Falling for You

A Note to Readers

This novel was previously published under the pen name Chrissy Brown as Can't Let Go. I struggled with dropping the name because it was my first writing experience. That being said, I’d never felt happy with the original story. So, after much thought, I decided to dive back in. While some parts have stayed the same, it is a completely different story, hence the name change.

Fun fact: the “I’m a bull rider” scene really happened. That’s how I met my husband waaay back in the day when I was nineteen. Another fun fact. That’s the only part of my life that’s in here. All other people, places, and situations are strictly fiction and any resemblances are coincidental.

So, without further adieu, I give you, Josh and Layla.

A chill slithers through me as I look out the window from my seat in row 23A. Our pilot circles the runway, waiting for the go-ahead from the control tower to launch us into the sky. Tonight’s flight is relatively short but it’s on an older plane, so there’s no movie.

To add to my bad luck, there’s no internet up in the clouds, which means the new books I wanted to read on my Kindle app are useless. I should have downloaded them before takeoff or bought a magazine at the kiosk, but because of my lack of planning I’m stuck on an almost two hour flight with nothing but my thoughts.

One thought in particular won’t leave me alone: Why am I going back?

It’s not the quietness of a small town or how the stars shine brighter away from the big city that draws me in. Nor is my return for the friends I left, because Hattie Reynolds is the only person to text me since I left.

What’s pulling me back is what’s kept me away for so long—Joshua Thomas—and it’s not a matter of if I’ll run into him, it's when, because Hattie’s boyfriend, Landon Waters, is one of Josh’s best friends.

I wrap my arms around my waist. As much as I’ve talked myself up to the possibility of running into Josh, I’m not ready to see him again.

Butterflies are throwing a party, dousing my insides with buckets of vomit that threaten to expel themselves into the tiny paper bag the airplane has provided for such occasions.

Do I love Josh?

No.

Yes.

I’m not sure.

Love is a fickle word with expectations and the possibility of a future attached to it. All I know is I’ve never felt a pull to be near someone like I do when I’m with him, and a part of me I didn’t know existed broke when I left.

So, that brings me back to my original question. Why come back? Why subject myself to the pain and the embarrassment of looking like an idiot to him and the people I thought were my friends?

The easy answer? Because I am a fool.

What was it Elvis said? Only fools fall in love? Or perhaps it’s that they rush in? I don’t know. However the saying goes, I did both—rushed into a relationship and fell too hard.

I slide the window shade up and notice our pilot circling the landing strip. I’ve done it again, gotten lost in my thoughts while time races away from me. I’ve been doing that a lot since moving back to Georgia. Losing time.

Fifteen minutes later, the plane touches down and I’m allowed to disembark. I grab my rolling carry-on bag and my backpack from the overhead compartment, then shuffle my way through the sea of bodies in the terminal.

After a quick chat with the car rental company, and a nerve-racking two hour drive, I finally make it to the yellow one-bedroom cottage that Hattie and Landon call home. No one pays me any attention as I cross the grassy knoll beside the house. A cruel reminder that these people were never really my friends.

I take a deep breath, hoping it will settle my nerves and head for the kitchen. Tonight isn’t a night I want to tackle sober.

The front door is open, so I let myself in. Dozens of empty bottles line the cabinet tops like trophies. It’s stupid, if you ask me, because I’d bet a hundred dollars he can’t remember anything about the parties he drank them at.

I open the fridge, unsurprised to see it filled with White Claw, beer, and Jello shots. I grab a plastic container, filled with what I’m hoping is watermelon flavored Jello. I swipe my tongue around the inside edge, loosening the gelatinous goo, and swallow. Without giving myself time to change my mind, I reach in and grab a beer. I’ve never liked White Claw, it always reminded me of flavored seltzer water, but Hattie loves the stuff.

“Ahhhhh!” a girl screams from behind me.