Fall with Me (Playing for Keeps, #4)

by Becka Mack

The thing about needing someone else is that there will inevitably come a day when they’re not there.

think that’s the thing about power. You have to consciously decide you want it. That you want to feel it coursing through your veins as you take control of your life, your destiny. And you have to go after it.

Because this life is mine. The decisions I make are mine. I get to decide the way this life plays out. I get to decide what I want and how I chase it.

I’ll tell you something, though. Hope is a funny, fickle thing. You hold on to it for so long, refusing to give it up, and one day you just loosen your grip, watching it sift through your fingers, so damn tired you don’t even care as it disappears.

I don’t understand how something so quiet can feel so fucking loud.

“The best things in life are scary. That’s why we close our eyes when we jump. But we still jump, don’t we?”

“You had one job in your relationship, and it was to love her. You failed. You failed to respect her, to listen to her, to root for her. You failed to be her friend, and you failed to be her partner. Day after day, you fucking failed her. And you don’t get to show up here now and pretend like you deserve even the consideration of a second chance.”

“She deserves someone who does things just to make her smile. She deserves better, and you had the chance to give it to her. You chose not to.”

“We’re all scared of things,” Carter murmurs. “It’s what you do with that fear that matters. You can spend your life pushing away the people who want to love you because you’re afraid one day you’ll lose them. Or you can cling to it. The love, the happiness, that full feeling that makes you realize how truly empty you were before them. Life is hard enough as it is. There’s no reason for any of us to do it alone.”

“Here it is, honey. I love you. I am so goddamn, mind-blowingly in love with you, and the thought of losing you is killing me. I don’t want you to go. This place only feels like a home when you’re here.” I whisper my final plea. “Please, honey. Please stay.”