19. fallon
NINETEEN
fallon
I pace the inside of the lighthouse, trying to steady my breathing. In, out, in, out, three at a time. I brace against the wall, letting the cool stone pierce my palms and spread through my body. The massage was needed and incredible. I fell asleep after only a few moments. The masseuse played soothing music, used lavender-scented lotion, and didn’t press too hard. But then I woke up, no longer fatigued from the night before and unable to calm racing thoughts.
I’m alone often, especially at night, but I always have something to do. I’ll go to Pilates or out with Thomas. I’ll stop by the cafe and chat with the owner or visit local businesses. I’ll spend all night ordering inventory or planning more trips to conventions. I fill my time because it’s what I’ve planned to do. I have a strict schedule to prevent moments like these from happening.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. After grabbing it, I sink to the floor, wiping tears from my cheeks. I don’t say anything when I answer because he somehow always knows. “Fallon?” Thomas’ voice is frantic on the other end. “Why does your location show you in the water? Are you drowning? Where are you?”
“Yeah,” I reply, wiping my nose on my sleeve. “You wouldn’t believe the cell reception down here. Crystal clear.”
“Fallon,” he says gentler. “Where are you?”
“I tried,” I whisper meekly.
“I know,” he says with a small sigh. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like I did. I just… wanted to help.”
I lean my head back against the wall as a fresh set of tears roll down my cheeks. Fallon Madison, the grown woman unable to spend a day alone because of her intrusive thoughts, strikes again. “I’m at the lighthouse.”
“The lighthouse?” he repeats. “Why did you go there?”
“Fitz brought me here once.” I sniffle and wipe my tears again. “It just felt like the safest place. I didn’t want to go home, and I didn’t want to disappoint you by coming back.”
“Fallon Madison, don’t you ever say that again.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” I squeak, one tear away from becoming a puddle on the floor.
“I’ll be right back,” Thomas says to someone—I assume Fitz—and is quiet until the storeroom door closes. “Put me on speaker and open your Notes.”
I do as he says. “Okay.”
“Write down what you need to do for the next few hours. Make a checklist for yourself, Fallon. You need groceries, right? But you also need clothes. Start with thrifting.”
I type the name of my favorite thrift store, followed by the name of the larger supermarket close by.
“That’ll fill two hours.” I hear him typing on the keyboard. “There’s a Pilates class a half hour after that.”
I add that to my schedule.
“After Pilates, go home and shower, then return to the store.” The office chair squeaks as he leans back. “You can close tonight, then we’ll invite Fitz to dinner with us.”
I take a deep breath and stare at the new checklist. I have all my time accounted for until the store closes. “Thank you.”
“And please text Fitz. He keeps checking his phone.”
I laugh through a breathy sniffle. “I didn’t think texting him during my breakdown would be very attractive.”
“Stay on the phone with me until you’re in the car.”
I nod while I stand. “I love you, you know.”
“Christ,” he mutters. “You fucking better.”
* * *
I make it to Pilates five minutes before class starts. It’s been so long since I thrifted, and I went a little overboard and bought too much, but I found many cute pieces, like a vintage Kansas City Chiefs pullover. Don’t ask me how it ended up in Sanderling, New Hampshire, but I took it as a sign that I needed it. As a kid, we’d sit in front of our television every time they played. My dad spent years trying to talk my mom into buying season tickets.
Did you buy sandwich ingredients?
I smile at Fitz’s text. He hasn’t stopped texting me since I told him I would shop before Pilates. He sent me a picture earlier of Thomas flipping off the camera. According to him, everything at the store is running smoothly, though I doubt either would be honest with me if it wasn’t.
I’m going to make you an anchovy sub.
I’m allergic to anchovies.
Oh. What will I do with all these anchovies, then?
I lied. I’m not. But I’ll help you locate a trash can.
Such chivalry.
Class is starting, gtg.
Send a picture first.
I sink back on my shins, snap a picture in the mirror, send it, and then slide my phone into my gym bag.
* * *
After an hour passes and class ends, I lay on the floor and pant. It’s only been a few days since my last class, but Fitz has done an excellent job of working my muscles into spasms, so to say I’m sore all over again is an understatement. I’m also positive I can’t move. My instructor, Andy, lowers his hand toward me. “Did I finally break you?”
I grab his hand and hoist myself up. “I can’t entirely give you all the credit, but you certainly didn’t help.”
Andy has been my instructor since I signed up. He co-owns the studio with his wife, but he’s the tamest of the two. I tried taking her class once and almost fainted.
“You’ve improved since your first class six months ago,” he says, helping me gather my things. “You haven’t been here the last few nights, though.”
“I know.” I give him an apologetic shrug. “I’m…” Dating someone? Benefitting from multiple orgasms? Making out with the hottest man I’ve ever seen? And that includes seeing Pedro Pascal at a restaurant once in Los Angeles. I called Thomas when that happened, and he encouraged me to introduce myself to him. I absolutely did not.
“I met someone,” I say. Yeah. I met someone. That’s how I’ll classify whatever this is with Fitz until I have a more solid answer. “He’s been occupying my nights lately.”
Andy beams. “Hey! That’s great, Fallon.”
I nod as I fish my phone out of my bag. “Yeah, he’s…” I trail off when I notice I have four texts from Fitz. I swipe up quickly to open them, anticipating him telling me that the store caught fire and was engulfed in flames.
Fuck.
That’s what you’re wearing?
Don’t go home and shower.
Come straight here.
I can’t tell by the tone of his texts if he’s upset or horny. Maybe both. I’m not wearing much more than the night he bumped into me outside. I have a long-sleeved, cropped compression shirt and spandex shorts. I suppose I’m showing a lot of skin, but I knew I’d sweat a lot this time.
“He’s waiting for me,” I finish before saying goodbye to Andy and replying to Fitz.
I’m gross. I’m covered in sweat.
Even better. See you soon.
* * *
I didn’t shower, but I did pull my sweats out of my gym bag and put them on over my workout clothes. I’m not about to walk into my store half-naked, no matter who asks. I tried brushing my hair as best I could, but it was matted to my scalp from the sweat and ended up in a messy bun on top of my head. And thank god I packed spray deodorant.
I’m pleased to find the store’s front door unlocked. I’m tempted to change the locks so Thomas can’t prevent me from entering again, but he’d still find a way.
I wait by the door as Fitz bags for the last customer. He’s chatting with her about something, and she’s nodding her head so hard that I’m positive she’s going to get a headache, but I can’t help but smile. She’s enamored by him. Aside from his looks, his mysterious aura is enough for any woman to want to know more.
He looks up and catches me watching him, then grins. The customer turns and walks toward me with flushed cheeks, swinging her bag by her side like she’s the happiest woman in the world after just a simple interaction with him.
God, if we ever become anything more, I’ll need to get used to women wanting him.
I open the door for her. “Have a great night!”
Her smile widens. “Goodnight, Fallon!”
Locking the door behind her, I release a deep breath. Something about being in my store feels safe. I can be myself here—the girl who’s always read too many books.
“Did you return my car in one piece?”
I flinch when Thomas sneaks up behind me and puts his hand in the front pocket of my hoodie to retrieve his keys. “I’m going to put gas in the car and pick up Ansel. Text me where you want to eat for dinner.”
Instead of responding, I wrap my arms around his chest. Without his phone call at the lighthouse, I’m positive I’d still be there, paralyzed by anxiety. His arms enclose around me, and he presses his lips to the top of my head. We don’t exchange words because they’re unneeded. Ever since I met Thomas, he’s just understood me. He’s saved me from many panic attacks and has a sixth sense of my emotions. I’m not overly spiritual, but I do believe a higher entity knew I needed him in my life.
When we finally let go, I promise to text him.
When he’s gone, I walk toward Fitz, who is sitting on the counter and waiting for me. “Do you want to go to dinner with us tonight? I’ll even let you choose.”
He says nothing. Just watches me approach.
“Thank you for doing this today, by the way.” I twist my hands nervously. He’s staring at me like a predator would watch its prey. “It was your day off. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he says.
I clear my throat and pause just before him. There’s an undeniable tension between us, but it’s purely physical. We’re like two moths drawn to a burning fire. Every time we’re near each other, it’s explosive and all-consuming.
“I guess I should start closing?—”
“Remove your sweats, Fallon.”
I whisper, “Why?”
With his hand around my throat, he yanks me closer. The longing and desire in his gaze sets me aflame, but his cool exterior keeps me on edge. And that’s the balance never struck between us. It’s never one or the other; it is always everything all at once. It’s flames and shards of ice, combining and combusting. And I am always the product of what it produces—a puddle of ashes, embers, and thirst.
Instead of pulling away as I would with anyone else, I find myself inching closer. “Because,” he says, “I’m going to fuck you right here.”