Page 120 of Falling Into Forever
SAYLOR
There’s a deafening roar from outside, and I leap from my chair then spin in place while my mind searches for safety. I press a hand to my chest like I can calm the harsh reactions that way.
The reporters are here, from gossip sites to cable news stations, but they’ve never been that loud. Over the last week, they’ve become background noise to my writing, but this is so disruptive it broke my concentration.
I startle again at a loud knock on my back door and my heart thunders in my chest. Grady and Lena have keys, and no one else comes by until after dark.
“Sassy? It’s Blake,” a loud baritone calls over the noise.
What?
My feet eat up the distance in a few steps, and I’m taking the stairs two at a time before my brain kicks in.
Wait. What if it’s not really him?
“Prove that you’re Blake,” I call through the closed door.
“Mr. Pox.” His answer sucks the air from my lungs, suffocating me with memories as I slowly unlock the door.
Mr. Pox was Shannon’s stuffed animal she’d had since she was a baby. I’d demanded we bury her and her son with it.
My hands shake harder than my body as I slowly open the door and find Blake Kingston, the man I once loved like a brother.
“Blake? What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
Manners kick in even though my mind is working through murky waters, and I move aside so he can enter, then I follow him up the stairs.
I haven’t seen him since he FaceTimed us drunk on the first anniversary of the accident. He’d looked like he was dying then, and it wasn’t until sometime later that I understood he probably was. Your heart can still beat long after you stop living.
But today, he’s clean-shaven and wearing a suit. His skin is pale but not drawn like last time. He’s still sad, but maybe not as haunted.
“Can I sit?”
I’m standing there gaping at him like a fish out of water, but I nod.
He drops into a chair, then hangs his head and holds it in his hands, so I cross the room and silently sink into the chair across from him.
“I’m sorry,” he says without lifting his head.
“You’re sorry? For what?”
When he lifts his gaze, I’m faced with a physical representation of the pain I’ve been wearing for so many years.
“I don’t go online, Sassy. I don’t watch the news. I don’t even talk to anyone. I had no idea this had gotten out until a friend showed up on my doorstep to kick my ass.”
He drags a hand through his hair, and I do a double take when some sparkles float to the floor in front of him. Is he shedding pixie dust? My lips curl up in surprise. “Are you wearing glitter?”
His expression shuts down so fast I almost laugh. “Fucking friends,” he mutters. “It doesn’t matter. While I appreciate he showed up, my friend has the sense of humor of a ten-year-old girl. Hence the glitter.” When I don’t say anything, he says, “He basically threw glitter at me for having my head up my ass. Don’t ask. It’ll never make sense to anyone but him.”
He scans my home with an expression of nostalgia and regret. “Have you been trapped in here because of them?”
I shrug, still shocked that he’s sitting in my living room.
“I’m writing,” I explain.
“What happened with your publisher?”
