Bring Down the Stars

by Scott, Emma

  Not to mention putting on Weston’s shirt turned you on.

  I stopped short and glanced around, mortified.

  “Jesus, that is not what happened.” I walked faster toward the library, head down and muttering into my books, “I thought it was Connor’s.”

  I hurried up the steps of the library, hoping Wes would be there. Determined to meet this head on and kill these ridiculous thoughts. But he wasn’t. Since Connor and I began dating, I never saw Weston here anymore.

  My phone buzzed a text from Connor.

  Hey you.

  I smiled, butterflies taking off in my stomach.

  Hi, I texted back. What’s up?

  I just got wind of a party at Delta Psi this Friday. Want to go?

  I sank down into a chair at one of the library’s long tables. Sounds fun, but I have to study.

  Bummer. You care if I go?

  No, of course not, I replied. Are we still on for the museum after W’s races on Sat?

  Definitely. :)

  Okay, I wrote. Great.

  Call you later.

  But he didn’t call me later, and aside from a few checking in texts, I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the week.

  Friday, working my morning shift at the Panache Blanc, it dawned on me that Weston usually ate here the night before a track meet. After classes, I killed time in the library, then headed back to the bakery, hoping he hadn’t changed that routine.

  He sat at a corner table. Dark and sharp in a black shirt and jeans, his long legs stretched out and his nose buried in an econ book. A half-eaten sprout and cucumber sandwich sat on a plate in front of him. Edmond de Guiche was singing in the back room.

  Heart stuttering, I went to stand by his table. “Hi.”

  He lowered his book, and his eyes widened for a second, before his expression reverted to hard neutral. “Hey.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.” He moved his legs and indicated for me to take the chair opposite him.

  I sat with my purse in my lap, needing some kind of barrier between me and Weston’s barbed stare. “I wanted to apologize for Sunday night—”

  “Don’t,” Wes said. “Nothing to apologize for.”

  “There is,” I said. “It’s a little tacky to have disturbed your sleep. If we did. And then coming out wearing your shirt.”

  “Forget it.” Weston shifted in his seat, his blue-green eyes turbulent like a stormy sea. “No big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal to me,” I said. “Connor and I are getting more serious and I don’t want there to be any weirdness between you and me.”

  He stared for a second, then nodded. “Right. Weirdness.”

  I puffed my cheeks full of air. “I was hoping you and I could be friends. I don’t want to come over and feel like an intruder.”

  “You’re not. It’s me.” His long fingers toyed with his pen. “I can be a dick. Ask anyone.”

  “I don’t think you’re a dick,” I said and grinned. “Maybe not the softest or fuzziest of guys, but you have potential.”

  “Potential?”

  “Sure. Maybe if you rolled around with a basket full of puppies or held a baby chick or two, like we have on the farm… Fix you right up.”

  The faintest of smiles touched his lips then vanished again. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” He cleared his throat. “You’re probably sick of eating here.”

  “I like the food here,” I said, touched at the offer. “But no thanks. I have a late night of studying. Actually, a coffee might be a good idea.”

  I started to rise, but Weston was quicker.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Don’t, I have an employee discount.”

  But Weston ignored me. He took his lean, muscled body to the counter and interrupted Phil’s usual phone scrolling to order me a coffee. Edmond burst from the back, a blue windbreaker jacket on over his white uniform, just as Weston was paying.

  “What is this?” Edmond said, spying me. “Autumn, ma chère.”

  I smiled and waved. “Hi, Edmond.”

  The baker’s gaze moved between Weston and me. “Monsieur Turner never drinks coffee before racing day. It is for Autumn?” He shot Phil a dirty look. “Philippe, return to him his money.”

  I suppressed a laugh as Phil rolled his eyes and hunted for the refund button, but Weston waved him off. “It’s okay, Edmond. I got it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, as Weston returned to the table and set down the steaming mug in front of me. “You and Edmond know each other?”

  “Of course we do,” Edmond answered, swooping over to us. “Weston is un homme tranquille. Our quiet man, always reading. Always writing. Very still. But tomorrow? He runs very fast, non?”

  I glanced at Weston, expecting him to chafe under Edmond’s bluster, but he was almost smiling.

  “Yeah, that pretty much sums me up.”

  “And you two, together?” Edmond beamed under his mustache. “My thoughtful girl and the quiet man. This, I like.”

  “We’re friends,” I said. Then glanced at Weston. “Aren’t we?”

  He nodded, his eyes soft on mine. “Yeah. Friends.”

  “Ah,” Edmond said, his gaze going between us, his dark eyes narrowing. “Parfois, le cœur se cache derrière l’esprit.” He clapped his hands together. “But what do I know? I am but a silly old baker. I leave you to your coffee. Philippe! Don’t forget to mop the back room. We will get rats and then what will the customers think of us?”

  “I won’t,” Phil muttered, eyes rolling again.

  Edmond shot Weston and me a wink and swept out of the bakery, a bellowed aria in his wake.

  Weston

  “Edmond,” Autumn said with a stunning smile, “is why I love working here.” Her delicate brows furrowed. “But I wonder what he said. Something about the heart? You don’t happen to speak French, do you?”

  “Afraid not,” I said, lying. Between Sinclair Prep and the Academy, I slogged through six years of French. Tonight, was the first time I was glad for it.

  Parfois, le cœur se cache derrière l’esprit.

  Sometimes the heart hides itself behind the mind.

  Story of my life, Edmond, I thought.

  “Too bad,” Autumn said. “It sounded pretty. Poetic.” She smiled behind a sip of coffee.

  Not touching that with a ten-foot pole.

  Connor and I had hardly spoken in a week. I pretended I was too busy with classwork. I didn’t have a choice. The more I showed I was angry at him for using my poem to get Autumn into his bed, the more he’d wonder why I was angry at all.

  “Connor’s going to the Delta party tonight,” I said. “You’re not going with him?”

  She shook her head. “I have too much studying to do. Ruby’s going to go, but I’m too busy.”

  “Did he at least ask you to go with him?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” I met her raised eyebrows with a shrug. “He can get careless about important things.”

  She smiled but it faded quickly. “We haven’t spoken much since Sunday, actually.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  Connor, you asshole.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “No, but we’re both busy.” Her expression brightened. “Did you know Connor wrote poetry?”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I’ve only read one. About me.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Did you read it?”

  “Suffocating days?” I said. “Sweaty sheets?”

  “Oh my God.” She covered her face with her hands, then peeked at me between her fingers. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  I laughed a little. Her embarrassment was fucking cute as hell. “It wasn’t a very good poem.”

  Her face bloomed into surprised amusement. She tossed a napkin at me, laughing. “Yes, it was! I suppose you’re giving him a ton of shit about it.”

  “Only because he can do better,” I said.

  “You think?” Her laughter m
elted into something warm and private. “I wish he would. Write more, I mean.”

  “You do?”

  She pursed her lips and gave me a look. “Oh no, one love poem is all a gal needs, thanks. It’ll tide me over until Valentine’s Day. At least.”

  I laughed. “I just meant, poetry isn’t for everybody.”

  “No, but it is for me.”

  I knew that. I just wish it wasn’t so true. I would write to you every day…

  “You once told me pretty words weren’t enough without something real behind them,” I said slowly.

  “They’re not,” Autumn said. “But his poem felt very real to me. More than pretty words. It felt…”

  “Honest,” I said.

  “Yes!” Her face lit up. “It felt honest and yet beautiful. And coming from him, it was unexpected.”

  “He wants to express himself,” I said. “How he feels about you. For a guy like him, it’s not always easy.” My pen tapped. “That’s what he told me, anyway.”

  She nodded. “I’m so glad he did. I’m the first to admit I have ridiculous expectations in relationships. And I was trying my best to keep things between us casual, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t do casual.”

  Translation: going for a week without hearing from the guy she slept with is too long.

  “Connor’s been busy all week too,” I said, biting out the words. “But he talks about you. A lot.”

  Her face brightened. “He does?”

  “Yep.” My pen madly tapped my notebook. “He’s auditing a poetry class,” I said. “To get better at the poetry thing. For you.”

  “Really?” Her eyes were molten gemstones in the dim light.

  I nodded.

  “That’s so sweet.” She shook her head. “More than sweet. After the way things ended with my last boyfriend, I was sure starting something new was a bad idea. Especially since I tend to become invested rather quickly.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I said. “Some people live their entire fucking lives without showing their hand.” My pen doodled on a blank page of my notebook. “It’s brave to put yourself out there, especially after someone screwed you over.”

  “Thank you. I hated how what Mark did made me feel shitty about myself. Like I was to blame, you know?”

  “Trust me, he’s the asshole in the picture. But it still hurts like hell, right?”

  “That’s the great thing about dating Connor,” she said. “It’s almost impossible to be around him and not smile and laugh. And to discover he has this deeper, poetic side?” She shook her head, lost in a dreamy thought. Her wrist rolled, turning her palm up. Empty.

  I could fill her soft hand

  with all of my words,

  Curl her fingers around them

  Protected now

  My soul in her safekeeping

  “If only he’d show that to me more,” Autumn said. “He’d be…”

  “Perfect?”

  “Nobody’s perfect, but the combination of his good humor and sensitivity makes me feel we have a chance at being happy.”

  If the two of us were one person, we’d make her happy. I can help Connor make her happy.

  “Happy is the most important thing,” I said quietly.

  She curled her fingers and drew her hand back into her lap. “But not at your expense. It’s important to me that you’re okay with us. With me being over at your place. In your life.”

  At my expense, I thought. Yes, at my expense. I’m going to pay. Every day they’re together, I’m going to pay. Because their happiness is worth the price.

  “I’m okay with it,” I said.

  Her smile was radiant. “I’m so glad. I—” Her ringing phone—Chris Isaac’s “Wicked Game”—cut her off and she rummaged in her bag. “Sorry. That’s my brother.” She put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Trav. What’s up?”

  Within three seconds, her smile vanished and her mouth slowly dropped open. Her eyes widened, fear and worry blooming in them like a dark shadow.

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  I half-rose out of my seat. “What is it?”

  Her eyes darted to me helplessly as she listened. “My dad…he had a heart attack. They’re rushing him to surgery.” She listened a moment. “Okay.” Nodded vigorously. “Right. Okay, I will. I’ll call you back when I get a flight. It’ll be okay, Trav. I’m coming. Okay. Bye.”

  Her hand shook as she ended the call and stared at the display, thumb hovering over the buttons. “Holy shit,” she murmured. “This is so bad. So bad…”

  “What can I do?”

  “I need…a flight. I have to go. Tonight. Oh God…” The phone slipped from her hand. I caught it before it fell in her coffee cup.

  “Easy, easy,” I said, opening the Google App. “We’ll get you home. What airport do you fly into? Lincoln?”

  “Omaha,” she said, her hands digging in her hair.

  “Got it.” I punched in the info on her phone.

  “Travis said he’d had chest pains for days. but he wouldn’t go to the doctor. Didn’t want to miss a day’s work for the money it might lose him.”

  I stopped scrolling through flights to meet her eyes. I gave her a quick, tight nod to tell her I got it. I understood how fear of missed work and less money could take over your life. “It’s gonna be okay,” I said.

  “I have to get to him, Weston. I have to see him.”

  “I know. We’ll get you there, I promise,” I said. “Here. Direct to Omaha Eppley. Leaves Logan at eight p.m.”

  She reached for the phone. “How much?” Tears spilled from her eyes. “God, it’s over five hundred dollars. I can’t…”

  “I know, I know. Last minute flight.”

  She looked up at me. “I don’t have it. Even if I cleaned out my savings, I don’t have it.”

  I didn’t have it either. I’d opted for my scholarship stipend to pay out in monthly installments, and I was already tapped out.

  Fuck everything, everywhere.

  “Where’s Edmond?” Autumn glanced around. “Maybe he can give me an advance on my paycheck.”

  “He wandered outside.” I tore out of my seat and onto the street. I looked up and down, but the singing baker was nowhere in sight.

  You idiot, Edmond’s not the answer. Connor. Connor can take care of this.

  “He’s not there,” I said, rushing back inside. I fished my phone out of my pocket and jabbed a number with my thumb.

  “What are you doing?” Autumn asked.

  “Calling Connor.”

  She was already shaking her head. “Why…? No. I can’t ask him for five hundred dollars.”

  “You’re not. I am.”

  “No, it’s too much.”

  I ignored her. The phone was ringing. “Come with me now,” I told Autumn. “Get your bag. Let’s go.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “This is plan B,” I said, putting my arm around her, helping her to her feet. She smelled like cinnamon and apples. She was soft and small under my hand.

  I led her to my parked car and opened the passenger door for her.

  “Hey,” Connor answered, as I helped Autumn in.

  “Are you home?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “I’m with Autumn. Her dad is sick. She needs a flight to Nebraska and a ride to Logan.”

  “Her dad is sick?”

  “Heart attack. He’s in surgery now.”

  “Goddamn. Hold on, let me get my laptop.”

  I climbed behind the wheel, fumbling my seatbelt with one hand as I juggled my phone

  Autumn’s voice was breathy and high. “Weston…”

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said, starting my car, which, by some miracle, turned over on the first try.

  Autumn turned away, elbow on the window ledge and forehead in her palm, fighting back tears. Caught in the no man’s land between pride and hope. The same war I fought every time the Drakes bailed my mother out of one catastrophe or another.
/>   I pulled away from the curb and Autumn’s phone rang.

  “Oh God, it’s my mother. Hello? Mom? How is he, what’s happening?”

  Don’t let it be too late, I prayed to any god that would listen. Please, she has to see him.

  “He is? Okay. Yes, I’m coming tonight. Right now.” She glanced at me. “My friend is helping me. I’m on my way. Okay, love you. See you soon.”

  I blew out a breath of relief as Connor came back on my phone. I told him about the flight I’d found. By the time I screeched to a stop in front of our place, he’d booked the ticket and was waiting outside, jacket and keys in hand, the Hellcat idling at the curb. Autumn burst out of my car and flew up the walk. Connor was already striding to meet her. He wrapped his arms around her and they held each other tight.

  I exhaled the story of my life, killed the engine and got out.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Connor stroked Autumn’s hair as she buried her face against his chest, her shoulders shaking. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll be home in a few hours. You’ll be right there with him. It’s okay.”

  He met my eye over her head and said again, “It’s okay.” And a week’s worth of awkwardness between us blew away.

  “I’ll pay you back,” Autumn was saying.

  “Hell no,” Connor said. “Don’t worry about it. It’s done.”

  “Thank you.” Autumn stepped back, wiped her eyes and checked her watch. “God, it’s five-thirty. Are we going to make it to Logan in time?”

  “We can make it,” Connor said, leading her by the hand toward the Hellcat. “I’ll get you there, I swear.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  Connor opened the passenger door and Autumn had a foot in the well when she abruptly reversed directions and rushed back down the sidewalk.

  To me.

  She jumped at me, wrapped her arms around my neck, her feet off the ground for a second. Not giving me a hug of gratitude, but taking something from me instead.

  “I’m going to be strong, like you,” she said against my neck. “I have to get to my dad.”

  “That’s right,” I said. I held her tight and inhaled everything I loved about her. “And you will.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she released me and hurried to Connor’s waiting car.