Return To You

by Leia Stone

  "Got any more of that for me?" I take a deep breath and wrap my arms around Autumn from behind. She feels like a soft place to lay my worries down. "Fuck…" I sigh the word into her hair.

  "Fuck," she agrees.

  I let her go so she can pour a second glass. We cheers out of habit, but even that sound is melancholy. More of a dull thud than a clink.

  My lower back presses into the edge of the counter and I reach for Autumn, my free hand curling around her hip as she steps into the triangle of open space my legs create.

  Autumn flicks her hair off her shoulder and fidgets with an earring. "My old boss in the city has been calling.”

  “Oh?” I act surprised as relief washes over me. She’s finally going to tell me.

  Autumn nods. “She wants me to come back. They have a new role for me. A promotion." She shakes her head slowly as if she can't believe it. She sips her wine and says, "A huge promotion. A few months ago something like this would have made my day. Hell, it would've made my year. It’s my dream job. Vice president of product marketing."

  VP? Damn.

  I brace myself, waiting for her to tell me she's taking it.

  "I said no," Autumn says, her eyes raking over my face. "I told her I'm not moving back."

  I look at the fancy stainless steel juicer on the counter—the new high-speed blender Autumn bought a few weeks ago to try to save her mom. The extravagant gadgets look out of place among the outdated kitchen.

  "You should take it if you want to." I hate every word as they trip from my lips. My brain nods approvingly at my maturity, my willingness to put someone else's needs before my own. My heart flips off my brain.

  "You think I should take it?" There is a quiver in Autumn's voice.

  I bring my gaze back to hers. Her lovely eyes. Her lush, thick lashes. That tiny, white scar next to her hairline. "Don’t you want it?" I ask. "If you still lived there, would you take the job?"

  "Well, yes," she says haltingly. "But things have changed, Owen…"

  I trace her jaw with the tip of one finger and her eyelashes flutter closed. Palming her cheek, she leans into my touch. "Autumn, I love you too much to make you stay on just my account."

  I don't give her a chance to answer. My lips fall down onto hers, consuming her mouth. She tastes like wine and sweet Autumn, the girl who wrecked my world when I was eighteen. The woman who might very well wreck my world once more.

  When I pull back to look at her, I can see the confusion in her eyes. She wants that job, but she wants me too. She’s lost, and scared, and her mother is dying. This is the last thing she wants to think about. I can see it in the way her gaze goes half lidded and a sly smirk creeps across her face.

  She tugs at my pants. "Let's finish what we started that night at your dad's."

  And just like that she’s replaced any deep conversation we would have about this with sex. Sex is our distraction from the inevitable sorrow laying in the next room and the pain it causes both of us to watch her die.

  Autumn crashes her mouth on mine and I go with it. As much as Faith is on borrowed time, Autumn and I could be as well. I don’t know how long this bliss will last. If I had it my way: forever. But with New York, and Autumn’s fondness for running across the country when shit gets hard, I can’t say with one-hundred-percent certainty that she’ll stay.

  I lift her in the air and turn, placing her back down on the counter. Our sweeping tongues momentarily wipe away our woes. Our kisses become frantic and needy.

  I rip myself away from Autumn, stepping back, and she hops down, leading the way out of the kitchen. Instead of walking to her bedroom like I expect her to, she slips out the back door. I follow her, confused, to the shadows on the side of the house. Then her earlier comment about finishing what we started at my dad’s dawns on me.

  My lips press against her neck as I yank down her shorts. She hitches one leg onto my hip, and in one smooth, fluid motion I'm inside her. She swallows her strangled moan, clenching tightly around me as I wrap one arm around her back and cup the back of her head with my other hand, protecting her from the wall.

  "I love you, Owen," she whispers.

  It's so dark I can't see her features clearly, but I hear the tremble in her words.

  I press my lips to hers, an attempt to steal her sorrow and worry.

  Can she feel my love? Can she feel how devoted I am, how I'm willing to make us work, no matter where we live? We aren't teenagers anymore. Physical distance doesn't have to mean the end for us.

  "I love you, Autumn. I love you so fucking much."

  After that, there are no more words. There are only two people hiding in the shadows, hearts broken and grasping for a respite from the pain.

  When Autumn's thigh muscles clench, I kiss her deeply. She comes hard, soaring, her release as physical as it is emotional. The feel of her, the sound of her, is more than I can take. My body jerks, and I press my lips together to keep from crying out.

  We stay that way for a minute, our heart rates slowing. Before I pull away, I kiss her lightly.

  On her lips, there is the salty taste of tears.

  "Son? You there?"

  My dad's voice creeps through the thick fog in my sleepy brain as I hold the phone to my ear. I crack an eye open and lift my head from the pillow. Beside me, Autumn sleeps soundly, her mouth parted slightly. Deep, even breaths escape her. After the emergency room visit and what happened on the side of the house, we are both exhausted.

  "What's wrong?" I whisper into the receiver, rolling over and trying like hell to get up without disturbing Autumn. How many nights has my dad called me, drunk and needing help? Too many to count. The thought irritates me. Before he can answer, I add on to my question.

  "Dad, you're going to have to figure your own way out of whatever it is you've landed yourself in this time."

  "Uh…" Dad pauses, and then coughs. "Going to be a little difficult to get myself out of this one, son. I'm in jail."

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and stifle a sigh. "What happened?"

  Behind me I hear the rustle of sheets, then feel the touch of two warm hands, followed by a set of even warmer lips on the center of my back.

  I turn my head to the side, and there is just enough moonlight coming in through her window to see Autumn's features. I love her bedhead. I want to wake up next to it forever.

  Not if she takes that promotion you told her to take, fuckface.

  Driving the thought from my mind, I force myself to focus on the most pressing problem at this current moment. As if there aren't enough of them.

  "I made a mistake, Owen. I had a little too much and didn't want to call you, so I drove home. Guess I wasn't doing all that good of a job of it, because I got pulled over."

  Well, shit. This is bad. Somehow up until now my old man had avoided getting a DUI.

  “Did you hurt anyone?” My heart pounds in my chest. If he ran over a kid or something, I will disown him.

  “No. Just a stop sign.”

  I sigh.

  "I'm on my way," I tell my dad, but I don't wait for his response. I don't need to hear his thank you. After tonight, I'd love to forget this ever happened. I push off the bed, and Autumn's warm touch melts away.

  "Owen? What's going on?"

  I step into my pants and pull on my shirt. It's what I wore to work today. Or yesterday, I guess. The days are beginning to run together.

  "My dad was taken to jail." In the relative darkness, Autumns gasps. "DUI," I add, pouring salt into the wound.

  "Oh, Owen."

  "I know, but he didn’t hurt anyone … so that’s good."

  "What can I do?"

  Smack some sense into my father? Rid him of the disease that eats away at the last shred of a bond we have left?

  "Right now? Nothing."

  "Lawyer? I can get a lawyer." She looks hopeful and I know the helper in her really wants to be of use.

  I shake my head, then remember she probably can't see me. "Let me figure out h
ow bad it is first." I lean down toward the mass of dark hair and kiss the top of her head. "I love you."

  "I love you too, babe."

  The simple, common pet name pierces my heart. Don't go, I almost tell her. Don't listen to me. Stay here and spend time coming up with more unique pet names.

  I don't say anything like that, simply because I don't have the time. My dad needs me.

  "Hello, I'm here for Michael Miller." I step up to the desk in the front of the police station. The officer behind the desk looks up slowly from whatever it is he's doing on his phone. My guess is solitaire or porn. Probably solitaire. He's looks like a solitaire guy.

  He glances behind himself, somewhere in the station. When his gaze arrives back on me, it travels over me with obvious contempt. "Jones wants to see you."

  "Uh … okay?" I don't know who Jones is.

  "Follow me." He stands. The desk hid his stature, but now I see he's a good head shorter than me, and much wider. We walk back through a set of doors and through a room with partitioned desks. "Jones," he yells, but it sounds more like a catcall. "The Miller kid is here."

  I balk. I'd bet a hundred bucks this desk guy is my age or younger.

  Ten feet away, someone steps from the partitions. Hair as red as a flaming torch catches my attention first, and I know it immediately. "Jackson?" I ask, astonished. I haven't seen the guy since high school. He'd gone down to the valley for college and that was the last I'd heard from him.

  He pulls himself up to his full height and sticks out a hand. The desk guy melts away into the periphery. "Owen Miller, it’s been a long time."

  I shake his hand, a weird sense of nostalgia and happiness coming over me. It mixes with my tiredness and creates an altogether bizarre feeling. Jackson is a cool dude. We were friends in high school.

  "Too long, man. You're back?"

  He nods. "Yeah, I came back a few months ago. Got a little sick of the traffic in the valley."

  "I hear you," I say. The jovial greeting turns quiet.

  "So, listen," Jackson runs a hand through his hair. "One of my guys pulled your dad over tonight. He was pretty drunk, Owen."

  Shame fills me. "He needs help … I'll make sure he gets it."

  Jackson sits back on the corner of his desk, his hands steepled between his knees. "Slapping a DUI on your dad isn't going to help him. It might humiliate him, but it won't solve his problem. I'm thinking you and I make a deal. You get him into a treatment program, and I won't charge him with a DUI."

  Gratefulness slides in, making a home for itself beside the shame warming my skin. "Thank you, Jackson. I appreciate it."

  Now to convince my dad to go to rehab.

  Jackson pushes aside some papers lying on the desk beside him. "I lost my dad a year ago. Heart attack."

  My face falls. "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, he was a good one. Pretty healthy too. Guess you never know." He shrugs and stands up. "If you go back up front, I'll have one of my officers bring your dad out."

  I extend a hand. "Thanks again, man. Really. I'm a doctor now. An oncologist. Please let me know if you ever need anything. If I can't help you, I'll find someone who can."

  I owe Jackson big-time. He accepts my offer with a nod, we shake and part ways. I'm a few feet from his desk when his voice rings out behind me. "Owen, did you and Autumn Cummings ever get married? You two were inseparable."

  A few months ago, my answer would've been completely different than it is tonight. I grin and say, "We parted ways for a while, but we're back together now."

  He returns the smile, genuinely happy. "That's great, man. Good for you guys."

  I continue on to the front where I came in, rejoining the surly desk guy. When my dad comes out, he appears sober. Scared straight, I suppose.

  "Owen," he greets me, ducking his head.

  I can't handle seeing him this way. Standing in the front of a police station, ashamed and a hairsbreadth from having a DUI.

  Placing a hand on his shoulder, I steer him towards the door. "Come on, Dad. I'll take you home."

  We don't talk on the drive. What is there to say? I feel like yelling, but I can't, because he's not a child and I don’t have the energy. As I pull into the driveway, I put it in park but keep the car running.

  My dad meets my gaze in the dim outdoor lights affixed to the front of the house. Taking a deep breath, I tell him, "You're going to a treatment facility somewhere. I don't know where yet."

  Dad's eyes widen. "Treatment? Owen, this was a huge mistake, I'll give you that, but I don't need that kind of help. I just need to cut back a little."

  My head shakes slowly back and forth. "I made a deal with the cops, Dad. They won't give you a DUI if I get professional help for you."

  He frowns and looks out the windshield. The hum of the engine becomes the only sound in the car.

  “You’re. Going. To. Treatment.” My voice is stern and it kills me that I’m the parent now, that I have no parent left to lean on.

  After a full minute, he sighs. “Fine.”

  Reaching out, he opens the passenger door and sticks one leg out. He uses two hands to haul himself from the seat, not because he is still drunk, but because he is getting older. My heart, already shattered by what's happening to Faith, breaks just a little more.

  My dad doesn't say anything more. He walks, slow and steady, to his front door and goes inside. After allowing myself a moment to grieve the loss of the dad I once knew, I drive back to Autumn's house. I undress and crawl into her bed, and it's almost as if that middle-of-the-night call never came.

  I pull her sleepy, warm body in close to me and nuzzle my face into her neck.

  She knows what I need. Her legs part, and I settle between them. She kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my neck, sweet and soft kisses.

  Earlier tonight, she needed to fall apart to forget her mom.

  Now, I need to lose myself in her to forget my dad.

  Somewhere in the quiet, in the muffled sounds we're making, I think of our agreement to be honest with each other so we don't make the same mistakes we made before.

  "Don't go," I whisper, sliding into her. “Don’t ever leave my side again.” I look into her eyes, and in them I see my entire future.

  Her nails scratch lightly down my back as she brushes a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and whispers words I will hear for the rest of my life.

  "I was never going to."

  Chapter 26

  Autumn

  My mom has gone downhill so quickly I'm beginning to wonder if she was powering through just for my sake. If my heart weren't already smashed to bits, it would be broken by the thought of her soldiering through an outward appearance of being okay, only to collapse once she was on her own.

  It has been two weeks since we were on the Strip in Vegas; now she can barely get out of bed. The helicopter ride Owen booked has been canceled. Every day I paste on a smile and go into her room, bring her meals she hardly touches, and read to her. She falls asleep by the second paragraph, and the marijuana has stopped helping with her appetite.

  How did we get here so fast?

  The hospice nurse comes once a day, checking her vitals and her meds. Owen has been sleeping here every night. He wants every last second he can get with her too. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and he’s not beside me. He’s checking her vitals, bringing her fluids, anything he can to make her comfortable.

  This morning we both woke up early, the rising sun peeking into my room at an indecent time. We went for a walk, already needing to calm our minds even though we'd only been up for just enough time to have one cup of coffee each. We held hands and listened to the cacophony of birds as we strolled around my mom’s neighborhood.

  Owen is off today, and tomorrow and we don't have plans other than to hang out around the house and see my mom during the precious minutes when she's awake.

  I'm cleaning the countertops, the same countertops I cleaned twice yesterday, when Owen walks in from outside. The k
itchen light illuminates beads of sweat in his hairline.

  "Hot out there?" I bend to replace the cleaner in its spot under the counter, but think twice and pull it back out. I'll find something new to clean today. Cleaning is my yoga right now. I need it.

  "Yeah. I think I've tightened every screw I can find on every piece of lawn furniture your mom owns. I've taken down the window screens and washed them. The steps have been power washed."

  I laugh lightly. "Would you believe it's only ten in the morning?"

  He places his sun-warmed lips on mine. "Almost time for a nap."

  "Do you think she'll wake up soon?" My gaze flickers back toward my mom's room.

  "Maybe she's in bed reading, hoping we don't check on her and interrupt her." Owen grins to show he's joking.

  My lips tremble as I attempt a smile. She's been sleeping a little more each day, and eating a little less, and sometimes I'm scared to check on her for fear she will no longer be breathing.

  Owen brushes a knuckle over my lips. "Why don't you give Livvie a call? Go out to lunch? The only place you've gone in two weeks is the grocery store."

  I start to protest, but Owen stops me. "It's not going to hurt anything if you spend one hour enjoying yourself. If your mom was awake right now, she'd tell you to go."

  I know he's right. Owen's still going to work, but me? I need to get out of this house for more than just a walk down every aisle at the grocery store. As long as I know my mom won’t be alone, I can manage an hour out.

  I call Livvie and her voice is sleep-soaked. I've been up for so long I feel like I've already lived a whole day, and Livvie is just now waking.

  "Good morning, sunshine," I say, and she groans. "Want to get lunch? Or brunch, I guess, since you probably want breakfast."

  "Yes, I'm starving,” she moans.

  I laugh. "I feel like that's always your response."

  "I forget to eat, and then when I remember it's because my stomach is eating itself."

  "Great, thanks for that visual."

  She chuckles, and the sound is a little more like her normal tone, and a little less sleepy.