Read Online All Over You (All Falls Down #3) by Ayden K Morgen - Free Book Online
Authors: Ayden K Morgen
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a good lawyer, Miss Kendall," he says after a moment's hesitation, giving no hint as to whether he believes me or not.
A soft, bitter laugh breaks from my lips. "How am I supposed to hire a lawyer? I can barely afford my rent most months, and I can't teach while I'm under investigation." I glance over at him, wiping away a stray tear. I've already cried in front of this man far too much. "You're telling me that someone I know, someone I trusted , is responsible for using my identity to hurt a kid, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."
He pulls up outside of my building and puts the car in park before turning to look at me. "Why can't you afford your rent?" he asks, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
I laugh again, my disbelief obvious. "Do you know how much it costs to live in San Francisco, Detective? Between rent, utilities, and necessities like food, I barely make enough teaching to scrape by here. And I'm still paying off my dad's medical bills and my student loans, so what extra I bring in singing goes to paying off those debts."
"Then why stay here? You could teach anywhere."
"Because my kids need me," I whisper, unlatching my seatbelt.
"Kids?" One of his brows shoots upward again.
"My students. People move to San Francisco to live the high life, not to teach, especially not at one of the worst performing schools in the state."
"But not you," he says, the words so soft, I have to strain to catch them.
"Most schools weren't lining up to hire a former fashion model straight out of college. I wanted to make a difference, and Bryan Gleeson was willing to take a chance on me." And now I'm on the verge of being charged with manslaughter. Sighing, I push the car door open and climb to my feet.
"Thanks for the ride," I mumble and grab my laptop before turning and hurrying up the sidewalk. Gentle gusts of air blow in from the bay, drying the tears on my cheeks, but more fall to replace them. My hands are shaking so badly, I can't even get my key in the door.
"Here, let me," Detective Lewis says, materializing beside me.
I jump, startled at his presence when I didn't even hear him exit the vehicle. Before I can tell him I'm fine, he wraps his hand around mine, stilling the shaking and sending a powerful jolt through me. I immediately drop my gaze to our hands, noticing the way his engulfs mine, so much bigger, and so much warmer. Even though he's holding me gently, his fingers are rough to the touch, calloused.
"What―?"
His thumb rubs slowly across my knuckles.
My gaze flies to him to find his eyes locked on our hands. I'm thrown off-balance by his expression―like he can't look away from the sight of his darker skin on mine―by the way he smells, and by the heat unfurling in my belly.
The overwhelming desire to throw myself at him and let him ease the ache currently gnawing at my heart rushes through me. For a split second, I don't even care that he thinks I'm the equivalent of a murderer. I just want him to make me forget.
What am I doing?
I jerk backward, pulling my hand quickly from his.
My heart slams against my ribcage in a frenetic beat as he clears his throat and shakes his head slightly as if to clear it. Without a word, he inserts the key into the lock and pulls the door open, standing aside for me to enter.
"Um, thanks again," I say, my voice shaking. Ducking my head, I hurry toward the stairs.
"Miss Kendall," he calls from behind me.
I don't turn around, instead jogging up the stairs, my laptop bouncing against my hip with each step. I just want to get inside before I do something completely stupid. His opinion matters to me for some reason, and he already thinks the worse. I don't want to give him more incentive to drag me off to jail.
He seems to have other plans.
I hear him following me, his steps steady as he calls my name.
The sound sends panic thrumming through me. I pretend I don't hear him and keep going, quickly racing away, praying he gives up and goes back to his car. I
A soft, bitter laugh breaks from my lips. "How am I supposed to hire a lawyer? I can barely afford my rent most months, and I can't teach while I'm under investigation." I glance over at him, wiping away a stray tear. I've already cried in front of this man far too much. "You're telling me that someone I know, someone I trusted , is responsible for using my identity to hurt a kid, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."
He pulls up outside of my building and puts the car in park before turning to look at me. "Why can't you afford your rent?" he asks, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
I laugh again, my disbelief obvious. "Do you know how much it costs to live in San Francisco, Detective? Between rent, utilities, and necessities like food, I barely make enough teaching to scrape by here. And I'm still paying off my dad's medical bills and my student loans, so what extra I bring in singing goes to paying off those debts."
"Then why stay here? You could teach anywhere."
"Because my kids need me," I whisper, unlatching my seatbelt.
"Kids?" One of his brows shoots upward again.
"My students. People move to San Francisco to live the high life, not to teach, especially not at one of the worst performing schools in the state."
"But not you," he says, the words so soft, I have to strain to catch them.
"Most schools weren't lining up to hire a former fashion model straight out of college. I wanted to make a difference, and Bryan Gleeson was willing to take a chance on me." And now I'm on the verge of being charged with manslaughter. Sighing, I push the car door open and climb to my feet.
"Thanks for the ride," I mumble and grab my laptop before turning and hurrying up the sidewalk. Gentle gusts of air blow in from the bay, drying the tears on my cheeks, but more fall to replace them. My hands are shaking so badly, I can't even get my key in the door.
"Here, let me," Detective Lewis says, materializing beside me.
I jump, startled at his presence when I didn't even hear him exit the vehicle. Before I can tell him I'm fine, he wraps his hand around mine, stilling the shaking and sending a powerful jolt through me. I immediately drop my gaze to our hands, noticing the way his engulfs mine, so much bigger, and so much warmer. Even though he's holding me gently, his fingers are rough to the touch, calloused.
"What―?"
His thumb rubs slowly across my knuckles.
My gaze flies to him to find his eyes locked on our hands. I'm thrown off-balance by his expression―like he can't look away from the sight of his darker skin on mine―by the way he smells, and by the heat unfurling in my belly.
The overwhelming desire to throw myself at him and let him ease the ache currently gnawing at my heart rushes through me. For a split second, I don't even care that he thinks I'm the equivalent of a murderer. I just want him to make me forget.
What am I doing?
I jerk backward, pulling my hand quickly from his.
My heart slams against my ribcage in a frenetic beat as he clears his throat and shakes his head slightly as if to clear it. Without a word, he inserts the key into the lock and pulls the door open, standing aside for me to enter.
"Um, thanks again," I say, my voice shaking. Ducking my head, I hurry toward the stairs.
"Miss Kendall," he calls from behind me.
I don't turn around, instead jogging up the stairs, my laptop bouncing against my hip with each step. I just want to get inside before I do something completely stupid. His opinion matters to me for some reason, and he already thinks the worse. I don't want to give him more incentive to drag me off to jail.
He seems to have other plans.
I hear him following me, his steps steady as he calls my name.
The sound sends panic thrumming through me. I pretend I don't hear him and keep going, quickly racing away, praying he gives up and goes back to his car. I
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