adam’s apple bobs. Then he finally looks at me.
And the devastation carved across his face steals the breath from my lungs.
“Ask your mother, Fal.”
The words don’t make sense at first. My brows pull together, thoughts tangling instantly.
What the hell does my mother have to do with him leaving me?
Yes, she’s cruel. Selfish. An addict who burns through people faster than cigarettes.
But sabotaging my relationship with Cyrus?
Especially knowing I was carrying his baby?
Cold unease trickles down my spine.
Surely not.
…Would she?
“My mother?”
“Go ask her what she did to us,” he says quietly, the rough edge in his voice cutting deeper than if he’d shouted.
“Hear it from her mouth, Fal. Then come back here and tell me you still wanna walk away from this—away from our family—because of lies planted in our heads when we were just kids trustin’ the wrong adult. ”
His eyes search mine desperately, like he’s balancing the last pieces of himself on whether I believe him. The truck falls into silence. We sit there watching each other come undone in completely different ways. Cyrus looks like a man fighting for his way back home.
And me?
I look like someone standing at the edge of everything she’s ever wanted, too afraid to reach for it. Because my heart already knows the truth. Maybe it always has.
The quiet stretches between us, raw and aching, until the sharp crackle of the police scanner slices through it.