The Fall

by Tal Bauer

So what do you do when you’ve grown up with a drive gouged on the inside of your bones—play for this one thing, this one thing, the only thing I craved and yearned and strove for—and it collapses? Or when you collapse because the reality of you cannot bear the real world, burdened by your hopes and dreams?

How do you fix yourself when you don’t know what’s broken? How do you find your way when you’re so lost you don’t know which way is north?

He has mile-wide shoulders and biceps I could only dream of. He’s not model-cut, but he’s solid. Break-you-in-half solid. He’s beautiful.

I want to remember the first kiss all over again. I want to know if my heart leapt or if it was something quieter, more inevitable, the sun warming me up from the marrow out. I want the memory of us, of Blair’s hands mapping my skin, of what meals we ate, when we first touched, who started what.

His gaze stays locked on me. He’s got the ocean in his eyes, all those beautiful shades of blue swirled together. I want to look away, hide, and I also want to swan dive right into the center of that storm. Pure longing squeezes my chest.

I lean in, closing the distance. Our lips meet. It’s not Blair’s first kiss, but it is mine, and it’s perfect. It’s fireworks and lazy mornings and gentle midnights, promises and declarations and silent, secret glances, all at once. It’s a tidal wave, pulling me under, and I’m not even close to fighting it. I’ve dreamed of this moment, but reality is so much better.

In my memories, Blair Callahan was a hardened hockey warrior, all go, all fight, all grit, no quit. But here? Now? He’s a completely different man. He’s gentle. Tender. Loving. He is the sun.

Blair catches me staring at him, and, God, he looks at me like I’m the only thing he needs.

Every inch of me is branded with the heat of him. I want to bottle this feeling, this intense, aching sense of belonging.

“Sometimes I look at you,” he says, his voice low, “and I forget how quiet my life was before.”

All I understand right now is that I want to belong to him, to be the Torey he remembers, the one who loves him without fear or hesitation.

It scares me how deep this love runs when I have no memory of how we got here. Every atom of me is oriented toward him. He is my North Star.

How does he do this? Create the feeling that we’re the only people in the universe with a touch, a look? As if we’re tangled in sheets and whispering secrets against each other’s skin? Does he see how unsteady I am now, how thoroughly undone?

He’s everything: my anchor, my lifeline, my reason for being. The world blurs when he’s this close.

He is beautiful in the moving shadows. He’s hard edges and sin, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters.

How do you mourn someone who’s standing right in front of you? How do you let go of a love that was only ever yours?

I want Blair to look at me. I want him to laugh like he used to. I want him to ask me if I remember Philadelphia, Boston, Pittsburgh. Midnights and rooftops and sneaking into locker rooms before dawn.

Twenty-eight days sober, and Blair Callahan is still the only drug I can’t quit.

Either way, I want him to know all of me: the parts I’ve buried, the pieces I’ve worked to forget, and the places I have yet to discover inside myself.

“You play differently now,” he says. “Different good or different bad?” He takes another sip. “Different interesting.” “I didn’t think anyone noticed.” The music thrums around us, but we exist in our own pocket of quiet. His eyes drift over my face. “I’m not anyone.”

“And if you want something breathtaking, you’d better be willing to burn for it.”

Hope is dangerous, especially when it comes to Blair.

“Tampa wasn’t an accident, Torey. I asked them to bring you here.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Hawks says, but he’s laughing too, holding up the tiny jersey like evidence in a crime. “Who even makes these this small?” “For babies, you giant,” Divot says. “Normal human babies, not whatever you were.”

“I don’t know how not to fall for you.” His confession sinks past bone and into the very center of me. “Fall,” I choke out. “I’ll catch you.”

“Ice the base of your skull before bed. Twenty minutes.” “Yes, Captain.” A smile ghosts across his face. His forehead drops to mine, and we breathe the same air for three heartbeats, four, five.

“I’m scared I’ll lose everything again. Especially you. I’m afraid I’ll blink and you’ll be gone.” “Never.” His eyes hold mine, steady and sure. I want to believe him. I want it so badly I can taste it. He brings our joined hands to his lips. “I’m right here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I loved him once without knowing why. I love him now knowing everything. I’ll love him always, even when time steals him away again.

“Torey.” He lifts our joined hands, turns mine over, and drops his lips to the center of my palm. “Say it again,” he whispers against my skin. “I’ll keep you. Today, tomorrow, always.”

Blair’s thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “I would have found you,” he says, “even if it took a thousand lifetimes, I would have found you, Torey.”

He is the beginning and end of every timeline.