Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

Kace stares at me and shakes his head. “I totally missed it. I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to know. It was all embarrassing, anyway. I was ready to lay it all on the line and ask her out when she made it very clear I wasn’t the kind of guy she was looking for.”

“Shit. Did you tell anyone?”

“Smith was there the night she . . .” Hell, I don’t want to go into it again. “He knows.”

“You told Smithy and not me?” Kace squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m gonna have to sit with that for a bit.”

“This is what I get for messing around with my best friend’s ex. Karma’s a bitch.”

Kace shakes his head. “Nah. This isn’t karma. It’s Amy. Karma’s got nothing on her.”

“I think Abbi and I are through.” The words are rough around the edges, as if they themselves are the dull blades that just pulverized my heart. Fuck, Kace is probably not the guy to talk to about this, but I feel like I’m falling apart, and I need to talk to someone.

When I lift my gaze from my beer, Kace is staring at me with narrowed eyes. “You’re just gonna give up that easy?”

“You know what’s crazy? When she saw those unfortunate texts from Amy and assumed the worst, I didn’t take it personally. Not really. But when Amy was naked in my bed and Abbi thought I was planning to fuck her? That pushed me over the edge.” I rub at the ache in my chest. It doesn’t help.

Kace blows out a breath. “Did she ever tell you about Cody—her college boyfriend?”

“The reason she dropped out? Yeah. Hated that asshole.” I shrug. “I guess I don’t know much about him, but I know he did a number on her. I think he’s the root of why she’s insecure.”

Kace nods. “Yeah, me too.” He swallows. “Cody cheated on her. He told her he’d never been attracted to her, that she was the kind of girl guys only went out with when they didn’t have any other options, and that when guys had sex with girls like her it was never actually good, because the physical attraction was necessary for what he called real release.”

“Motherfucker.”

“Yeah. So she’s carried that around. Her first love—her longest relationship—only stayed with her because he felt bad for her and said he’d never found her attractive. She was devastated. After that, every guy who showed any interest in her was suspect. What did he want from her? Why was he really giving her attention? She’s . . . got insecurities.”

I trace a line in the condensation down the side of my glass. “I know she does, but I thought I showed her the truth. I thought she was finally seeing herself for who she really is.”

“When you carry something like that with you for so long, it’s not so easy to change your mindset. We’re talking years of programming.”

I huff out a laugh. I get that. More than most people realize. More than even Kace knows. “Messes with your head.”

“You give Abbi a compliment about pretty much anything other than her cooking, and she immediately comes up with a mental list of reasons you might’ve said it—none of which are because it’s true.”

“I just can’t . . .” I swallow hard, second-guessing everything I said and thought in the heat of the moment. “If we’re going to have any chance, I need her to trust me, and I don’t think she can do that while believing that her appearance makes her fundamentally unlovable.”

Kace takes a sip of his bourbon, puts the glass down, then picks it up and drains it. “You know you’re like a brother to me, right?”

The backs of my eyes burn. Jesus Christ, I don’t want to cry right now, and I’m afraid I’ll lose it if I speak. I manage, “Same.”

“I know my sister’s not perfect, but I also know she’s pretty fucking amazing.”

“I know that.” Hell, sometimes I think I see it more than anyone.

“So maybe she screwed up. And maybe her insecurities came out and did a good one-two punch to yours.”

I cough out a laugh at his description. It’s pretty accurate.

“If you two end up giving this a real shot? It’ll happen again, and it’ll suck. That’s what happens in relationships. We screw up and we adjust and we screw up a little less epically the next time. Then sometimes we screw up in a whole new way just to keep things interesting.” He chuckles, then his face goes serious as he studies me. “The key is trying to decide if it’s worth it—if what you have together is worth it. I know you both are individually, but together?” He shrugs. “Only you two can answer that.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I get that.” But we are, damn it. I know we are.