If You Fall

Eight

Bella slept on the couch because that was where she passed out, and at four the next day we went to the water tower. It was cloudy but no rain was in the forecast.

"You're so fucking crazy," she said in a raised voice, doing so because I was halfway up the iron rungs. She had both feet on the ground as always. She was terrified of heights.

"This is what we call a cake walk," I said condescendingly, not even breaking a sweat. I'd done it a few hundred times, half of them alone. It was like walking to the mailbox. If I'd had a mailbox. Which I didn't.

"If you fall and break your neck I'm not carrying your ass to the car," she warned me.

I just continued to the top as she grew smaller. It was windy, and perfect. I sat up there for half an hour and let it blow away some of my stress. I felt sorry for people who didn't climb.

When we returned to my house, the hairs stood up on the back of my neck as I parked. "Wait," I said to her, holding my arm out to keep her from exiting the car.

"What? I have to pee."

"Something's weird, just wait." I looked around. It was almost dark. Then I saw.

Reed's boots were on the porch, covered in mud but set neatly side by side outside the door. Which meant he'd parked the Jeep around back. "Okay!" I said, too excited, not caring.

"Shit," she said, knowing. "It's him, isn't it. He's here. Oh my God, your face. You have it worse than ever."

I ignored her in my haste to get to the door, which I could hear him unlocking, and then he was hugging me tightly and I felt like I could breathe again for the first time since he left. "I didn't bring roses this time, either; I'm oh for two, chérie."

"Ugh, gross," Bella said behind me.

"Hello, Isabella," he said, his accent stronger as it was when he was nervous. He knew how she felt about him, and why, and he didn't hold it against her.

"Bon jour, Romeo," she said sarcastically. "She doesn't need flowers, you know. She needs stability. Reliability, even."

"Stop it," I hissed at her as we went inside, Reed automatically bolting the door and resetting the alarm. She stuck her tongue out at me.

"N'importe quoi," he said to me with a wink, basically whatever, don't pay attention to her. He was wearing a blue button up shirt, the top two buttons open, black denim cutoffs, and purple socks.

"I speak French, too, if you recall," she said dryly. She also picked up languages quickly, and had lived with a French family for over a year before they gave up on dealing with her emotional problems.

"Ça fait longtemps, but I do recall."  Been a long time. "It's your Spanish that will come in handy, however, ma vieux." Old pal . . . yeah, right. They'd met a handful of times, but weren't exactly friends. Bella was difficult to be around when she liked you, let alone when she had it in for you.

"How so?" she asked warily.

He put a finger to his lips and gestured into the living room. We peeked, wary. A small boy lay curled up on the couch, thumb in mouth, fast asleep. He was dirty and his face bore injuries likely afflicted by another person. His head was clean shaven and he was covered with my soft pink blanket.

We ducked back out and into the entry way, which in my tiny cabin basically included the kitchen too. There were only two bar stools, but he gestured for us to take them and opened the fridge.