Page 12 of Fall With Me
“I can do this, Carter. Leave it up to me.”
“It’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible. I’m new at Crenshaw Solutions, but I’m not new as a software engineer. Keep me on the project. Please.”Nothing like coming across as needy. Rein it in man.
Carter puts his hands up and leans back in his chair as if he’s admitting defeat. “Fine, I’ll take some of the smaller jobs off your plate and let you focus on Creative Source. But Dawson, we need this contract in order to keep growing as a company. I’m not pleased with what they did, but it’s up to you to keep these guys happy anyway you can. Got it?”
A weight similar to two tons of steel settles on my shoulders. “Understood.”
Carter points at me. “Come December, if you’re not eighty percent finished, you tell me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods. “Good. Now get out of here and get some work done.”
I almost salute him but stop myself just in time. Leaving his office, I find an empty cubicle in the back corner and hook up my laptop to the other two monitors, put my headphones on, and wearily start what will undoubtedly be a string of fourteen-hour days.
I’ll find time with Finn somehow.
Chapter 7
Chloe
Seven cars pack into Carter’s driveway and in front of his house for the football game. Of course, I’m running late and have to park a few houses down. I rush into Carter’s stately two-story home without knocking, afraid I missed most of the first quarter of the Utah football game.
Passing the office and formal living room on either side of the front entryway, I walk down the short hallway leading to the open floor plan at the back of the house. As usual, the sectional is full of people. Enough food to feed a small army litters the island. And my best friend is standing next to my brother behind the couch, smiling.
Spotting me, Kate ditches Carter, meeting me by the island. I set my bowl of homemade salsa and a bag of tortilla chips on the counter. It’s laughable looking at Carter’s updated home with light-gray cabinets, hardwood floors, and big-screen TV compared to my small duplex with outdated carpet, tiles, and yellow kitchen counters. Who knewtwins could end up in such vastly different circumstances as adults?
“It’s about time you got here,” Kate says, snatching paper plates from the corner of the counter and handing me one. “I thought I’d be the only girl and I’ve been waiting for your salsa.”
“Sorry.” My lips pull down, mirroring my mood. “I got distracted this afternoon and lost track of time.” And by distracted, I mean lying on my couch absently scrolling through social media, trying to block out Mom and what she did to us from my mind. By the time I came up for air (three hours later), it was time for me to head to Carter’s, but I hadn’t made the salsa yet. If I didn’t love being around my twin and watching football, I would have stayed home.
“Are you okay?” Kate’s gaze rakes over me like she’s trying to assess what’s wrong with me.
Physically, yes. But mentally and emotionally? Not really. Moments I try not to think about too often hit me out of nowhere today. A few scrolled through my mind like a movie stuck on repeat.
Like the time I started my period and didn’t know exactly what was happening to me or what to do about it. With tears streaming down my face, my stomach cramping, I was stuck on the toilet because I was too scared to move. I silently screamed, wishing for the ten millionth time that Mom—the pre-sixth-birthday Mom—was around.
Or when Thomas Richards flirted with me for weeks in eighth grade, then when we attended the same party, he sought me out and gave me my first kiss. The next week at school, he refused to acknowledge I existed. My heartripped in two as I struggled to understand why he’d do that. Was I not good enough for him anymore? Was I someone he thought he could use then throw away?
All I wanted was for Mom to cradle me in her lap and stroke my hair like she did when I scraped a knee as a kid, reassuring me I’d be all right. When we turned six, she met Lewis, and the Mom we knew vanished. In her place was a woman no longer capable of cooking, doing our laundry, or taking us to the park. She quit her job, spent her time doing drugs and drinking, and ignored Carter and me. Mom no longer wanted us. She discarded us like we were used tissues, instead of children in her care.
Blinking away the moisture pooling in my eyes, I force my lips into a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine. Just stuff from my past that resurfaced.”
A crease forms between Kate’s brows, her lips softening into an almost frown. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Goodness, no. That’s the last thing I want. “Eating and watching the game with you is the distraction I need.” Pointing to the platter on the counter, I say, “What have you tried?”
“Nothing yet. I was waiting for you.” Grabbing a spoon from the box next to the plates, she scoops a few spoonfuls of my salsa onto her plate then opens the chip bag and grabs a fistful. “The bean dip looks good though.”
“Which dish is Carter’s?” Whatever he makes often gets eaten first. I do fairly well in the kitchen myself, but when Grammy said she never wanted us to struggle to feed ourselves like we did when Mom was strung out, Carter ran with learning his way around a recipe.
“He made the bacon-wrapped jalapenos and the Stromboli.”
I bump her hip with mine. “How early did you show up?”
“Only ten minutes before the game started. I went shopping with my mom this morning.”
