by Leia Stone
"I missed nothing about you," she shoots back with a halfcocked grin.
Lies. All lies. And we both know it.
In that moment my lips crash down on hers, I can't take it anymore. I can't take her refusal to admit we still have something. I want to kiss it out of her, remind her what we had before we hurt each other.
So I do. I cradle the back of her head with my palm and I kiss her the way I've been dreaming of since the day I walked away from her. She moans, threading her fingers into my hair as she opens her lips to deepen the kiss. We're tender at first, careful with one another. The gentle meshing feels like an overdue apology.
But then it changes. The apology gives way to anger. Resentment. Pain. Years of all this, pent up. Autumn kisses me hard, pressing her lips deeply into me as I match her. I feel her lips trembling, her hips ramming into mine. It’s one of those aggressive movie kisses that you never think are real, but this is the realest fucking kiss I’ve ever had. She reaches under my shirt, her warm hands skimming my torso. Then I feel her nails dragging over the skin of my back and I contemplate leaving my father to sleep off the night in the car while I take Autumn into the house.
This kiss is more than a kiss, it’s our goodbye, our hello, our everything. It’s ten years of not speaking after we shared one of the deepest and darkest moments a relationship can ever have. I need Autumn like I need air, and her signals are all green light.
Keeping my lips on hers, my hands travel down, finding the top of her jeans. I unbutton them and push a hand inside, sliding down over the soft cotton of her underwear. Waiting a moment to see if she rejects me, I’m pleased when she tilts her hips harder into my hands. I push aside the fabric and find her center.
Fuck me, I can barely keep the groan off my lips as my finger dips inside and she covers me in heat and moisture. It’s further proof that she wants this, likes this.
A mangled cry comes from deep within her throat, and I swallow it. Of all the times I've done this with Autumn, I've never been anything but gentle. Except for now. There's a roughness to this, a primal instinct in the way I pleasure her. Her fingernails dig into my back as I use my hand against her, rotating in small circles.
She lifts her face to mine, and when she kisses me the fight is gone from her. It's gone from me too. A breeze picks up, pushing her long hair off her shoulder, and I kiss her skin where her tank-top has left her bare. The roughness of my touch has disappeared. Muscle memory has kicked in and I move expertly, remembering what she liked all those years ago, hoping it's what she still prefers.
It is.
Under my hand, her body comes to life. Her breathing picks up in pace, until I feel her breasts push against my chest and her back arches. My mouth comes down onto hers and I devour her sounds. Her breath is heavy as she jumps up and straddles my waist. I catch her ass with one hand and hold her against me as we kiss, my other hand moving faster inside of her. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m suddenly determined to give Autumn an orgasm. To prove that I can still pleasure her? To bring her some amount of bliss after years of pain? Whatever my motive, I move my fingers harder and then brush my thumb in circles over her most sensitive spot.
“Owen.” She clenches against me and starts to shake. “Holy fuck.” She screams as I back up and slam her against the wall of my dad’s house. Autumn rocks against my hand, tightening over my fingers as her orgasm pulses in my hand.
I’m so turned on I can’t even think straight. She finally collapses against my neck and huffs a huge contented sigh along my earlobe. Slipping my hand out of her pants, I lower her to the ground and adjust my hard-on as she buttons her jeans, face flushed red.
I wipe my hand on the inside of my shirt and she smirks.
"That used to embarrass you," I say, reaching up and tucking away a piece of hair that has blown into her face.
"I've grown up a little since then."
I cup my palm around her cheek. "I can see that."
Suddenly, looking at my neighbor’s house, she seems to realize where we are.
“Did you just finger me in your dad’s driveway?” She grins, looking young and carefree, like the old Autumn.
I’m still breathing heavily, wondering what it would be like to make love to her. I’m no longer mad that my dad’s a drunk, because it made this happen.
She looks up at me. "The person I met tonight was a girl. I made a friend."
I laugh once, a relieved sound. "The person who called was my dad. He wanted a drinking buddy..."
One side of her mouth curls into a small smile and I know this is the perfect moment for our talk.
“Autumn, I’m so sorry for what—”
Her face falls and it stops me short. “Owen, don’t.”
My brows furrow. “Don’t what? I’ve been waiting ten years to apologize to you and you’re not going to let me? Why?”
She chews her lip. “Because I’m afraid it won’t do anything.”
Shit. Afraid it won’t fix anything, she means. Afraid that even the most heartfelt apology can’t make her love me again. If that’s not the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.
She looks into my eyes and I can see the questions floating around in there. They mirror my own.
"Autumn—" I try again.
A garbled yell comes from the front of the house. "Owen?"
Panic takes the place of questions as I remember my father. I step away from Autumn, reaching down to adjust the front of my pants a final time as Autumn runs a hand across her shirt, smoothing out wrinkles that aren't there.
"Coming, Dad," I yell back, grabbing Autumn's hand and pulling her along behind me.
I round the corner and find my dad standing in the space between Faith's car and my own, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
"Owen, did you know Autumn is in town?" He looks at Faith's car, a thick slur to his voice. "This is her car. Where is she?"
Autumn steps around me. "Right here." She waves slowly, cheeks bright red.
Dad sways in the moonlight and I realize he’s drunker than usual tonight. "For a second there I thought I dreamed it." He shakes his head and starts to stumble forward. Autumn and I rush forward, but I get to him first.
He crashes into me as I wrap an arm around his shoulder. Embarrassment flushes through me. "I'm going to take him inside. I'll be right back."
This is my moment with Autumn and my dad is ruining it.
Autumn nods.
I get my dad to the front door, use my key to unlock it, and walk him to his bedroom. He insists he can dress himself, so I wait outside his bedroom door for him to do so. After a few minutes, he pulls open the door. He's wearing a checkered button-up shirt and plaid shorts. He looks like a drunken golfer and my depression deepens.
"Don't let me keep you, Owen. Go out there to the girl you've never been able to get over."
He closes the door and I listen. Imagine, my dad giving me good advice for a change.
Excitement thrums through me as I walk back outside, thinking of what happened on the side of the house with Autumn. We have a lot to talk about, but we've taken a step forward. It's everything I've been waiting on for years. It’s proof that what we had can never really die, no matter how scarred our past.
I walk out to the driveway, a smile the size of Texas on my face.
But my smile is washed away like a wave at the sea.
Autumn is gone.
Chapter 10
Owen
Ace comes up behind me, clamping a hand on my shoulder. "You ready for this, buddy?"
"You bet," I mumble grumpily. That shit with Autumn last night was a mindfuck. We finally come back together only for her to pull a typical Autumn and run away without a word.
Ace settles in beside me at the silver metal basin and pumps soap into his hands. We scrub and scrub, then we scrub a little more, under our fingernails and up to our elbows. I’m so mad at Autumn that I scrub my fingernails harder than usual, but I need to rein in my emotions b
ecause today is a big surgery.
When we're finished, an operating room nurse slides on our gloves. They are tight, almost suffocating, but after a minute I forget they are there.
Ace and I are sitting in on a surgery today. It's a tough case. A tumor wrapped tightly around a liver. The patient is a ten-year-old girl…
Ten years old. It always messes with me to see kids that are the same age as the child Autumn and I decided not to have. It’s my biggest regret in life and the darkest weight I carry on my soul. Truthfully, I wanted the baby, but Autumn made her choice and I wanted to be supportive, so I swallowed my opinion and held her hand through it all. That swallowed opinion has eaten me up inside for a decade.
“Doctors…” a different nurse nods in greeting, and gets the door for us as we step into the OR. I blink twice at the bright lights, eyes slowly adjusting. The patient is already there, lying on a gurney in the center of the room. She is tiny compared to other patients I've seen in this same room.
My heart lurches and my step falters. Ace gives me a quick elbow to the side.
"You going to be okay?"
He knows the weight I carry, what Autumn and I went through.
I nod, swallowing my emotions and propelling myself forward. Dr. Maple stares us down from her place beside the patient. I can't see much of her besides her eyes, but those are steely and narrowed, watching me. Dr Maple is a hardass. She's been a surgeon for thirty years; her knowledge is extensive. Being a surgeon in a smaller town means learning to perform an array of surgeries. I'm lucky to study under her, even if she is mostly unpleasant to be around.
"Are you ready, Dr. Miller?" Her tone is laced with impatience.
"Yes, Dr. Maple," I say with confidence I don't feel. From the corner of my eye, Ace dips his chin just slightly. I hear what he isn't saying.
You got this.
And I do. I manage to pull myself together. The air in the room becomes heavy, thick with our fierce desire for the best possible outcome. We all know the stakes. If we aren't successful, the little girl will be air-vac'ed to Phoenix Children’s Hospital. Right here, right now, we have the best possible chance of saving her liver; otherwise she goes on a transplant list.
I love watching Dr. Maple work. She is precise, calm, and if she has nerves, she doesn't show them. Not even a twitch of her hand.
We reach the end of the surgery and Dr. Maple looks up at me. "Close her up," she instructs. I freeze for the shortest second, then move into action. I know what to do, so I push any emotions I have for my patient to the back of my mind and rely on my training. An OR nurse hands me a threaded needle as Ace looks on. I'm aware of the eyes on me, on the needle I'm holding.
I take a deep breath, but I do it slowly, trying not to let anybody see the telltale rise and fall of my chest. Just as I've been trained to, I slip the needle into the skin, telling myself it is the skin and not her skin. She is a patient. Amorphous. Not a little girl. I push away the details of who is lying here and focus solely on what I'm doing. When I finish, I tie off the sutures and step back.
"Perfect sutures," the anesthesiologist says from her place near the little girl’s head.
"Thank you," I nod at her. She's been around the hospital for fifteen years longer than me. Her compliment means something.
The nurses take over, and Ace and I leave the OR. We strip down and discard our gloves, washing our hands again.
"You did great, man. Really." Ace pats my shoulder as we walk away from the sink. "I know kids are tough for you."
I nod. "Yeah."
"Is it harder than usual because Autumn's back?"
Last night floods my mind. I can't get a handle on what happened on the side of my dad's house. So many emotions swayed between us, each one fleeting. Desperation, attraction, anger, none of them getting the air time they need.
Bottom line: Autumn and I need to have an honest conversation. And soon.
"Maybe. But it's hard every time it's a kid."
"Especially one that age," Ace points out, forcing me to face that fact.
"Right," I agree. "I'll type up the report, okay?" I veer off without waiting for him to respond.
In my office, I spend a few minutes with my head in my hands, going over everything from the surgery. Reliving it helps me with the details so that I can write an accurate report. Even if it hurts to remember her smallness, I have to do my job.
After I finish typing my report, at nearly the same time my stomach grumbles. Unfortunately, I don't have time to eat. I have three more patients to see this afternoon. So, I pull open the top drawer of my desk, push aside some papers, and find the protein bar I threw in here last week. It's the best I can do for the next few hours.
I'm on my way out of my office when my phone buzzes. I’m in a rush but I stop short when I see it's a text from Autumn.
My mom would like to know if you're coming over for dinner tonight? It's a Monday, so...?
I sigh. Is it only Faith who wants to know? Or Autumn too? Is there any reason for me to hope? Or is it the most dangerous thing I could do?
I want to type her back: What the fuck happened last night? but I don’t. I know she’s struggling inside and I don’t want to push her. I got a glimpse of what we could be like again last night and I don’t want to fuck it up.
I type out my response. Tell your mom I wouldn't miss it for the world.
It's true. Autumn or no Autumn, Faith is important to me.
"You're late."
Autumn leans against the doorframe, arms crossed like a guard denying me entry. All I can think about is my fingers inside of her as we were pressed against my dad’s house in the dark of night … the way she moaned in my ear and tilted into my hand, begging for more.
I clear my throat. "My last patient needed some extra time." I rub my temple with two fingers. I should ask her where the hell she went last night after she disappeared on me, but I don't have it in me to start that discussion right now. I'm exhausted, and I'm starving.
Autumn must sense that I'm not a worthy opponent right now. She steps aside and I walk in. If I were more awake, more spry, I'd brush against her as I walk past, but I'm not, and I don't so much as graze an inch of her.
“Hey, I was fucking with you. You okay?”
I flinch, I don’t know why, but I do, and she retracts her arm.
“I had a rough day with a pediatric patient.” I flick my gaze up to hers and her face falls.
“Oh.” I can see the shadows cross over face, haunting her, and I regret telling her about my patient.
I’m so pissed she hasn’t said anything about running off last night that I just keep walking until I reach the kitchen.
Faith is in there preparing a salad. I peer over her shoulder to see what we are eating. Kale, with sliced apples, almonds, and grapefruit.
"Very healthy," I comment.
Faith startles. "Geez, I didn't know you were there, Owen. I'm sorry. I was daydreaming."
I settle back against the edge of the counter. "I hope it was a good dream."
She smiles. "Pretty good."
Also known as, I'm not telling you about it.
“How are you feeling after chemo?” I ask.
She nods. “About as good as can be expected.”
That meant some nausea and fatigue no doubt.
Autumn walks in, glancing at me hesitantly before going to the fridge and opening it. She's wearing black leggings, a loose top, and her hair is wound into a messy bun on the top of her head. She's stunning and she's not even trying. Typical Autumn.
"The grill should be ready by now," Autumn says, pulling away from the fridge with a tray. On top are three large salmon filets. She doesn't ask me to come outside with her, but the meaningful look she gives me conveys her message.
From the window above the kitchen sink, I watch her walk to the grill, and after what I think is probably enough time, I follow.
"Do you need help with the fish?" I ask, coming up to stand beside her at the grill.
She has set the tray on the small attached workspace and is folding the foil around the salmon so it creates something like a pillow. My guess is that she brought me out here to talk about what happened last night, but I'm not sure how to start the conversation.
"I'm sorry," she says, not looking at me. She sets the foil packet on the heated grill. "I freaked out and took off last night."
Wow. An apology from Autumn Cummings. Never thought those words were capable of leaving her lips. She picks up a pair of tongs and uses them to push the foil to the center of the grill before stepping back. I reach around her and push the lid down over the grill to be helpful.
"I understand," is all I say as I watch her toss the tongs on the now-empty tray. "But I was disappointed." I'd wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her, make her listen to what I have to say. I’ve waited a fucking decade to speak and she still hasn’t let me.
"I didn't know what to say or do after … you know." Pink blooms on her cheeks. "It was just so unexpected. I still can't believe I let it happen like that."
I still can't believe I let it happen like that. My stomach drops in my gut. That sounds like regret. Or embarrassment that we let our passions get the better of us?
I study her profile as she stares out into the yard. Clearly there is still attraction between us, as strong as it ever was, maybe even stronger now. "Don't be embarrassed, Autumn. I … liked it." What a lame way to finish a sentence. I want to tell her that I didn't just like it. I loved making her come apart at the seams, knowing it was me who was taking her on that ride.
She eyes me. "It’s backwards…” she says and I get her meaning. “I don't know what to say or do now either."
"Neither do I." I rub my eyes, the exhaustion of the day creeping in.
"Did you have a bad day?"
My hands run through my hair. "No. Not really a bad day. Just a hard one."
"Why was it hard? Because … it was a kid?"
"Because the patient was a ten-year-old girl."
“Oh.” Not just any kid, a kid the exact age ours would be.
Her lower lip trembles. A few seconds later, tears well up in her eyes. "Is it always like that for you? When it's a child" she asks. She is trying so hard to be brave, to stumble through the anguish that still plagues us both.