Page 2 of Freefall

He didn’t get enough what? Time with his own children. Whose fault is that?

I don’t say that, though. In fact, I don’t say anything. I wait for him to continue, knowing that there’s nothing else he could say to ease my anger. My knee starts bouncing, and that’s when I feel the uneasiness crawl up my spine. Like that stupid fucking kiss with Jackie Norway.

The loss of control.

It only got worse after Jackie. I started playing football in high school to help calm the noise, and it worked for a little while, but then I overheard some of the guys talking about my sister, Emory, and what they wanted to do to her since she “grew up” over the summer. They didn’t realize I was still in the locker room. It wasn’t my first fistfight, and it wouldn’t be my last, but something about it felt different. It felt like I didn’t have a say in what my body was doing, like I was a puppet being controlled by an invisible force, and I hated the feeling of being powerless.

I tried not to lose my cool after that. I calculated every single step, every decision I made. If I controlled my environment and everything around me, I could control the anger—the need to hurt someone to feel a fucked up sense of relief. I started by warning every guy who came within a ten-mile radius of my sister to stay away from her. If they didn’t talk to her, they couldn’t do all that shit they talked about doing, and then I wouldn’t have to bash their heads into lockers.

Problem solved.

Except that I ruined her entire life.

She forgave me, but I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that. I was trying to protect her, especially after all that shit that went down with Taylor in high school, but in the end, I made her even more vulnerable to monsters like him.

As if I conjured her, my phone rings and Emory’s face lights up the screen. She’s holding Rowan in her arms, and they both have goofy smiles etched on their faces.

I’m about to answer when a throat clears.

I almost forgot about the man sitting in front of me.

“I want you to take over, Nate. You’ve been practically running the company as it is. I’m not going to step down immediately. We can take it slow, but I am going to be taking more time off, and eventually…” Once again, he trails off. What is with him not being able to finish a damn thought?

“Do I have a choice?” I ask.

He laughs softly as if my question is ridiculous. “Of course you have a choice.”

“Then, I’ll think about it.”

I don’t need to think about it. Of course, I’m going to do it. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and as much as I would hate to admit it to my father, I enjoy working here. It’s organized. Everyone has a purpose; every client has security needs that we have the means and staff to handle. We run the gamut—from protecting companies from amateur hackers trying to make a few bucks to neutralizing cyberterrorism threats. If there’s a breach, we send in our best analysts to figure out what happened and fix it.

Every problem has a solution.

We have a small, more unpredictable personal security division, but I try to stay out of it. My father recently promoted our best agent, Dustin, to Head of Operations, so he deals with that side of the company.

“Okay,” he finally says after staring me down for a good twenty seconds. “Let me know what you decide.”

Giving him a small nod, I stand up to leave.

“Nate.”

“Yeah?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply before his mouth forms a tight-lipped smile. “Never mind. We’ll talk soon.”

I nod again, sparing one last glance at the five picture frames before I’m out the door and on my way to my office.

That’s how most of our conversations have gone since I started working here after college, minus the part where he decides to retire and wants me to take over the company. My dad has never been much of a talker. He avoids feelings, which is fine because I usually avoid them too. Feelings are messy and chaotic.

They don’t follow rules.

I wince at the intrusion of her voice in my head. I’ve managed to stave it off for a while now, but it always seems to come back. It doesn’t matter if it’s been days, weeks, or months; her words always have a way of penetrating my thoughts when I least expect it. Or she finds me in my dreams, and they feel so real that I wake up believing she came back. Or that she never left. Most people fear nightmares because they make you believe something terrible is happening to you, but I’m not afraid of nightmares. Good dreams are far worse because they make you believe you’re okay, only to wake up and realize your life is the nightmare.

I shake my head, hoping to rid myself of any thoughts of her when my phone rings again. My heart sinks. Emory doesn’t usually call so many times in rapid succession, so my mind immediately goes to the worst-case scenario.

“Are you okay?” I ask as soon as I answer the call.

“Define okay,” she says. There’s a slight edge of panic to her voice.