Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

“What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with your dad.”

“Doesn’t it?” I tilt my face toward the ceiling of her covered porch and draw in a deep breath.

She turns on her heel and walks into her apartment, leaving the door hanging open behind her.

I follow her in and don’t bother closing it. I won’t be here long. “Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?”

She stops inside her tiny living room. “What? Why?”

“Do you remember it?”

“Not well.”

“You told me that night that you’d never marry a guy whose dad wasn’t around when he was growing up. That you wanted your kids to be raised by a man who knew how to be a father.”

Slowly, she turns around and stares at me, eyes wide. I see the recognition there. She remembers. “I didn’t mean—”

“You meant what you said. And you meant it when you said boys learn fidelity and honor from their fathers.” I shake my head. I suddenly feel way too tired for this, but I need to get it off my chest, so I keep going. “That was four years ago, and I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. But then you assumed the worst when you saw that text from Amy, and even when I showed you the whole history—gave you the whole context—you once again assumed the worst when you saw her in my bed.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I fucked up by not setting stronger boundaries for Amy, by forgetting to get my fucking key back. But you assumed the worst about me when three days ago you held me and promised you believed I wasn’t like my father.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “You were in love with her, and you and I weren’t— We’ve never been real.”

“You think this wasn’t real?” I snap. “You think every touch, every moment I’ve spent with you hasn’t been real for me?”

She folds her arms, putting up walls, pushing me away. “I’m sorry I assumed anything. But you have to understand what this is like for me. There’s no reason you should love me like that. No reason you should choose me.”

I swallow hard. “There are a thousand reasons I’d choose you over and over and over again. We all have insecurities, Abbi. We all have pieces of ourselves we don’t want the world to see, but the difference between us is you walk around with yours visible to the world. It’s no secret that you’re not a size six.” Her face crumples, as if I just hurled an insult. “Dammit, I don’t fucking care what the number on your jeans is. Don’t you understand? It’s not a secret. I knew what you looked like when I told you I wanted to do this. I liked what you looked like then, and I like it now. You fucking turn me on and twist me up, and as much as I don’t understand why it should matter when you’re still so damn beautiful, I’ve tried to be patient because I know it matters to you. You carry these pounds like they’re scars of some shameful past.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, but I plow forward. “You know why I went home with Amy that first time? She’d confessed to me that she’d cheated on Kace. That she was a fucking mess over it and was terrified he’d find out someday. I liked that she had this black spot on her record. I liked that she’d fucked up. Because after the shit my grandmother shoved down my throat, and after what the girl I was head over heels for said to me on her twenty-first birthday, I believed only someone like her could accept my asshole cheater heritage. You aren’t the only one with insecurities, Abbi. I know you struggle, and that people make assumptions about you and that it’s not fucking fair, but at least the things people judge you for are out in the open. Mine are buried a little deeper. They come out and haunt me when I least expect it.”

“I don’t think of it that way,” she whispers. “I didn’t think of your dad for a second.”

I shrug, but fuck, acting like it doesn’t matter is killing me. “You still thought the worst—about me, and about what I feel for you.” I walk further into the apartment until I’m standing right in front of her. I want to hold her so badly, but I won’t. We’re just going to hurt each other. “I want you. More than I ever wanted Amy. More than I ever wanted anybody. You’re smart and sweet and sexy as fuck.”

“Stop it,” she cries. “Stop saying that crap.”

My heart sinks. That’s what she wants. It’s really what she wants. And the realization only strengthens my resolve. “No. You’re all the things you refuse to see in yourself. I love you.” The words come out so rough that they sound like they’re meant to cut. They sound like an insult. Hell, maybe they are. Right now, my own feelings are an insult to me. They’re killing me. “I love you,” I repeat, softer this time. “I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. It’s bigger and better and so powerful that no misunderstanding could destroy it. But I’m not sure you could say the same about the way you feel for me.”