Falling into You (Falling Stars 3)

Rumbled through the air. A storm hidden to the eye but clear in the mind.

“Are you good?” he rumbled just as deep, curling those arms around my mama tenderly.

Protectively.

“Oh, I am now.”

Mischief glinted in her eye.

I choked around a laugh, around the fullness, around the realization that I could feel gathering to a breaking point.

I moved for the back door and held it open so he could carry her inside. His aura covered me when he shifted slightly to carry her through the threshold, and I found myself holding my breath to keep from completely losing myself.

To keep from floating away.

He carried her through the kitchen and living room and started up the stairs, murmuring words I couldn’t hear as I trailed along behind at a distance, my pulse stampeding and my spirit rioting as he carried her all the way into her room.

And when I watched him settle her onto her bed, when I saw him adjust her pillows and her blanket, when I recognized he’d given her this day, a day to live to its fullest, I knew that was where I wanted to be.

Lost.

And when he knelt at her bedside, when they shared whispered words, when he took her weathered hand in both of his and began to sing in the way that only the man could, I realized I was already there.

Tripping.

Nothing below but the darkness of his abyss.

I was in a free fall.

And there was no chance of stopping this.Twenty-EightRichardHad you ever experienced a turning point in your life? A single, defining moment that changed everything? I’d venture to say we all had. Probably multiple times.

I could pinpoint a few of mine.

The first time I’d picked up a guitar and felt the freedom of holding it in my hands.

The first time I’d stood on a stage in front of an audience and felt the rush of adrenaline surge with the first beat of the song. The way it felt like flying.

The night I’d met Violet Marin. Yeah, that’d felt like flyin’, too.

The night I’d lost her.

And right fucking then.

Violet’s mother in my arms as I carried her upstairs, her dark eyes rimmed in violet that were so much like Violet’s, the woman watching me in this way that made me certain she could see right through me.

To the guilt.

To the shame.

To the secrets buried underneath.

And still, like there was a bridge of trust that we were crossing together.

Thought my ribs were being cracked open wide, the woman so light it felt like I was carrying papier-mâché. All except for the weight of her spirit.

The fullness of it.

The realness of it.

“I’ve got you,” I found myself saying, repeating what I’d told her daughter.

I’ve got you.

It was a promise that meant so much more than simply carrying her to her bedroom, same way as I carried her downstairs this morning so she could be in the kitchen with the rest of us when Violet woke up.

It was a promise that I would hold her.

Fight for her.

Fight for her family.

Fight for what was right.

I carried her into her room and situated her onto her bed, adjusted her pillows, and pulled the blanket over her feeble body. “There we go,” I murmured softly. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.” Knew from the way she watched me that it had nothing to do with her getting comfortable in bed.

My smile was meek, riddled with remorse, and I started to back away, but she reached out and gripped me by the hand. “Thank you,” she rushed to say.

I sank to my knees at the side of her bed, and I cupped her bony hand in between both of mine. “Don’t thank me. I’m the one who’s done all the damage.”

Her head shook against her pillow. “I never believed that.”

Emotion clogged my throat, and I struggled to breathe around it. To pretend like I wasn’t affected. Like sitting here at her bedside wasn’t killing me. “I wish it weren’t true.”

Her mouth trembled at the side. “Will you be there for her?” she implored, tendrils of her spirit reaching for me.

Her attention shifted toward the doorway where I could feel Violet hanging back. Observing from the distance.

Mrs. Marin kept her voice low. “My Violet is strong. Fierce and brave. A fighter. She is a quiet warrior. She may have been knocked down, but she will stand. I know this. She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her. Overshadow her. But she deserves to have someone come alongside her. To support her. To stand for her. Tell me, Richard Ramsey, will you be the one?”

“I will be by her side for as long as she will allow me to be.”

Her eyes deepened like she’d seen all the way to a new layer. Dark depths swimming in awareness. “And you need her to come alongside you. To heal the brokenness inside you. To show you the power of forgiveness. To remind you that you deserve it, too. I see it, dear boy.”