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Chapter Twenty Six - I Keep Falling Down

"This is it. Casa de Carter."

Rosie's head was turning rapidly as she surveyed the new surroundings. She had seemed to find the concept of an underground parking garage fascinating. She had clung to her bag quietly as we took the elevator up to the condo. She lifted her foot and enscratched the back of her ankle with her toes as I inserted the key into the lock.

We entered to dead silence. My dogs were still in the kennel; the only sign that someone had been in my place since I left was the huge pile of mail by the door. I threw my keys on a small table and threw my duffel bags somewhere in the vicinity of the hall. I felt Rosie's warmth as she stepped incredibly close to me. I turned on the light.

"You really like leather," she said as she stepped around me, gazing at the large sectional that molded my ass like heaven and the person and a half recliner that I used for ultimate football viewing.

"I'm a big fan," I said with a little smile.

"If you take a picture of me, you die."

"What? C'mon...you paraded around on stage in the smallest blue bikini I've ever seen and you think this is worse? Come out here and let me see you."

The bathroom door opened a crack. One warning eye shot out.

"This is the last time I let you buy me clothes," she said.

I grinned. "That good?"

The door opened wider. One naked leg emerged, followed by another. Tight leather lingerie accented her curves. I almost purred.

"Holy hell do I love leather," I growled.

"Leather jackets, yes. This? No. Nick, for God's sake, I SQUEAK."

To prove her point, she ran her palm over one rounded swell. Sure enough, the contact made her squeak.

It made me want her more.

"C'mere and we'll fix the squeaking," I said.

"I dress like this and all you do is put on white boxer briefs?" Lauren said, taking a step back. I extended my pointer finger, crooking it towards me.

"Ebony and ivory, baby," I teased.

"Let's make music."

"She's beautiful."

The branded image of the leather bra faded into the soft swell of the arm of the couch. Rosie was perched right on its edge, a large silver frame in hand.

"Don't touch that!" I said, the words coming to my mouth automatically. I swooped in, taking the picture and setting it down exactly where I had it before. Rosie looked up at me, paling.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It just caught my eye."

I sucked in a breath. How couldn't the picture catch someone's eye? My beautiful Lauren on our wedding day, her cheeks tinged just a shade lighter than the roses she held to her breasts. The pure white dress seemed to go on for miles; she had looked like a princess...

And I was just a peasant with a flask hidden in my pocket, courtesy of AJ. He had told me to have one for him; I had obliged. But the moment I saw her walking towards me, I became perfectly sober.

"No, I'm sorry. It's just...no one's touched it. It belongs there," I stammered. Rosie nodded, her eyes slowly circling the room.

"Great pictures," she said.

I followed her gaze as if I had never seen the room before. Almost every bit of wall space was taken up by photos. Most were of Lauren or of the two of us together. Right after her death, I had taken down my framed albums and trophies; I had scrounged around every single box of photos Lauren had taken and surrounded myself with her.

It had seemed like the only way to escape the loneliness.

"She was tall," Rosie added as an afterthought.

"She was," I agreed. "She towered over the other guy's wives."

"Okay. Nick and Lauren, why don't you guys stand on the left? Brian and Leigh, right next to them. Face to the right. Howie, Leigh, look to the left. AJ, you and Rochelle do the same."

We were at the 2009 Latin MTV Music Awards. I couldn't take my eyes off of Lauren. Everything I had ever heard about little black dresses was summed up by the little one she wore. Her heels made her slightly taller than me. She seemed to understand the insult to injury; she leaned back slightly, grasping my hand.

"Better?" she whispered. I laughed.

"Better."

"How's the weather up there?" Brian teased.

"I'm sick of being the shortest one," Leighanne complained.

"Monkee, you look terrific," AJ cooed.

"So do you, monkee. You should rock the gray vest more often."

"Everyone say queso!" Howie said.

"QUESO!"

"Nick?"

Shit. I had done it again. I tugged at the ends of my hair, feeling a giant ball of frustration well up into my stomach. I had to stop it.

"Sorry," I said. "Why don't I show you your room and you can unpack? You've got an adjoining bathroom. Go take a bubble bath and relax. I have a few phone calls I need to make."

"A bubble bath sounds nice," Rosie said. She scooped up her bag and rose from the couch. I gave one backwards glance to Lauren's wedding picture before heading towards the stairs.

The upstairs walls held almost as many pictures as the living room. I steeled my eyes against stopping and getting lost in yet another memory. I noted the dust on the doorknob of the guest room as I pushed it open. A light layer of dust rose from the carpet.

My maid was slacking again.

"Here you go," I said, flicking on the light.

Lauren had decorated the room. It was the complete opposite of my designer style which was more leather and whatever else I could throw together that was comfortable. The guest room was done in cream and light brown. The large bed was covered with a comforter in light blue. The door to the bathroom was ajar; showcasing the large tub.

"This is beautiful," Rosie said. She took a tentative step inside.

I fought the panic. I had been home barely an hour and already the horror of having another woman walking through the condo Lauren had heavily decorated was freaking me out. The doorknob was soon covered in a thick layer of sweat coming from my palm.

"Unpack. Relax," I said, my tongue feeling as if it was almost swelling in my mouth. Rosie turned.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Just gotta make those calls," I blubbered. I closed the door quickly, shutting her inside the room. I could barely hear the sound of her bag hitting the mattress.

I scrambled to the master bedroom. The minute I sat on the bed, the tear I had fought so hard to keep at bay slipped down my cheek. I grabbed the handset off the nightstand and jabbed at the numbers.

"Hello?"

"I'm back. Do you have that referral for me?"

AJ sighed. "I can't get ahold of anyone over there. I keep getting a message about a two-week vacation."

"Fuck," I sighed. "Okay, thanks an--"

"When do I get to meet the girl?"

"What girl?"

"Your boat chick!"

I wiped at the tear. "We'll get together this weekend," I promised. "Maybe golf and dinner."

"Sweet. I'll keep asking around about a psych for you, man."

"Thanks," I said. We talked for a few more minutes before I hung up.

For a long time, I stared at the phone in my hands.

If my arrival home was any indication, I was going to have to talk to someone and soon. Otherwise, I was going to be forced to cash in what was left of my man card and shoot down any hope of a normal future.

My gut told me I needed to keep the short, lime-green flip-flop wearing, car loving girl in the next room around. And if her pale face was any indication, I wasn't going to succeed if I kept falling down.