Page 1 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

The sun is shining, my hair whipping around in the wind as we fly down Molt Road.

The hum of the tires against pavement, the silence between us—it ’ s almost comforting.

I ’ ve grown to love this drive. It ’ s our ritual, in a twisted kind of way.

We fight, we drive, and somehow by the end of it, we pretend everything ’ s fine.

Today is different. This drive is because I caught him cheating.

Again. And I can ’ t pretend I didn ’ t know.

I saw the signs. He ’ s a master manipulator—used his money, his charm, his sleek Mercedes to keep me tangled in his web.

Told me I was insane to even think he ’ d betray me.

Promised candlelit dinners, date nights, photos for Facebook to “ prove” we were happy.

They never happened. He ’ d say, “ You ’ re so lucky to have someone who cares as much as I do.

” But if I was so lucky, why didn ’ t I know any of his friends?

Why did I always have to tell him where I was, who I was with, what I was doing—just in case he didn ’ t approve?

I used to think he was being protective.

That he just wanted to make sure I was safe.

I never realized he was making sure I wouldn ’ t catch him out with someone else.

Every night, I ’ d drive over just to get an hour or two of his time.

He ’ d build me up, fill my cup until it overflowed with hope, and then—just like that—I was out the door like a dog who ’ d overstayed her welcome.

He hated when I did anything without him.

Dance was “ too sexual.” He told me only sluts danced the way I danced.

He lost it when I said I wanted to audition for the Bombshells.

“ You ’ re doing that for attention,” he said.

“ For men. Not for me.” But the double standard?

That was always there. He went out, partied, took girls home, then posted photos on Facebook just to hurt me.

And it worked. Every time. He never met my friends.

Said he didn ’ t need to. I should ’ ve known then—should ’ ve seen the red flags waving right in front of me.

JJ was my first love. High school love. The kind that tattoos itself into your heart.

I thought I was just heartbroken. I didn ’ t know I was participating in my own destruction.

Town comes into view. I shift in my seat, my stomach tightening.

I have to do it. I have to tell him I ’ m done.

This time, for real. Not the fake breakups that last two days before I end up back in his arms, believing him when he says he couldn ’ t breathe without me.

Gag me. His phone vibrates. I glance over.

Sierra. My stomach sinks. His ex. The one he said meant nothing.

So why is she texting him? I feel stupid.

Again. What else am I not seeing? How much more have I ignored just to keep him?

I don ’ t want to lose him. But I can ’ t play this game anymore.

I ’ m tired—soul tired. I ’ ve cried more in this relationship than I thought was physically possible.

And tonight, finally, I ’ m going to show myself the way out.

The House: We pull into his driveway. My heart is pounding.

I know what I came here to do, but suddenly it feels impossible.

I need to tell him we ’ re done. Really done.

But the words won ’ t leave my lips. My body tenses.

I reach for the door handle instead. “ Where are you going?” he asks, casual, like this is just another night.

“ I forgot something,” I lie. “ Just need to grab it from my car.” I step out before he can stop me.

I only live four blocks away. If I run, maybe I can get away before he notices.

Before I lose my nerve. But before I even get to the sidewalk, he ’ s there.

He grabs me by the arm—hard—and yanks me back toward the house.

Hatred flashes in his eyes. “ What do you think you ’ re doing?

” he growls. “ Where the fuck are you going in such a rush, sweetheart? You didn ’ t even give me my goodbye kiss.

” My stomach turns. He ’ s never laid hands on me before.

Never like this. “ I—I ’ m sorry,” I stammer.

“ I just thought I told you I had practice tonight—dance, remember?” His mouth curls into something sick and twisted.

“ Oh Linnie,” he whispers, almost like he ’ s amused, “ we both know you don ’ t go anywhere unless I say so.

” My eyes blur with tears. My heart is thudding so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs.

“ Please, JJ. I need to go.” He smiles, the kind of smile that feels like a trap.

“ I have a better idea. Why don ’ t you stay?

Prove to me I ’ m wrong about why you were in such a hurry.

” I hate him. I want him dead. But I laugh.

I smile. I fake it, because I have to. “ Okay,” I say softly.

“ Let me just freshen up first.” I walk to the bathroom and lock the door behind me.

My hands are shaking. My phone. My purse.

I left them both in the driveway when he pulled me inside.

I have no way out. No one knows where I am.

Did anyone see him drag me in? Will anyone call to check?

Music starts playing from the living room.

Loud. That music—his mood—I know what it means.

I know the rules. I know what happens if I break them.

I open the door slowly, walking out like nothing ’ s wrong.

He ’ s standing there, leaning against the wall, eyes dark and unreadable.

I flinch. “ Seriously, JJ, get out of the way. What ’ s going on with you?

” Something snaps. He shoves me. I hit the floor hard, the air knocked out of my lungs.

He ’ s on top of me in an instant, pinning my arms, his voice screaming in my face: “ Shut the fuck up! You always do this! You always ruin everything!” I scream.

I fight. I try to wriggle free, but he ’ s stronger.

Crack. I hear it before I feel it. My wrist. Snapped like a twig.

Everything stops. His eyes go wide. “ Shit. Shit, baby, I ’ m sorry,” he says, letting go.

“ Why did you make me do that? Why didn ’ t you just listen?

” I crawl away, cradling my arm. Pain explodes through me, but all I can think is: I have to get out.

I have to get out now. He ’ s pacing now, grabbing his phone.

“ I ’ ll fix it. I ’ ll fix it.” Minutes later, three of his friends show up.

I can barely stay conscious. They carry me to his car like I ’ m broken luggage.

No one speaks. No one looks me in the eye.

They drive me to the hospital and leave JJ to do all the talking.

Not one doctor asks me if I ’ m okay. Not one nurse asks if this was an accident, or if I need someone called.

I ’ m just a patient. A chart. A name. They say I need surgery.

My wrist is shattered. But I ’ m more afraid of the anesthesia.

They don ’ t know I ’ m allergic. I don ’ t have my ID, my phone—nothing.

What if they don ’ t check my file? I try to speak, but the blackness is coming fast. My body ’ s slipping away from me. Then nothing.

I open my eyes—it was all just a dream. But when I glance to my left, I see my mom and sister sitting in chairs beside me, deep in conversation.

My mom notices I ’ m awake and rushes over, her face a mix of relief and worry.

“ Oh baby, it ’ s okay. Everything ’ s okay,” she says, smoothing my hair.

“ You were in a small accident. JJ brought you here just in time.” I blink in confusion.

That ’ s what they were told? I shudder.

No. That ’ s not true. Jade meets my eyes, and through our bond, I know she feels it too —this version of the story isn ’ t real.

Just then, JJ walks in holding a bouquet of flowers.

My mom thanks him warmly and says she and Jade are going to grab coffee and will be back soon to take me home.

JJ leans in, kisses my cheek, and says how thankful he is that I ’ m okay.

I gather every ounce of courage I have. “ JJ, we ’ re done.

I ’ m grateful you brought me here, but our revolving door?

It ’ s closed.” His jaw tightens. Anger flashes in his eyes, but he knows.

He ’ s lost. He mutters, “ You ’ ll regret this,” and walks out.

It ’ s been five weeks since JJ left that hospital room.

I keep telling myself I ’ ve moved on, but I haven ’ t.

I ’ m in denial. The truth is—I still want him.

Pathetically so. He hasn ’ t responded to a single message.

I know he ’ s out partying, hooking up with whoever gives him attention.

Meanwhile, I need to focus. Tryouts are less than two weeks away, and my wrist is almost fully healed.

The doctors said four to six weeks, and I ’ m right on track—if I keep up with my physical therapy.

Today, I needed retail therapy. Jade came with me.

She ’ s practically taken it upon herself to reinvent my entire wardrobe.

She ’ s in full “ fashion fairy godmother” mode, strutting in and out of the fitting room with hangers draped over both arms. “ Linnie, are you ready to get back out there?” she asks. I shrug. “ It ’ s strange.

I still can ’ t believe it ’ s over. I ’ m grieving something that was probably never good for me.

And I can ’ t imagine finding anyone who could ever match up to JJ.

” We laugh, snacking on popcorn from the café as she models her picks like she ’ s on a runway.

We ’ re dancing, giggling, being us. I ’ ve missed this.

Six months ago, I turned eighteen. I have my whole life ahead of me—college, dance, independence.

I keep reminding myself that I should be happy. I just need to focus on tryouts.

Later, I meet up with Sadie and Cleo at City Brew.

I walk over from Target, still riding the high from my day with Jade.

As soon as I walk through the door, they shriek and leap up to hug me.

God, I ’ ve missed my best friends. Even during the JJ mess, they stuck by me—despite me being a pretty awful friend.

Sadie grins, “ Ready for tryouts?” I smirk.

“ We ’ re going to take that panel by storm.

They won ’ t know what hit them.” Cleo jumps in with a dramatic, “ Let ’ s gooo!

” and we all burst out laughing, totally forgetting we ’ re in a coffee shop.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels calm again. By the time I get home, the sun ’ s already down. My sweet pug, Ember, is in the front window, wiggling with excitement. I scoop her up the second I ’ m inside and head to my room.

We have two pugs—Dozer, my mom ’ s fawn boy, and Ember, my little black shadow who has a serious hatred for cats and my whole heart wrapped around her paw.

After a hot shower, I hear my mom pulling into the driveway.

She ’ s a single parent and, honestly, a superhero.

I don ’ t know how she ’ s done it all on her own for so long. But I do worry about her. A lot.

She ’ s dating this guy—he ’ s twenty-three. She ’ s forty-three. I mean, live your truth and all that, but come on. I could be dating him and it would be only mildly inappropriate. Maybe I ’ m just bitter that while she ’ s living her second twenties, I ’ m stuck nursing a broken heart.

I could totally move out—get a place with friends or live on my own—but half the time, I feel like I already live alone.

She ’ s always off with her boyfriend, and I ’ m here, just me and the pugs.

I crawl into bed, thinking about tryouts tomorrow morning and how I really, really should have listened to my mom and Jade about JJ.

The red flags weren ’ t waving—they were practically screaming.

Where is Dustin Poynter when you need him?

After this breakup, I ’ m done. No more boys.

No more heartbreak. I ’ m putting everything I ’ ve got into dance and this team.

That ’ s the. only love story I need right now.