The Truth About Falling Read online

  She knows I’m doing my best filling orders, but people want their alcohol, and apparently, we aren’t getting it quickly enough for them. I wish our boss would help out, but he’s probably too busy screwing some chick. Are all men this disgusting, or is it just the ones I work for?

  “Here,” I shout as I slam all her drinks down on the bar–five beers, four shots, and two fruity drinks. Man, these people can drink, but who am I to complain when they’re paying my bills.

  “Thanks, doll.” She shoves her way through the crowd, balancing the tray of drinks with a unique grace.

  I work double time, overflowing glasses and sliding beers across the bar while simultaneously collecting money.

  Some of the guys standing at the front of the bar allow the women in the back to slide past them, giving them the opportunity to order. Others jump up and down waving at me, trying to grab my attention. There’s a lot of pushing and shoving, but as long as no one comes flying over the bar, I don’t care.

  I’ve become skilled at managing the chaos since I started working here. In the beginning, I was horrible, breaking glasses and not knowing the difference between scotch and whiskey, but now I can do this in my sleep.

  After I serve the last guy at the bar, shouts come from the back corner of the room. I stand on my balls of my feet to see over the crowd, and I notice two guys shoving each other.

  I clench my jaw as I narrow my eyes at the two offenders. Oh, for the love of God. I don’t have time for this tonight.

  Kristy is on the other side of the room and doesn’t notice the commotion, so I step out from behind the bar as a couple guys walking up yell in my direction, wanting their alcohol, mad at me for depriving them of it. They can get over it.

  Pushing through the throng of people, I make my way to the fight. Two guys roughing each other up, probably over some chick. I shove through the crowd of cheering men, who have circled around the fight, chanting fight like it’s a theme song. When I stumble through the other side of the circle, a third guy has pulled the men apart. He towers over them, seeming more menacing than either of the guys who were fighting.

  Standing in between them, he forces them to go their separate ways. There’s an overwhelming power surrounding him, taking over everything around him. While he might seem dangerous, I see through it as I watch the hard edges of his face turn soft as he smiles at the girl cowering in the corner.

  He cautiously walks up to her, saying something I can’t here over the loud music. Even if I was standing next to them, I probably still wouldn’t be able to hear over the heavy metal blaring through the speakers. The girl nods her head, and he gently guides her to the table he put back in place.

  She sits in the chair with her arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched. He leans his head down, whispering to her, his shaggy brown hair falling across his forehead. The muscles under his arms constrict, going hard as he holds onto the back of her chair for support.

  I find myself gravitating toward them. I stop when his eyes flit to me for a split second. I tell myself I want to make sure everything is okay, to make sure the girl isn’t harmed, but I know that’s not true because for the one second his eyes found mine, my body hummed, awakened by some unknown force.

  I suspect she’s the reason the fight broke out, and he’s attempting to calm her down since it appears she was forgotten by the two imbeciles the moment this guy broke them apart. Honestly, the girl doesn’t look like she belongs in a place like this. She seems quiet and reserved while the bar is in-your-face and loud as hell. The Bar Next Door is no place for the weak or timid.

  I rip my gaze away from them when I hear Kristy yelling my name. I whip my head around to see her waiting at the bar along with some very impatient customers. Grand. I shoulder through the mob and make my way behind the bar.

  As soon as I step foot behind it, people bark their orders at me, and I move as fast as I can to make all the irritated men happy again so they’ll spend even more money. The drunker they are, the bigger the tips, so I shove drinks at them faster than I should to ensure I have money to survive.

  After the rush, I lean on the back of the bar taking a five second breather.

  “This place is insane tonight,” Kristy says, tossing a white towel down on the counter.

  “I know. Apparently, people have nothing better to do in this town.” Granted, we are one of two bars in town, and the other one isn’t as nice as this place.

  Our boss, Anthony, may be a sleazebag, but he stuck a shit ton of money into this place. It’s not a typical bar filled with smoke and littered with old tables that should be recycled. The booths that line the walls are a deep red, and tables are scattered around the middle of the room, matching the booths. In the far right corner of the bar is a pool table with red felt instead of the traditional green.

  “Have you banged on Anthony’s door?” Kristy wipes the sweat from her brow.

  “Yep, and he didn’t answer.” I know he’s in there because he’s here almost every night, but he refuses to help us. He says it’s our job to man the floor, not his. “Don’t worry, we can handle this,” I assure her.

  “Do you think he likes torturing us?” she asks at a normal volume as she turns down the music.

  A collective groan sounds through the bar, but we both ignore the protests.

  “I think he likes putting in as little effort as possible while reaping the rewards of our hard work.”

  She snickers. “You said it, girl.” She pats my arm before walking to the supply room, escaping the madness.

  My eyes move across the room and land on the guy who broke up the fight. He’s sitting at a table with four other guys, his gaze vacant as he stares at the wall adjacent to him. The black napkin in his hands is being torn to shreds, and he lets the ripped pieces fall to the table like confetti.

  He’s with a group of guys, but he seems like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

  “What do you think would happen if I took a case of beer home?” Kristy asks, slamming her hands on the bar.

  I jump at the sound, my hand flying to my chest. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  She laughs, shrugging a shoulder.

  “I think you would get fired if you did that,” I say.

  “So I should take the alcohol out of my car then?” Her lips purse.

  “What?” I shriek, eyes wide.

  She throws her hands up in surrender. “Kidding, jeez.” She pats my back as she passes me to check on her tables. “Just making sure you’re still awake.”

  Kristy is one of a kind, but I don’t think I would make it through the nights here without her.

  “Can I get a water?” a deep voice as smooth as honey asks.

  My eyebrows crease as I stare up at the guy. Hardly anyone around here asks for water. Usually when they do, they have a friend who is severely trashed.

  But this guy hasn’t had an ounce to drink all night. He’s the one who broke up the fight. The one who comforted a frightened girl. The one who has been sitting in a bar ignoring his friends.

  He stands over me, studying me with his rich, chocolate brown eyes. The kind of eyes you can get lost in for hours and not even realize it. His dark brown hair is unruly, begging to be touched with how soft and thick it appears.

  My hand twitches, wanting to slip through the strands, so I grab a plastic cup, stopping myself. “Sure,” I say, filling up the cup with ice and tap water before placing it in front of him. “Thanks for breaking up the fight earlier.”

  “No problem.” He downs the water, the muscles in his neck moving every time he swallows.

  Everything about him is hypnotizing, enchanting, begging me not to look away, vying for every second of my time–time I don’t have to give.

  “How much?” he asks, reaching in his back pocket as the corded muscles in his arm shift, leaving my throat dry as my eyes track each movement.

  My pulse races as I watch the veins popping out of his arm stretch, itching to run my finge
rs across each one. Call me weird, but when a guy has bulging veins on his arms, I turn into a lust crazed manic. It’s like porn.

  I clear my throat. “Uh, nothing. It’s free.”

  “Giving away free water again?” Kristy asks from behind me with a chuckle. “Anthony’s gonna rip you a new one.”

  I glare at her, hating her for choosing this second to sneak back behind the bar.

  “Keep the change.” He throws a twenty on the bar before walking away and out the front door, not giving me a second to refuse his money or ask his name. But maybe it’s better this way. It’s better for him to remain a mystery.

  Kristy whacks me on the arm, drawing my attention. “Who was that hot piece of ass?”

  “No idea,” I mutter.

  Whoever he is, I hope I never see him again.

  That’s a fucking lie.

  I wake up in the morning to the sound of my dad yelling at the television. It’s the same way I wake up every morning because my dad wakes up at the ass crack of dawn. He watches the news and shouts at the television. He says the news only reports what they want us to know, yet he still watches it every day. I used to ask him why he watched it if he didn’t like it, but I never really got an answer besides his grumbling.

  I stopped asking questions a long time ago because when I did, especially about him getting a job, I only ever got mad. Not that I don’t still get mad at him because I do, like every morning when he wakes me up from the few hours of sleep I get.

  Throwing the covers off, I roll out of bed and stumble into the living room. I swipe the remote off the arm of the recliner, turning the volume down.

  “What are you doing?” Dad gripes.

  “You’re gonna wake up Mom.” I place the remote back on the recliner and walk to my room to get ready for work.

  My life is in a constant loop, playing the same day over and over. I can’t stop it because if I tried, I can’t know for sure what would happen to my parents. In fact, I don’t know if they would be here at all.

  Dad would likely be homeless or dead, and Mom, well, I don’t want to even imagine what would happen to her. Instead of complaining to them, I let the same day play out over and over. An existence where what I have isn’t enough for me to ever live happily ever after, but I sacrificed everything I wanted years ago–for her.

  I pull my white tank top over my head and tug my jean shorts up my legs, buttoning them at the top. I stuff a red bandana in my back pocket that I’ll use to wipe the sweat from my forehead more times than I care to admit during the day. Knowing that fact, for some reason I still apply my makeup, laying on a thick coat of mascara and eyeliner. I leave my long brown hair straight flowing past my shoulders, stopping just before where my bra clasps at my back.

  I shove my feet in my black Converse and then head out of my room with a sigh. I’m ready for this day to be over before it has even begun. I need a freaking break. After today, I at least get the night off from the bar. Ten hours stand between me and freedom. Freedom, that’s laughable, but whatever gets me through the day, right?

  “Where are you going?” Dad asks from the same spot I left him ten minutes ago.

  “To work,” I snap.

  “Why do you have such an attitude all the time? Did we not teach you how to be polite?”

  Are you fucking kidding me? “You should be thanking your lucky stars I gave up college to help out,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “At least you did something right,” he mumbles, training his eyes back on the television.

  I want to scream bloody murder. I want to strangle him until his last breath slips through his lips, not allowing another word to ever come out of his mouth again.

  My dad is a fucking dick, who doesn’t know how good he has it. If it wasn’t for Mom, I wouldn’t be here. There is no way in hell I would have stuck around to take care of him because of what he did all those years ago.

  I step over the threshold and into my childhood home, weaving through the entryway. I’m so glad today was early release day, even if it’s just an excuse for my fifth-grade teacher to escape her rowdy class.

  I throw my backpack and books over the back of the couch, relieved to drop the weight. A muffled sound comes from the kitchen, so I walk down the hall, past the bathroom, and to the kitchen. I freeze, locking up, as I watch my dad kissing a woman who isn’t my mother.

  “What are you doing?” I yell.

  He shoves the woman away, staring at me in shock. “Jade, what are you doing home?” He glances at the clock on the microwave across from him. “You’re supposed to be at school.”

  “It’s early release day,” I explain. “Why are you kissing Ms. Jenkins?”

  Dad whispers in Ms. Jenkins ear as my mind reels, attempting to figure out why my dad would kiss another woman. Why would he hurt Mom with our next door neighbor?

  Ms. Jenkins rushes past me and out the front door as Dad steps in front of me, kneeling on the hardwood floor.

  “You can’t tell your mom. If you do, you’ll crush her. This is our secret.”

  “But it’s wrong,” I say, shaking my head.

  “It’s fine,” he assures me. “But if you tell your mom, she’ll leave both of us. Do you want that?”

  “No,” I whimper.

  “Good. Then this stays between us.” He kisses me forehead and walks away, leaving me standing in the kitchen, everything I know shattering.

  Dad coughs into his hand, cigarette smoke wafting in front of his face.

  I caught him cheating on Mom more times than I care to admit after that first day, but I never said anything to Mom. I believed him when he told me she would leave me if she found out.

  But the older I got, I chose not to tell her because I knew it would hurt her. I wanted to protect her, and to this day, she still doesn’t know what he did because Dad and I kept our mouths shut, our own dirty little secret.

  I stalk over to Dad, snatching the cigarette out of his hand and putting it out in the nearby ashtray. “Stop smoking in here.”

  I take the ashtray and his pack of cigarettes, holding them in my hand as I open the front door.

  “Hey,” he calls out.

  Ignoring him, I place them both outside the front door so he’ll have to get up if he really wants one. I flip around, stepping back inside the trailer, closing the door behind me.

  Crossing the living room, I tiptoe to the other side of our trailer to the room where Mom is still sleeping. Cracking open the door, I peer in on her, seeing her chest slowly rise and fall.

  A smile tugs at my lips as I lean my head against the doorframe. The only time she looks peaceful is when she’s sleeping. When she’s awake, I know she’s in a world of pain, begging for it all to end, but I won’t let her give up. I stayed for her because I knew Dad wouldn’t take care of her like he should, so I took the burden and never looked back. I took on the weight of the world for her.

  Quietly, I close the door, not wanting to wake her. I slip through the trailer and out the front door without another word to my dad.

  This time of morning is peaceful. The time when the sky is starting to come to light. It’s a dark gray now, but I know by the time I finish opening Harry’s Garage, the sky will be a light blue, and the world will be coming alive as everyone heads off to work. But right now, everything is silent. The world is mine to dream of endless possibilities, to dream of a life where my whole world isn’t crashing down. One where I am simply me.

  Placing my bike on the side of Harry’s Garage, I yank the keys out of my pocket. I shove the key in the lock and throw open the glass door, covered in smudges from dirty hands.

  I flip on the lights and unlock the two garage doors, jerking them open.

  Twirling the keys around my finger, I meander to the lone computer sitting in the middle of the shop. I push the power button and prop my head on my hand, waiting for the computer to come to life.

  I’m always the first one here, and it’s one of the few times during the day I enj
oy. It’s serene, making me feel like everything is right. With the birds chirping and dogs barking in the background, I don’t feel so alone.

  “Good, you’re here,” Harry says.

  I startle at the sound of his voice, causing my knee to hit the corner of the stand the computer is on, and a slicing pain shoots through my leg.

  “Dammit,” I curse, bending down to rub the sore spot. When the throbbing subsides, I say, “Where else would I be, Harry?” I curb the attitude, seeing as it is first thing in the morning.

  “At your other job.” He wipes his dirty hand on his white t-shirt, leaving a stain. What could be on his hands this early in the morning? Actually, I don’t want to know. “Aren’t you a stripper or something?”

  “No, I’m a bartender,” I deadpan.

  “Same thing.” He sneezes without covering his nose, and I hold my breath for a minute, not wanting his germs to invade my body.

  What kind of bar is he going to? I can tell you he has never stepped foot in The Bar Next Door. He must be going to strip clubs and is too dumb to know the difference between the two.

  He reminds me of a fat pig, but to be honest, that’s an insult to pigs because pigs are kind of cute, and Harry is as far from cute as you can get.

  “It’s not. I don’t take my clothes off for money. I serve drinks,” I explain.

  He ogles me. “Humph, whatever,” he grumbles, stalking away and dragging his feet as he opens the wooden door leading to his office.

  I shake my head as I turn my attention back to the computer. There’s just no talking to some people, and Harry is someone who always thinks he’s right when he almost never is.

  Something clatters to the ground, and my gaze darts next to me where someone is bent over an overturned toolbox.