Never Stop Falling Read online

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Six Years Ago

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Five Years Later

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Today

  Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Audrey

  He said he couldn’t wait for me.

  His last words continue to echo in my thoughts, silencing the drone of the airplane’s engines. About a month has passed since, but his words are so deafening he might as well be sitting beside me with a bullhorn at my ear. Though, I wouldn’t mind it, since he’d only be inches away instead of a few thousand miles, close enough so that my knee would fall against his. I’d lay my head along the broad plateau of his shoulder, and our elbows would playfully battle it out over the armrest between us. Eventually, I’d let him win.

  I glance at the empty seat to my left, and for a split second, I almost wish it was occupied. Perhaps then, I’d be too distracted by an airplane-etiquette-dimwit sitting in Seat B, with his blatant disregard for personal space as his foot ventures into space clearly meant for Seat A—me. The vacant seat is only a reminder of the emptiness in my heart. So, Dimwit in Seat B, bring on the bad manners because you’d actually be doing me a favor.

  “Can I offer you anything to drink, sweetheart?” the flight attendant asks as she reaches my row with the beverage cart, an extra amount of cheer exuding from her dimpled grin. This woman embodies the definition of Miss Susie Sunshine, with the right amount of bounce in her golden locks, her cheeks a rosy pink that perfectly contour her heart-shaped face, and her pearly whites nearly blinding me as a flash of sunlight pokes through the window and dances off of them. If this is what happiness smells like at nine in the morning, then I just got a big whiff of it because this woman reeks of cheer. Then again, I do have to applaud her. Not many people have as much cheer in their entire body as she does in her right pinky.

  I eye the selection before telling her, “I’ll take the strongest thing you’ve got on that cart of yours. Whatever says: ‘I’m moving across the country for a guy who probably doesn’t want me anymore because I pretty much threw his declaration of love in his face, but hey, a girl can try, right?’ Whatever says that, I’ll take it.”

  The flight attendant grins and winks at me. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Corinne.”

  “Corinne, I’ve got just the thing for you.”

  She scans through her beverage selection and pulls out two little bottles of vodka with one hand, and a canned tomato juice and cup of ice with the other. I guess she’s done this countless times before. For this exact reason, maybe not, but surely she’s heard and seen it all. I reach for my purse wedged beneath the seat in front of me, but she simply shakes her head as she hands me the drinks.

  “Good luck, Corinne.”

  I return her generosity with an appreciative smile.

  She leaves as I pull down the seat-back tray and place the vodka, tomato juice, and cup on top of it. I ought to stick to one bottle because the last time I had hard liquor, I paid dearly for it. One drink at thirty-thousand feet equals two, so I’ve heard, and if by some miracle, he is waiting for me when I disembark, well, I want to be coherent, not letting my mouth run off and calling redheads who I don’t know fire-crotch. I still can’t believe I said that.

  I want to feel every single way he affects me. The way my heart leaps out of my chest and makes a dash for him the moment his eyes meet mine. The way my insides flutter when his mouth curls into that irresistible smile of his. The way every bone in my body seems to liquefy the second he pulls me against him. His scent, his touch, the burn of his gaze, the warmth of his lips—all manifesting into one heavenly addiction, and the sight of him intoxicating me. At least in my head, that’s how it plays out.

  Still, there is that little thing called reason, lingering in the back of my mind, never failing to bring me back to reality. I’m not even sure he read my e-mail. And if he did, perhaps he was too far gone to care. Perhaps he meant what he said when I walked away. He couldn’t wait.

  I lean back against the headrest and gaze through the window. The blue sky stretches far beyond the horizon, greeting the morning sun in the distance with hardly a cloud in sight. The earth looks like nothing more than a computer motherboard from thirty-thousand feet as it slowly moves beneath us. Picking up one of the bottles and twisting the cap to open it, I pour the contents into my cup.

  “Cabin crew, call the flight deck,” the captain’s voice suddenly commands over the loudspeaker.

  I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about the captain’s voice that rings concern. The announcement is soon followed by the vibration of heavy footsteps rushing by, and I see the cheery woman striding up the aisle toward the male flight attendant who is speaking on the phone near the front of the plane. Only, she doesn’t look so cheery anymore.

  Instead, every thud and thump against the floor sounds distressed, as if the tension in her furrowed brow is weighing her down. The male flight attendant hangs up the phone as quickly as he picked it up, simply nodding his head as soon as the female reaches him. They speak, and something tells me this conversation has nothing to do with beverages or peanuts.

  You don’t gasp over peanuts.

  And she gasps.

  The female stills before turning toward the back of the plane, her eyes scanning over the occupied seats. I would never guess her to be the same cheery person from earlier. Her cheeks are drained of color. Her dimpled smile is now a frown. Her forehead glistens with sweat.

  This look, I know it. She’s trying to hide it, but I see it. It screams fear. Pure, tangible fear.

  And then everything begins to unravel.

  The two flight attendants part, the female walking hastily down the aisle past me, her mouth forced into a smile.

  The plane makes a sharp, sudden turn, knocking the bottles and can to the floor. I’m too startled to check if the leftover tomato juice has spilled.

  A loud ding, and the voice of the captain rings through the cabin once again—cool and strangely calm—telling us to remain in our seats. Telling us to keep on our safety belts. That he has to land the plane immediately. And not to worry.

  It’s only when I tighten my seat belt that I notice the big, damp spot soaking through my jeans, and the ice cubes lying in my lap; the plastic cup—crushed in my hand—is now empty.

  The plane begins to descend quickly, and I toss the empty cup aside and firmly grasp both armrests at the sudden, jerky movements.

  The voice of a male passenger echoes from where he sits a few rows ahead. With the in-flight phone pressed to his ear, he sounds concerned, but I can only make out the word emergency due to the growing chatter all around. The commotion only seems to intensify when his voice grows louder.

  As whispers of chaos circulate through the cabin, passengers grow frantic, holding onto their seat belts with white knuckles. Many are trying to remain still—eyes closed, faces frozen as if sitting for
a macabre portrait. Someone behind me begins to cry.

  Fear rolls over each row of the plane until it finally swallows me.

  I gasp. My ears shut out all the panic around me so that I hear nothing else. And then my gasp is silenced by my heavy breaths. And my breathing is silenced by my pounding heart.

  And then everything falls silent.

  Except for his words. They echo in my head, the last words I might’ve heard him say.

  “All right, people. Vegas or tattoos?” I ask, propping myself on my elbows while I lie beside Tess on the sandy shores below the boardwalk. The sun blazes down on us, the ivory color of our skin fading away as it soaks up the glow of summer. I adjust my polka-dotted bikini top and wipe away the sweat pooling between the fabric and my skin. “What’s it going to be?”

  Nick stands at the edge of the Santa Cruz shore, snapping photos of the Pacific. His bare feet leave imprints on the wet sand as the water ripples over them. Ever since his parents gave him the Nikon for his birthday, he hasn’t put it down, taking it everywhere he goes, and somehow making me the third wheel. Though he isn’t Ansel Adams, he certainly has an eye for capturing life. With each click of the finger, he focuses his attention on his shot and completely ignores me.

  I sit up, looking to Tess, who’s flipping through her copy of Seventeen, then to her brother, tapping my fingers together as I wait for an answer. “Anyone care to chime in? Or am I talking to a wall here?”

  Nick places the camera on his towel and turns his face toward the sun, pulling his arms behind his head for a long, drawn-out stretch. “No tattoos.”

  “And why not?” I question, like it’s the most absurd thing he could say.

  “What do you mean ‘why not?’ Because they’re so...permanent.”

  Chuckling, I raise an eyebrow at him. “No shit, Sherlock. That’s kind of the point.”

  “What I mean to say is that you’re stuck with it. Forever. I admit, they can actually be kinda cool if you get something meaningful.” He lifts his sunglasses to wipe away the moisture building around his nose, and looks at me with his accusing, olive-green eyes. “But you, on the other hand, haven’t thought it through. So, the answer is no. If you think I’d actually allow some Tommy Lee wannabe to stick a needle in you after you pick a random picture off the wall of the world’s worst tattoos, then I would be the world’s worst friend.”

  Huh. Sounds like something I would do. I’d probably take the extra step and go blindfolded, spinning around ten times before I stumble toward the wall to choose the lucky tattoo that would forever grace the patch of skin on my lower back, directly above my ass crack—A.K.A. the tramp stamp. I love how Nick knows me so well.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  “I don’t know why I even bother.” He sighs. “We always do what you want anyway, eh, hot shot?”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” Tess interjects, her attention still on the magazine. “She got you and Braiden to jump out of an airplane. It’s the only time I’ve appreciated being younger than you guys.”

  “Well, I’d rather be a hot shot than a chicken shit.” I shoot Nick an evil eye because he knows how much I despise that nickname, and he returns it with a wave of his middle finger. “And Tess, you wanted to jump out of that plane with us.”

  She brings the magazine down to her chest and peers up at me from beneath her sunglasses. “Oh, for sure. I wanted to jump out of that plane almost as much as Nicholas and Braiden wanted to.”

  “Hey,” Nick says as he points his finger at Tess. “At least I didn’t cry on the plane ride up.”

  She smacks her leg, and a loud laugh bubbles out of her throat. “Didn’t Braiden claim it was the harness that made him cry?”

  “Yup.” He nods. “He said it was squeezing the life out of his balls.”

  “Both of you babies were scared shitless,” I claim, rolling my eyes. Though, I can’t help but laugh when I think about how much they resisted my celebratory graduation plan. “All I’m saying is there are so many other things we can do besides watching the fireworks. It was fun when we were kids, but aren’t we too old for that shit now?”

  “Says who? Come on, Corinne,” Tess insists, nudging my arm with her finger. “It’s tradition. You know we always end up having a good time.”

  I scoff. “Oh please! As long as Mary Jane and Don Julio come along, right?”

  She lowers her sunglasses to the tip of her nose, revealing playful green eyes. “You can’t go wrong with those two. But all joking aside, everyone is going off to college. This may be the last Fourth we’re all together. Let’s just do it. One last time.” Tess lifts her sunglasses back up and over her eyes, as if the thought puts a damper on her mood.

  “Are you kidding me? None of us—” I gesture to our little circle “—are going anywhere. Have you forgotten that I live right down the street from you? And will for the next four years, at least.”

  Nick always knew he wanted to stay close to home for college, while I struggled with the curiosity to live life beyond this quiet, California beach town. But, since Dad is a professor at the university, it would be stupid to pass up a free education. Plus, I couldn’t imagine leaving Nick.

  Maybe one day, he and I will have to go our separate ways, but thinking about it makes my heart ache. At least for now, I’ve bought us four more years together.

  “Well, Gemma’s leaving,” Tess mumbles.

  “Gemma?” I echo and scoff, shaking my head. “She doesn’t count. All right, Vegas it is,” I declare, clapping my hands together to settle the conversation.

  Nick exhales a soft chuckle. “Right, because there is so much to do in Vegas for a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.”

  “And one seventeen-year-old,” Tess chimes in, lifting her arm above her head and pointing down at herself.

  “It’s called a fake ID,” I rebut. “I’m pretty sure we can get one made on any street corner in Vegas.”

  “And I’m pretty sure that any casino pit boss can spot those things from a million miles away,” Nick argues.

  “Good God, you’re so by the book!”

  “He wouldn't be Nick if he wasn't,” Tess reminds me, lifting the magazine away from her chest and continuing either with the ‘Am I a Snob’ quiz or the ‘How I Learned to Kiss’ article.

  I might have to borrow her copy later.

  I heave a disgruntled sigh, annoyed at how quick Nick is to shoot down my idea. I mean, there are things to do in Vegas besides gambling and drinking and clubbing. I can’t think of any right now, but I’m sure there are. In any case, I don’t see them coming up with a better idea.

  I wave my hands in front of my face, unsuccessfully fanning away the stifling heat. It’s one of those sporadic, hot summer days that send flocks of heat-starved residents to the beach. Thousands of bodies, all different shapes, colors, and sizes, cover the sandy shore, and I’d bet the view of the beach from a few thousand feet in the air would look like an ant farm. Children play in the sand, burying one another neck deep and building magnificent sand castles with their shovels and buckets. Off in the distance, a few of them run and throw themselves into the cool, shimmering water.

  “Fine. If not Vegas, let’s take a drive somewhere,” I propose.

  “Oh yeah, where?” Nick questions, picking up his camera as he aims it directly at me.

  “Anywhere! Down the coast, up the coast, across the state, the country. We always said we wanted to take a road trip, right?”

  “I don’t know, Cori. It’s so last minute, and we’re not prepared and—”

  “That’s what makes it fun—the spontaneity.”

  “Spontaneity, eh?” And instantly, Nick is down on the sand beside me. He flicks the sunglasses off my face, throws his arm around my shoulders, and snaps a photo of us with his camera at arm’s length, nudging his sweaty nose against my flushed cheek. “There! Now that’s spontaneous!”

  I wipe the moisture off my face. “You and that damn camera!” I try to act annoyed but fail to fight the grin cu
rling across my face. His idea of spontaneity is pretty darn cute.

  Nick stands, brushing away the sand sticking to his torso. My eyes scan his six-foot, toned body as it glistens with sweat, the sun’s rays skimming over every contour. The sweat along his forehead throws his brown, widow’s-peaked hair into disarray, a look that complements his smooth jawline and heart-shaped lips. My eyes fixate on a single bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face and tracing the dip in his neck. Guys and sweat don’t always agree with each other, but Nick? I agree to disagree; sweat definitely agrees with him. I watch the sweat as it plunges down over his defined chest...

  Aaannnnd I’m staring. Why the heck am I staring? My cheeks redden while my heart tries to claw out of my chest. I’m fanning myself like a geisha on speed, yanking my eyes away, hoping neither he nor Tess noticed. Thankfully, they’re both looking in the opposite direction.

  I don’t know how I would have explained the obvious ogling. Holy shit, I was just ogling my best friend. I always knew that Nick was easy on the eyes, but um...hello! This ogling behavior was new for me. What was I doing?

  I catch myself staring again when he continues the ‘What to do?’ conversation. Oh yes. That. Nick’s delicious body had knocked that concern much further down my list of things to care about.

  Um. Did I just say delicious?

  “With the risk of drunk drivers on the road tonight, I think we ought to avoid taking long drives anywhere, Cori. Let’s just keep it simple at my house. Braiden and Gemma are already planning on meeting up with us.”

  “Yay,” I remark sarcastically, throwing two fists in the air like the lamest cheerleader on the planet. “So glad I’ll get to see Gemma one last time. You know, because we put the bud in buddies.”

  Am I the only one ready to hang freaking streamers and throw confetti once that broad goes away for college?

  It’s obvious I’m not a fan of Gemma Riordan. If it wasn’t for her former infatuation with Nick, I might still like her. Her reputation as the school’s ‘human praying mantis’ hadn’t bothered me, until she took a liking in Nick junior year. He’d set her straight on his feelings long ago, and he claims that she sees him merely as a friend now. Still, I beg to differ. Plus, the girl looks like she crawled out of one of Tess’s magazines, with her long, champagne-blonde hair and huge rack, which she’ll use to lure in her prey before biting their heads off.