Fall Back Skyward (Fall Back #1)
Autumn Grey
We struggle.
We fall.
We rise.
We fight.
This book is dedicated to anyone who has fought, and is still fighting their inner demons.
Just remember that you are more than enough.
About the book:
Eleven years ago, I saved her. I loved her. But they took me away from her and locked me up. For two years, all I could think about was her. She consumed me. Took up every room in my head and gave me something to focus on, knowing I would see her soon.
Nine years ago, I watched her as she walked down the aisle and into the arms of a man who wasn’t me. My brother. I left my home and never looked back.
Now, I’m staring at seven letters, each envelope stamped with one word in bold, red ink: URGENT.
I have no choice but to go back home. Seeing her will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But in order to reconcile with my past, I have to face my present. Even if the thought of seeing her, knowing that she is out of my reach, kills me.
I have no idea what awaits me, but I can only hope that the demons of my past will finally be buried and put to rest.
**Due to possible triggering descriptions of self-harm, and some sexual situations this book is not recommended for anyone under the age of 17 years old**
I’ve seen the inside of hell,
battled my demons
and clawed my way into the light.
Every scar on my skin has a story to tell.
Every scar makes me who I am today.
A survivor.
Eleanor Blake
“I’M GOING TO PRETEND YOU didn’t just turn me down and try this again,” the woman sitting in the passenger seat signs before crawling across the console and trying to plant herself on my lap.
I jerk back, getting ready to shove her back to her seat. Too late. She’s already straddling my hips and making herself comfortable.
What the hell? I can’t believe this woman. Ever since Lawrence and Barnes Architects & Engineers was contracted for this residential project, she has been hitting on me. She was relentless the entire time we were in Boston.
She grinds herself on top of me. “Come upstairs for a cup of coffee?”
I reach for the door and flip it open, and then motion with my chin for her to leave the Suburban.
Of course, she doesn’t.
“So, you’re mad at me now?” she asks, leaning forward and nipping my jaw. Her fingers slide up the front of my T-shirt and halt on the right side of my chest. She tugs the nipple ring through the fabric there, and bites her lip. Her hands are too busy feeling me up so she leans back making sure I can see her lips, and says, “I’ve heard rumors around the office, Cole. I’ve heard you have a gift for making women see heaven.”
I roll my eyes. Apparently, my one night of drunken misadventure five years ago, which I highly regret right now, made me a stallion in bed. Not that I mind. But messing around with the people I work with is not my thing.
Glancing up at the rear view mirror, I focus on pulling my shit together and catch a glimpse of my cat, Sirius, batting furiously at the metal bars of the carrier. I should open it and set him loose on this woman. I’m that desperate. I mean, what part of ‘I’m not interested’ doesn’t she understand?
“Get the fuck out, Sam,” I sign quickly, feeling my temper rising.
She stares at me blankly, her bottom lip pushed forward. Sam is the ASL interpreter the company insisted my colleague, Tate West, and I bring to Boston with us. I had perfected lip reading by the time I was eleven and my verbal communication is not bad, thanks to the speech therapy. I hardly ever need an interpreter anymore unless I’m attending a large meeting, and neither does Tate. He was born deaf to hearing parents as the result of a recessive gene, but he is just as good in ASL, lip reading and speech.
Sometimes a client feels more comfortable if an interpreter is present during meetings.
Right now, I’m exhausted after the five-hour drive. All I want is a good meal, beer and my bed. The past few weeks working on the project were exhausting. Now I’m hoping to grab some downtime.
This woman is not my type.
My chest tightens as the memory of the only person I consider “my type” flashes in my head. Her name a torturous whisper that has my chest aching, reminding me I’ll never forget her no matter how hard I try.
Eleanor Blake, but she preferred her nickname, Nor.
Shit. I shouldn’t go there. Nothing good comes out of it. She belongs to someone else now. Besides, why remember something that rips your heart out over and over again?
Already fed up with Sam’s clinginess, I grab her by the hips and exit the car. After quickly depositing her on the sidewalk, I duck inside, meeting Sirius’ furious green eyes, and snatch Sam’s travel bag off the back seat. I shove it into her waiting arms and get back inside the car.