The Fall Up
by
by
Aly Martinez
 |
Release
Date: October 26, 2015
|
Maybe
there’s only one direction to go when two people fall
in
love at rock bottom—up.
~ Synopsis ~
I
wanted to jump.
He
made me fall.
As
a celebrity, I lived in the public eye, but somewhere along the way, I’d lost
myself in the spotlight.
Until
he found me.
Sam
Rivers was a gorgeous, tattooed stranger who saved my life with nothing more
than a simple conversation.
But
we were both standing on that bridge for a reason the night we met. The
secrets of our pasts brought us together—and then tore us apart.
Could
we find a reason to hold on as life constantly pulled us down?
Or
maybe there’s only one direction to go when two people fall in love at rock
bottom—up.
~ Add to Goodreads ~
~ Excerpt ~
Chapter One
Levee
It was raining. Isn’t that
the way all great love stories start? And also usually end? The midnight air
was cool against my skin as I stared off that bridge. My blond wig was secured
in place by a headband, and chunky sunglasses covered my whiskey-colored eyes.
I didn’t look like myself any more than I felt it. Bruises from the night
before painted my legs while fresh scabs covered my knees, but it was the
hollowness in my chest that hurt the most.
Yep.
Still me.
Which was exactly why I was
standing on that bridge, wishing for the mental fortitude to hurl myself off.
A man’s voice interrupted
my thoughts. “You finally gonna do it tonight?”
I instinctually smoothed my
fake hair down and pressed the bridge of my glasses closer to my face, sealing
out any possible glance he could catch. I stared ahead as I snapped, “Excuse
me?”
“I’ve seen you here three
nights in a row now. I was just wondering if tonight was going to be the night
you finally jump.”
My eyes flashed wide, but
since they were covered by the dark glasses, my reaction remained hidden. “I
just like the view. That’s all.” What a
load of shit.
I watched him nod out of
the corner of my eye. “Yeah me too. It’s gorgeous up here.”
Shuffling my feet to the
side, I attempted to slip away as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his
pocket and offered it my way.
“You want one?”
I shook my head and then
crept down a few inches to put distance between us.
“Suit yourself.” He used a
hand to shield the lighter from the wind, but the constant sprinkle of rain
made his task impossible. “Damn it,” he cursed with the cigarette tucked
between his lips. “Little help?” he asked, swinging his gaze to mine.
Arching an eyebrow, I
asked, “With what?”
“It’s raining…and windy…and
I’m trying to burn one.” He tilted his head, equally as incredulous.
“You want me to call God?
We had a bad breakup recently, but he might be willing to do me one last
favor.”
He breathed an exaggerated
sigh of relief. “That would be fantastic.
What’s the big guy’s response time like these days? Last time we spoke, it
was”—he paused to look at his watch—“oh, twenty-seven years.”
A soft laugh bubbled from
my throat, and one side of his mouth lifted in a gorgeous grin.
“I’m not exactly in the
mood to wait that long, so maybe you could just block the wind with your body?”
His smile spread as he stepped toward me, forcing my gaze to nervously bounce
away.
“Sorry. Can’t help you
there. Lung cancer and I broke up too.” After gathering the back of my wig into
a ponytail, I pulled it over my shoulder and turned away from him. The chill of
the wind blasted my face and roared over my ears as it rushed past me.
I went back to staring out
at the dark, choppy water, becoming lost in the idea of how cold it might be.
Is tonight the night?
No.
My feet would more than
likely never leave the edge of that bridge, but there was a definite reason why
I was imagining ending it all. Exactly zero other people in the world would
understand why. I had it all, and I dreamed about losing it all—more often than
I would ever admit, even to myself.
After stepping out of my
heels, I slipped my foot between the bars on the railing. The wind slammed my
bruised leg against the metal. “Shit,” I hissed as pain shot through me.
“You think that hurts?
Imagine falling twenty-five stories then crashing into the water, which might
as well be concrete, at speeds upward of seventy miles per hour,” the man said,
leaning on the metal railing next to me.
“Wow. Someone’s done some
research,” I said sarcastically, barely sparing him a glance.
“Daily,” he responded
frankly, causing my surprised gaze to swing to his. Simply shrugging at my
reaction, he turned his back to the railing and propped himself up on his
colorfully tattooed forearms. “You forget I’ve been here the last three nights
in a row too.” He smirked, lifting the cigarette up to his lips for a deep
inhale.
“Listen, I’m not going to jump if you’re some
kind of caped crusader on a mission. I just needed some fresh air.” I pointedly
glanced at his cigarette.
A laugh escaped his mouth in
a grey puff. “Fresh air is overrated. Especially given the reason you’re
standing here.” He knowingly arched a dark-brown eyebrow.
“Riiiiight,” I drawled,
rolling my eyes behind my glasses. “Okay, well, I was just heading out anyway.”
“Then my work here is
done.” He bowed, and the corner of my mouth lifted in a smile as I stepped back
into my shoes and walked away.
I shook my head at the
random stranger. Then, a thought struck me, stopping me only a few feet away.
Spinning back to face him, I asked, “Wait. Were you reaching out to me as a cry
for help?”
“Oh look. Designer Shoes
has a conscience!” He dropped his cigarette to the damp ground, stepping on it
with the toe of his well-worn, black boots. Bending over, he picked the butt up
and tucked it in his pocket.
At least he didn’t litter.
“Oh look. Tattooed Stalker
has jokes!” I smarted back.
He smiled, pulling another
cigarette from his pocket and then pausing just before guiding it between his
lips. “Were you judging me based on my tattoos? I’m offended.” He feigned
anguish then laughed while lifting his lighter to once again battle the wind
for a nicotine fix.
I wanted to walk away, but
he wasn’t wrong. I did have a conscience, and right then, I was worried that it
might really be his night to make good on his apparent numerous visits to the
bridge.
With a huff, I headed back
towards him, praying that I could wrap it up as quickly as possible then head
back to my house for a few hours of sleep. Or, more likely, lie awake while
staring at the ceiling and crying.
“Are you planning to jump
for real?” I asked.
His smile fell as he
focused on the water. “Nah. I don’t have the balls to do something like that.
Talking to you wasn’t a plea for help or anything. You just look worse than
usual tonight.” His gaze slid down to my battered legs.
“Oh!” I exclaimed in
understanding. “That’s not at all what you’re thinking. I fell down some
stairs.”
He quirked his lips in
disbelief.
“I’m serious!”
“I’m sure you are,” he told
the wind. “You can go. I’m good.”
I could have walked away,
but for some reason, I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders and
silently stood there while he finished his cigarette.
After a final deep inhale,
he flicked it over the railing of the bridge.
Apparently, he does litter.
Turning to me, his face
became serious. “You need to call the cops before he makes the decision to end
it all for you.”
“Who?” I asked, watching
the burning ember hit the metal column then explode in a million different
sparks before disappearing down to the water below.
Lucky cigarette.
“The stairs…and whatever inanimate object
you’re blaming for those bruises you’re hiding behind sunglasses at one in the
morning. You should call the cops before…” His voice trailed off, but his dark
gaze narrowed on mine. His eyes bored into my hidden stare, combining with the
rain and wind to send chills down my spine.
I took the moment to
secretly assess him. He was insanely sexy, but nothing like the men I was
accustomed to. His chin was the kind of scruffy that made women weak, but it
was obvious he didn’t pay four hundred dollars for his personal hairstylist to
shape it. Judging by his shaggy, brown hair that begged for me to thread my
fingers in it, I wasn’t sure he was even a barbershop kind of guy. He stood a
few inches taller than I was in heels, so I pegged him at around six one. And
while his tattooed forearms were deliciously sculpted and his shoulders were
notably defined, his body didn’t appear to be swollen with muscles from hours
spent at the gym. By the aura of bad boy
he gave off, I would have expected him to be a self-consumed, arrogant prick.
He wasn’t though.
He was just an average guy
worrying about the well-being of an average girl.
Only he couldn’t have been
more wrong, and a pang of guilt hit me hard.
Just not hard enough for me
to do anything to correct his assumptions about who I was.
Very softly, I attempted to
put his fears to rest. “I promise it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Okay,” he responded,
unconvinced. He nodded to himself before dragging another cigarette from his
pocket.
I watched him struggle for
a second before I scooted towards him, using my body to block the wind.
Biting the cigarette
between his straight, white teeth, he smiled devilishly around it. “Thanks.”
Flicking the flame to life, he hunched over until a stream of smoke swirled up
from the red tip.
“You should stop smoking.”
“Noted.” He exhaled through
his nose.
We went back to silently
staring over the side of the bridge. The familiar lights of the San Francisco
skyline danced all around us. And, even as tourists and locals alike passed by
us, I felt an odd, and unbelievably comfortable,
isolation standing there with him.
When my teeth began to
chatter, his attention was drawn my way. “I’m not here to jump. You really can
go.”
I nodded but didn’t move
away.
He chuckled, crossing his
arms over his chest and rubbing his biceps for warmth.
“How are you not frozen?” I
asked, taking in his thin Henley for the first time since we met.
Shrugging, he dropped his
cigarette, answering as he bent to retrieve it. “Thick skin? I’m used to it? I
come here a lot? I’m half Eskimo?”
I eyed him suspiciously.
“You’re cold, aren’t you?”
“Fucking. Freezing,” he
admitted, tucking his arms close to his body and blowing into his hands. “I
just came up here for one smoke. Then I saw you. Now, come on. Be a lady and
loan a man a jacket,” he joked, tugging on the edge of my coat.
I laughed, hugging it even
tighter around my body and stepping out of his reach. “How about we both just
leave? Then neither of us have to worry about the other plummeting to their
death.”
“Sounds like an amazing
plan.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of the tattered jeans riding low on
his hips. As we began the hike back down to the foot of the bridge, he asked,
“You have a name, Designer Shoes?”
I smiled and shook my head,
not willing to lie—or divulge the truth.
“Yeah. Me either,” he
replied.
I bit my bottom lip to
suppress a laugh.
Side by side, we trudged the
rest of the way in silence.
When we got to the foot of
the bridge, he turned to face me and sighed. “Well, I genuinely hope I never
see you again.”
My head snapped back in
shock, and maybe a little hurt.
But he quickly corrected
himself. “No! I just mean… Shit.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair while
I watched, amused. “I just mean, given the way we met… I…um. I hope you never
have a reason to go back up there.”
I teasingly tipped my head
to the side. “But I really like the view.”
He cleared his throat.
“Right. Of course, the view. Okay, well, have a good night.”
“You too.” I smiled
tightly, but my feet didn’t budge. I told myself that it was because I didn’t
want him to see my car or the bodyguard waiting for me behind the wheel. But,
in reality, I just wasn’t ready to leave. Home wasn’t where I wanted to be. I
didn’t actually want to be anywhere.
Not even standing at the
foot of a bridge, talking to a witty and sexy man.
Okay, maybe I wanted that a
little bit.
“Yep. Have a good night,” he repeated, shoving
his hands inside his pockets and slowly backing away.
I gave him a quick wave,
which he returned before he jogged in the other direction.
I smiled to myself, shaking
my head at the entire interaction—secretly lamenting that it hadn’t been
longer.
~ About the Author ~
Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly
Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five,
including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what
little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands
on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.
After
some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her
ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of
slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with
Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.
~ Connect with Aly ~
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