Falling for Fallon (Oak Hill 2)

ed in her purple tennis skirt, sporting her bright white shoes.

I wasn’t sure what to say to her. I was pretty sure I was all talked out, so I went back to trying to zip up the suitcase as she stared at me from the doorway. Once I got it zipped, I stood up triumphantly, almost having to wipe the sweat off my brow from the exertion I’d just put into doing that task, and walked into my bathroom to grab the toiletries that I had also packed. I hadn’t packed much: some clothes, shoes, my hair products. I didn’t want to take anything from the guesthouse itself, because my father would probably send the police after me, accusing me of stealing from him.

I lugged the suitcase upright, holding the pink toiletry bag in my mouth, and started to wheel it past my mother, who was still standing in the same spot, staring at me.

“Fallon.”

“What?” I mumbled, still rolling my suitcase through the house.

“Stop.”

I huffed out a laugh, ignoring her.

“Fallon,” she said again, following closely behind me. “I didn’t know.”

That had me pausing. I dropped the bag from my mouth and slowly spun around to face her. My mother looked down at her feet, her chestnut hair still pinned in her bun. When she looked back up, I raised my eyebrows, urging her to say whatever it was that she wanted to say before I left.

“I talked to your father. He’s on his way. Let’s all just sit down and talk about this.”

I shook my head harshly as my blood pressure started to rise. “No, because he’ll do what he does best: control me. I’m not a child anymore. I’m twenty-three years old. You two can’t force me to be someone I’m not. So, for the love of God, just stop!”

My mother gasped, and it looked as if I’d just smacked her across the face. It sent a line of guilt through my chest.

“Mom.” I dropped the suitcase and walked over to her, grabbing her by the hands. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you pictured I’d be. I really am.” I paused, looking deep into her glistening eyes. “I feel like I’ve led you on for most of my life, especially these last few months… trying to please you, to do what you wanted of me, to actually get you and Dad to be proud of me for once in my life, but…” I took a deep breath. “The only thing that has done is made me miserable. I know Dad thinks this is all about Emmett, the guy that I’ve been spending time with behind everyone’s back… behind Derek’s back, but that’s not it. Not entirely. Sure, he kind of opened my eyes to the fact that I have been living my life for someone else, but this is about me. I just need to be me without someone looking down on me, and if Dad wants me out of the family because of that, then so be it.”

My mother squeezed my hands tightly, so tightly I thought they were going to fall off. Tears were rapidly approaching the brim of her eyelids, so I slowly started to squeeze her hands back.

“He’ll cut you off, Fallon. You’ll fail. You’ll fall flat on your face, and no one will be there to pick you up.”

“I’m fully prepared for him to cut me off, Mom.” I shrugged, brushing off the sting of her words. “I may fail, but I’ll never know if I don’t try. You can be upset with me; I understand. You can stand behind Dad’s decision and go on with your frivolous lifestyle like nothing has changed in the world. But I’m throwing in the towel.”

My mother’s face crumbled. “Just stay and talk to your father. We can work this out! If Derek isn’t the guy for you, we’ll keep looking. There are plenty of young bachelors that would die to be with you.”

I shook my head again, fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders to shake her. “You’re not listening to me. You’ve never listened to me, not once!”

“That’s not true!”

I clenched my teeth, backing away from her. “I’ve gotten my first real taste of happiness, and who knows if I’ll ever get it again. What I do know is that I’ll never find it if I stay here and abide by the criteria that you and Dad want me to follow. So, I’m sorry, but I’m leaving, and there is nothing you can say to stop me.”

My mother’s mouth opened once again, but nothing came out. I was certain she’d repeat herself and ask me to stay to talk to my father, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. So, I slowly walked back over to my suitcase, took one last look at my mother and the house I’d been living in for the last year, and turned on my heel, walking out the door.

I was seconds away from leaving my childhood house in the dust, my heart tugging in my chest. Regret wasn’t something that was filling my body up, but just because I wasn’t regretting my choice to leave didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. I think every child—young or grown—wants their parents to love them and be proud of them, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever receive the kind of love and fulfillment that I knew I deserved.

But leaving here was difficult. It was empowering, but difficult.

This was my life.

This was my home.

This was where I grew up.

I sighed and started the ignition, trying to bask in the revitalizing feeling instead of the grief. I had no idea where I was going to go.

I left all the credit cards my parents had given me on the countertop. I left my bank card. I left everything but the seventy-six dollars I had in cash.

My father would freeze my accounts soon—if he hadn’t already—so I didn’t see the point in taking my bank cards.

It was their money, not mine.