Return To You

by Leia Stone

  "Good job accurately predicting the future. Do you know what I'm going to say next?"

  Owen stares at me, waiting.

  "I'll take it from here. Monday night dinners are my responsibility. We'll see you at her appointments." There is clearly too much history for Owen Miller and I to ever be in the same room with each other again.

  His face falls. "I want to check on her after her chemo days."

  I cross my arms. "No thanks. I've got that covered too."

  Owen’s face is a mask of anger as he spins on his heels and walks to his car, pausing when he reaches it. He glances back at me. "Stubborn woman."

  "Strength of conviction!" I shout and give him my back.

  I don't need to watch him drive away again. This time, he can stare at me as I disappear.

  Chapter 4

  Owen

  Fuck.

  That girl drives me crazy. Woman, I mentally correct myself. She's a woman now. And what a woman she has grown into. Feisty as hell, stubborn, more than ready to go toe-to-toe with me. She wasn't always that way. She was never a pushover, but she wasn't always so easy to incite. Is it the person she has turned into or is it me? Does seeing me bring this out in her?

  Whichever it is, it’s maddening. I can't figure out if I want to take cover and hide until she decides to leave again, or press my lips to that pretty mouth of hers and shut her up.

  If I did the latter, she'd probably knee me in the balls.

  The hate rolled off her in waves just now. I could feel it, see it, taste it. The worst part is that I don't blame her. I deserve it.

  I had a chance to patch things up, but when she shut down my conversation, I lashed out and went right for her wounds. I was a grade-A asshole. Autumn brought that out of me.

  My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I think of her. Mounds of dark hair curling down to the center of her back. She wore it shorter before, but I like it this way. She wasn't dressed in anything special, just baggy sweatpants before changing into tight jeans, but still as gorgeous as the day I met her. Her arms were slender, but her thighs were muscled, probably from all the walking around in the city. She has hips now too, graceful curves she didn't have before. She looked tired, and not just remnants from her redeye. Probably overworked, like me. Different careers, same pressure.

  Funny how we've both let our work do that to us. It makes me wonder what else we have in common. Is she in a relationship? Has she been serious with someone? I’d glanced at her left hand and didn’t see a ring. My stomach roils at the idea.

  It's not fair. I've dated. Not that I've been serious. The second the girl starts talking about a future, I'm done. It's been hell trying to convince my eighteen-year-old self that Autumn isn't my forever. It's a sad fact that I'm still trying to convince him. Her being back isn't helping the situation either.

  I need to blow off some steam, so I reach for my phone and dial Ace.

  "What's good, buddy?" he answers.

  "You busy?"

  "Uh…" He pauses. "Kind of. What's up?"

  "Don't worry about it, man." He’s probably with a girl. My best friend is always with a girl.

  He clears his throat. "Hang on."

  The connection falls silent. I'm pretty sure he put me on mute. After a minute, his voice comes through.

  "I'm available now."

  "Ace…" I know what he did, and I'm sure it didn't go over well.

  "You're more important. When was the last time you called me and sounded like a princess in need of rescuing? No way I'm gonna pass that up."

  I groan. Great. The last thing I need is to be indebted to Ace. He'll call in the favor in the form of making me tell some poor girl that he had to rush into surgery and can't take her out on the date he promised her. No need to mention that Ace isn't a surgical oncologist. It'll just be a part of the story he, and by extension, me, will be feeding her.

  "Where do you want to meet?" he asks.

  "Shoot some hoops?" I suggest.

  "For sure, man. Let me stop at home and change. See you in twenty?"

  "See you soon." I hang up.

  I stop at home too, changing into basketball shorts and shoes, and head back out.

  "Girl troubles?" Ace asks as he approaches.

  "You're late," I say, watching him walk up, a plastic bag swinging against his thigh.

  He plops down on the bench beside me. "I stopped for some much-needed beverages."

  I lean over, peeking into the bag. Two forties of beer knock against one another.

  "Forties? What are we, eighteen?" I chuckle, tipping up my head to see my best friend. The sun has finally gone down. Some days I'm grateful for the long summer days, but other days the relentless sun can feel oppressive.

  Ace pulls the bottles from the bag. The crack of opening the lid fills the air and he hands me one.

  “Brother, some days I wish we were eighteen again.”

  Yeah, because at eighteen he was sleeping with every girl in a five-mile radius of our dorm room. My eighteenth year was the darkest year of my life and you couldn’t pay me to relive it.

  "Probably shouldn't drink these before we play," I warn, but even I don't listen to the warning. Placing the bottle to my lips, I take a sip. It's cool, crisp, refreshing.

  "That's why I got the light beer. More like water than beer."

  I nod. "True."

  Ace takes a long swig and looks at me. "You gonna tell me why you called sounding like someone ran over your dog?"

  I make a face. "That's not how I sounded."

  "Sure is."

  "Stop enjoying it so much."

  Ace chuckles. "Cool and calm Dr. Miller? Sorry, no can do. You're just lucky I wasn't recording you, because if I told anybody how you sounded, they'd never believe me. You don't even believe me." He drinks again, and when he's finished, he says, "So, spill it."

  My ankle crosses over my knee and I lean against the back of the bench, clenching the muscles in my shoulders until they coil tightly. "She's back."

  Ace sits forward so fast a bit of beer sloshes out of his can and onto his fingers. "She? Like she? The one who must not be named?"

  Yes, my best friend and I liken Autumn Cummings to Voldemort. It was fitting considering she nearly killed me from heartache.

  I run two fingers under my chin and nod. Just saying it out loud makes me want a drink. Lucky for me, Ace thought ahead. I take a long pull and swallow.

  "To help with her mom?" he asks.

  "Yeah."

  "And to see you?"

  I snort. "Hardly. She can't stand me. Let's just say we should make sure there aren't any sharp objects nearby when she and I are in the same room together."

  My best friend’s face turns serious. "So, you've already seen her?"

  I nod. "That's where I was coming from when I called you." I sigh. "She hates me."

  "No offense, Owen, but she has a pretty good reason." Ace has never been one to mince his words. I like that about him.

  I shake my head, rubbing my forehead as shame creeps over me. "I know."

  I still grimace when I mentally replay some of the things I said to her that night. Ace was with me that day. He made the long drive out to Santa Clara with me where Autumn was going to college. At the time, we were roommates at University of Arizona. We barely knew each other, but Ace was up for a road trip, and I was too blinded by immature anger to care about who came along to watch me self-destruct and clip the tenuous ties that still held Autumn and I together.

  But she hurt me too. After everything we went through, she just fucking ghosted me. Didn’t answer my calls, returned all of my letters, deleted my emails. It’s like she died and I was left with no closure and an apology that never got to leave my lips.

  “I thought I was going to marry her,” I say, taking another chug of my beer.

  Ace claps me on the back. “There’s your problem … you believe in marriage.”

  That causes a grin to pull at my lips. “You’re going to be a sixty
-year-old spinster with two girlfriends and half a dozen illegitimate children.”

  We both chuckle over that, but then Ace’s face takes on a serious look.

  "Do you want to turn Faith's care over to me?" he asks out of nowhere.

  My surprise is evident in my face. "Why would I do that?"

  No fucking way. Faith is my patient and I will get her well again. I’ve done it before, and I won’t let personal shit get in the way.

  "Gee, I don't know," he says in a tone that tells me I should most definitely already know. "Conflict of interest?"

  "It's always been a conflict of interest." This is a smallish town; every patient is a conflict of interest to some degree.

  "Right, but now it's a front-line conflict. In a major way. Your patient's closest family wants to grind you into hamburger meat. Do you think that could affect Faith's care? Emotions fuck shit up, man. You know that."

  I shake my head. And here I was calling Autumn the stubborn one. I know Ace is right. There is a conflict of interest and emotions do fuck shit up. But I didn’t have any conflicting emotions with Faith. I wouldn’t hesitate to make good medical decisions where she was concerned.

  Both these things have existed for years; they just haven't been a problem until now. If they even will be at all. I can deal with Autumn, explain to her that she and I need to figure out how to be adults and get along, and as for the emotions part, well, there is no dealing with that. I have to be the one treating Faith, because I need to know I've exhausted every possibility, gone down every path, left no stone unturned. I'll never forgive myself if I don't, and part of that is being the person in charge of her care.

  Ace stands, taking the basketball I brought from its spot underneath the bench. "You ready to play?" He tosses his empty beer can back in the bag.

  I drain the rest of mine and do the same.

  "I'm going to kick your ass," I inform him, just as he throws the ball at my chest. I wasn't expecting the pass and I end up grunting before barely catching it.

  He scoffs. "You've never beaten me, asshole."

  "Sure," I say, passing the ball back to him. "But there's a first time for everything."

  Ace laughs, then proceeds to hand my ass to me. Figures.

  I can't catch a fucking break today.

  "Coming," I yell at the front door.

  I'd just finished dressing when the knock sounded. Early in the morning, I wasn't expecting anybody, which actually told me who it probably was. There's only one person with a habit of showing up unannounced, and now that she's done it so often, it's become her calling card.

  "Hey," I answer, opening the door. I was right.

  "Hey," Naomi grins, a smile sliding out one side of her mouth. "I just finished my shift and I'm not ready to go to sleep."

  She steps inside, not waiting for me to respond. Naomi works nights in the emergency room at the hospital. She's a great doctor and funny as hell. After a couple months as friends, things progressed, and pretty soon we were sleeping together. It's never moved beyond using one another to scratch our itches though.

  Normally I'd have no second thought about leading her back to my bedroom. It's a route we've walked dozens of times. But today something is different, and I'm not sure what it is. Or maybe I know exactly what it is, and it drives me insane.

  "I'm running late, Naomi. Can we take a raincheck?"

  "C'mon, Owen. It doesn't have to take long." She steps into me and I smell her shampoo, her damp hair brushing my cheek. She's ready. She stopped at home and showered, and instead of dropping into bed after a night-long shift, she drove over here. Naomi is good in bed; she knows everything I like and it would be easy to just jump into the bedroom with her real quick.

  She pushes her hand against the front of my pants, her fingers curling over me.

  It might be nice to fuck Autumn out of my thoughts…

  Naomi leans in, brushing her breasts against my chest, a low moan rumbling in her throat.

  I swallow hard, fighting biology and my second brain, and step away from her. I’m an emotional wreck after seeing Autumn, and although Naomi and I don’t have a serious relationship, I can’t bring myself to get involved with her right now.

  I offer her a disappointed smile. "I really need to get going."

  There is hurt in her eyes. We both know I'm not late for work. She knows what time I'm due at the hospital.

  It's the first time I've ever turned her down, and I feel the shift in the air between us.

  "Another time, then," she says, plastering a fake, bright smile on her face, and yanks her hand from my pants. She pivots, pulls open the door, and steps back through it. "Have a good shift, Owen."

  I’m an idiot. What normal guy turns down casual sex? Ace would have a heart attack if I told him.

  I stay in the door and watch her go. Naomi and I were never going to be serious, so why did I just fuck up a good thing? All because a certain brunette blew back into town and reminded me of the mess we made, the mess that's been simmering undisturbed for years, always waiting for the time when we would be forced to give it the attention it's been waiting so patiently for.

  Frustrated, I snatch my keys off the kitchen table and shove my wallet in my pocket.

  The entire drive to the hospital I try to forget about Autumn and her passionate arguing whenever she’s around me… of the sadness in her eyes even when she's angry.

  And I fail completely at the pointless endeavor. Mostly I wonder if the underlying sadness in her eyes is there because of me.

  Chapter 5

  Autumn

  "Mom, you need to eat." I make a face, exactly the kind of maternal face she's made at me a hundred times.

  How long have I been sitting here watching her push scrambled eggs around on her plate, creating little mounds and then destroying them with her fork? Feels like three hours. In truth, it's only been maybe ten minutes.

  She uses that same fork to point at my food. "Take your own advice."

  Half of my food is gone. Given the way I feel this morning, it's the most I can possibly eat. Today is her first chemo treatment. First one of this latest diagnosis, anyway.

  "More than you," I retort. "I read about all this last night, Mom. It said you need to eat a light meal before beginning treatment, and—"

  I stop when I see the look on her face. "What?"

  "This isn't my first rodeo, Autumn."

  My stomach drops and the guilt gnaws at me. I should have been here all those other times. Grabbing my glass of water, I bring it to my lips. "No, but it's mine," I mutter into the glass. I was up late reading, reading, reading. Every webpage I could find on how to prepare for chemotherapy. I read until the words bled together.

  "After your treatment today, I'm going to run to the grocery store. I made a list last night. We're going to start juicing."

  Mom wrinkles her nose. "I don't own a juicer."

  "You will by tomorrow. I ordered one last night." Right after I read that dark leafy greens and brightly colored fruits and vegetables are full of antioxidants and cancer-fighting compounds.

  Mom eyes me for a moment, then presses flattened palms on the table and pushes up to standing. She places a kiss on the top of my head. "Maybe I should've told you to stay in New York again."

  My mouth drops open. “Hey!”

  Her lips curl into a smile and she laughs. "I'm kidding, Autumn. Of course I want you here, even if you're going to make me drink spinach juice."

  She steps away from the table and starts to leave the room, eggs uneaten.

  "Spinach mixed with other stuff," I yell after her.

  She waves a hand over her shoulder, like no matter what else is added there is still spinach and that's all that counts. I pull out my phone, open the notes app, and add kale to the list. That way when I tell her there isn't any spinach in the mix, I won't be lying. She won't have to know I substituted.

  Daughter of the year.

  I clear the table, scraping all the wasted food from
our plates into the trash, and mouth the words I'm sorry at the small heap. I hate wasting food. It feels like I'm giving Mother Earth and the supply chain that brought the food to me a giant middle finger.

  While my mom gets ready, I spend a little time organizing the pantry. She was never a super tidy person, and neither am I, but I need something to do with my hands. I'm antsy about today.

  I’ve come back home to take care of my mom, but doing that means I will need to find a job sooner or later once my savings run out. Even with health insurance, my mom’s medications aren’t cheap. All of these thoughts zoom around my brain as I put the pasta sauce with the dried pasta and move all of the baking goods to their own shelf.

  I've just finished rearranging the canned goods when I see a little piece of paper tucked back between a can of diced tomatoes and the wall.

  It's a small white square, maybe six inches by six inches. I turn it over, expecting it to be a recipe, but the handwriting confuses me. The block lettering is definitely not my mom's. My eyes grow bigger as I read.

  Faith,

  You're a phenomenal cook. I haven't had a meal like that in a long, long time.

  I'm leaving this note here in the pantry in hopes that when you find it,

  it will bring an unexpected smile to your face. Those are the best kind.

  Tonight was lovely. It may have been the first time, but I hope it wasn't the last.

  Love,

  Me

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  My mom is seeing someone? Since when? I'd asked her point blank on Monday night when it turned out the person at the door was Owen. Did she answer? I have to think about it, but now that I'm running the scene through my mind, I realize she never responded to my question.

  "All set?"

  I jump a mile at the sound of her voice and my fingers curl around the note tucked in my hand. Sliding my hand behind me, I act as if I have an itch in the middle of my back.

  "Did I scare you?" she asks, laughing at me.

  I clear my throat. "Maybe you should wear a bell around your neck."