Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

30

Ruby

Thirteen Months Before

Ruby & Bennett are Twenty-Nine Years Old

The mural painted on the far wall of The Bee-fast Stop is taunting me—I’m sure of it.

I stick my tongue out at the large cartoon painting of Buzzy the Bear, grinning with blushing furry cheeks and giving a hearty thumbs-up. He seems far too happy. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

“Rubes?”

Bennett and Jolene stare at me across the table.

“Sorry. Buzzy’s giving me a weird glare. You know how he is.”

The side of Bennett’s mouth tips up into a smile before he forks more of his pancakes into his mouth.

We’re at Honeywood for our Friday night dinner. It’s become something of a fun tradition for us to meet Bennett after work some nights—if by fun tradition, you mean there’s a fifty-fifty chance of having a good time.

I hate our odds tonight.

Most days, we have a great time. The three of us browse the crowds in Honeywood from The Bee-fast Stop’s window, spotting all the wacky kids wearing Buzzy the Bear headbands, or older folks walking the park for exercise, or the overly affectionate couples who make out while waiting for their food.

“Get a room,” Jolene grumbles.

What I really like about Jolene is that she says all the things everyone else is thinking. It’s funny once you get past how uncomfortable it can be when guests overhear her. But I love seeing my best friend happy, and Jolene’s sassy words make Bennett chuckle every time.

But some dinners end up like tonight’s. Scrapes of forks on plates. The low hum of the jukebox in the corner. The side of our table occasionally getting hit by fanny-pack-clad moms and sticky-handed children. And silence. So much silence.

Dinners like this always occur after Bennett and I get a bit too wild on a Wednesday Trivia Night.

“So, Ruby”—Jolene clears her throat—“how’s your brother?”

Jolene is aiming for the safest conversation. At least as safe as it can be, given that Jolene doesn’t know my dad’s sordid history. I don’t think it’s worth it to share, especially not when Lucas is our lifeline for common ground. Jolene likes children, and having a cute brother who enjoys my company gives her peace. It humanizes me.

I mean, I am a human. But I’m also her boyfriend’s best girlfriend.

Well, not girlfriend.

I …

You know what I mean.

Jolene does like me. I know she does. She lets me crash in their guest room. She always invites me out to dinner with them. But she also doesn’t hang out with our group of friends unless it’s me, her, and Bennett. And sometimes—only sometimes—I swear she gives me this look. The look. The smile that’s a little too tight, the eyes that are slightly more narrowed, and the dimples that don’t exactly depress all the way into her cheeks.

I wonder if I’m just imagining things, if it’s similar to the weird feeling I get at these dinners post-rowdy Wednesday nights. It’s probably all in my head.

I shovel a tiny piece of pancake into my mouth.

“Lucas is doing good!” I answer. “I have pictures if you want to see them?”

Jolene’s eyes brighten. “Oh my God, please share.”

See?

I’m just imagining it.

I scoot my chair closer, showing her the video of my brother on his new trampoline, squealing with each higher bounce.

“He’s so cute,” she coos. “Is Lucas a family name? I love family names.”

“No, my dad just really likes Star Wars,” I say. “But my stepmom wouldn’t let him be named Luke, so they settled on Lucas.”

Jolene squints. “But isn’t the creator named George Lucas?”

I snort. “Yeah, don’t tell Miranda that.”

“Right,” she muses, twisting her lips to the side. After a moment, she says, “Bennett’s a family name, right, babe?”

Bennett lets out a small, playful groan, running a hand over his face, but even that can’t bury his knowing grin. “Technically.”

“You don’t want to continue it down?”

He lets out an awkward laugh. “Ahh, it’s just … dads, y’know?”

“Dads,” I echo in solidarity.

Jolene lowers my phone to the table, her green eyes darting between us.

“But I like the name Ben,” she says. “I didn’t know you hated it that much.”

Bennett’s arm shifts between them. I wonder if he’s holding her hand underneath the table. I look at the grinning mural of Buzzy again.

What do you want?

“You know how I feel about him, Jo.”

“He’s the worst,” I add.

“Sure,” Bennett says with an eyebrow raise and a grin. “But you two totally hit it off.”

Like a dart finding its board, Jolene’s eyes swivel to me. “You’ve met his dad?”

And there it is again—that look. For half a second. If that.

“Oh,” I say with a small laugh. Thanks a lot, Bennett. “Well … yeah. It was just … a small trip. Very brief.”

But the memories of Florida come rushing back—touches and breathy moans and a tattooed hand around my neck and “sweet girl” …

I slide my plate away from me. I don’t have an appetite anymore.

Jolene straightens her back, rolling her shoulders back with tiny cracks.

“You should see him,” she declares.

Bennett’s forkful of pancake pauses halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Your dad. I think everyone should have a good relationship with their parents.”

A response is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. That type of statement is only made by someone who clearly has an excellent relationship with their own family. Some people can’t comprehend strained parental dynamics, and that’s fine. Honestly, good for them. But sometimes, it seems like, when Jolene doesn’t understand a dynamic, it’s simply one that should not exist.

Bennett adjusts in his seat, giving a small, grunting response of, “That’s not exactly how we work.”

His we probably means me and Ben. But when his eyes flash to me, a part of me wonders if he actually means me and Ruby. That’s not how we handle our dads.

“You can do it,” Jolene continues. “I bet you could.”

In the space between them, I see Jolene’s arm shift, just like Bennett’s did earlier. I wonder if she’s doing something reassuring, like squeezing his hand, like I used to. Or rubbing his leg under the table. Or something else that I can’t think about.

I turn away, and Buzzy is still grinning.

Can you not right now, man?

“You’re right,” Bennett agrees. “Maybe I should try.”

My eyes shoot over to him.

What the …how did she change his opinion so quickly?

Jolene has some type of magic that I’ll never understand. It only takes a couple of sentences before Bennett is convinced to do something by her encouragement. I wonder if she makes him feel empowered. Or maybe she simply runs her nails up his leg to his inner thigh—

No, that’s what my best friend needs. Someone to push him.

Good for him.

Good. For. Him.

“Oh, don’t look now, Rubes.” Bennett’s lips tip up into a grin. “But Emory Dawson is right outside.”

“What?!” I peer through the curtain behind me, and sure enough, there he is.

Emory Dawson always looks so out of place from the rest of Honeywood Fun Park. Not because he’s so tall, which he is, or because he has broad shoulders that barely fit through doorways properly, which he does, but it’s because he’s simply unhappy.

Like, all the time.

Emory’s thick eyebrows pull together into the deepest of frowns that looks permanently sculpted into his face. He’s undeniably handsome, but his energy runs at a very low frequency, like a vampire attracting with beauty but deterring with its threat of danger.

“Who is Emory?” Jolene asks loudly.

Bennett chuckles out a, “Shh.” Then, he whispers, “He’s her hero.”

“Maybe when I was in college,” I mumble back with a shake of my head.

“She’s underplaying it.” Bennett leans into Jolene. “Ruby would kill to work for him.”

Okay, so that part is true.

Emory might be an intimidating man, but he’s a competent man. Lorelei’s legal team has spent two years researching what possibly caused The Grizzly to malfunction, but no results have come up to blame either Honeywood or Emory. The accident is still a mystery, and while I’m a good friend to Lorelei and I agreed to hate the guy, I can’t help but admire his efforts at making things right again.

“I applied to a leadership role at my company one month ago,” I respond. “Even if Emory had open positions, I don’t think I should leave now.”

“You haven’t heard back?” Jolene asks.

“No, not yet.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to know?”

“Sure, but I don’t want to be pushy.”

Outside the window, I spot a tug at the edge of Emory’s mouth, almost as if he’s denying himself a smile. I follow his line of sight, and across the midway is our friend Lorelei.

Odd.

Lorelei is paying no attention to Emory at first, but the moment he looks away, her head swivels over to watch him back, and she gives a little smile too.

Theo was onto something.

She does like him.

“You should apply to Emory’s company then.”

“Hmm?” I blink back to see Jolene giving me a pointed stare.

“You should apply to Emory’s company,” she says.

“Oh. I don’t know …”

“Where’s he based?”

“Midwest somewhere maybe? But his company is so small and rarely hiring. Plus, he’s really, really smart.”

“You’re smart,” Jolene counters with a shrug, casually cutting into her pancakes. “Don’t count yourself out, Rubes. You never know if you don’t apply. Right, Bennett?”

Bennett’s eyebrows are tugged together, looking between me and Jolene.

“Of course,” he says, pulling his hair up into a bun. He ties it off with a rough tug. “Yeah. You know you could do it, Rubes.”

Jolene smiles at this, forking pancakes into her mouth.

Jolene is motivated, and I admire that about her. She’s finished two marathons in the two years I’ve known her. She’s the best personal trainer at our local gym because she knows how to balance compassion with testing your limits. Heck, she’s even convinced Bennett to use a better conditioner for his hair. It took away his familiar strawberry smell, but his long hair is noticeably shinier, and I think I like the new smell of Pacific Breeze Coconut just as much.

Sort of.

She’s never steered my best friend, or most people who trust her, wrong. But sometimes, I wonder if the pushiness toward me is as genuine. For the tiniest of moments, I wonder if she’s asking me to apply so I’ll move away.

God, I feel terrible, even thinking that.

“You should see if he’s hiring,” Jolene says.

My phone buzzes. I dig it out of my purse.

Saved by the babysitting job.

“I should go,” I say. “Dad and Miranda are going out tonight. They need me to watch Lucas.”

Bennett’s eyebrows sink down. “Again? Third time this week.”

I laugh. “Bennett, c’mon.”

“Go have fun with your brother,” Jolene says.

Her smile is sweet, but I’m not sure if it’s the type of sweet that’s good, like honey, or the bad kind that leads to tooth decay.

I think I’d want her to move away too if she got the opportunity.

But the moment I think it, I grab my purse and stand.

“I’ll see y’all later.”

I need to leave before I start to feel like a really, really bad friend.