Waiting for Autumn

by DeRouen, J. A.

  “Has she made it here yet?” I silently applaud myself for waiting a full five minutes to ask that question. God knows I don’t want to sound overeager to see her when my mere presence is the equivalent of a root canal for her.

  “She should be here any minute. She’s probably ten minutes behind me. She’s such a do-gooder, refusing to go one mile over the speed limit. She doesn’t have a get out of jail free card, like me.” Brady points to his legs and chuckles.

  She never called or messaged about exactly when she would be moving in, but Brady and I have been in constant contact. Although she hired movers to do the heavy lifting, Brady offered to help her unpack and get things set up. There’s only one problem with that —

  “The apartment is upstairs?” And here we go with the shrieking again. Autumn glares from the doorway, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place. “Brady, you can’t help me unpack. You can’t even visit! There’s no way for you to get up there! Somebody failed to mention the apartment is on the second floor, with a narrow, outdoor stairway.”

  She’s flustered. And breathless. And so fucking cute.

  From her wispy, white blonde hair with her aviators perched on top, to her used-to-be-white Chucks that have seen better days … every piece of her, old and new, still holds me hostage. In a flash, I see it all again. Dirty feet and clasped hands … skinned knees and broken curfews … faint whispers and broken promises.

  “Calm down, little sis, it’s no biggie,” Brady chides, not grasping that the least effective way to get a woman to calm down is to tell her to calm down. Autumn’s irritated growl and foot stomp prove I’m one hundred percent right. He leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. “I’m crashing at Seb’s house. He and I are going to chill like old times. It’s been decided. The boys need to catch up.”

  She narrows her gaze at Brady, reading between his not-so-subtle lines. “It’s been decided, huh? And when exactly did you decide this?”

  His eyes flit to mine for a split second before he hits her with his widest grin. “Just now, little sister, just now. Look, I’m sorry I can’t help, but it’s not a total loss, right? You’ve got a new apartment, I get to see my best friend …”

  He waggles his eyebrows and shrugs sheepishly. It only takes seconds for Autumn to fold. She never could resist Brady when he turned on the charm. It used to be the same for me, but I doubt that still holds true. If recent run-ins are any indication, she’d incinerate my balls regardless of charm level.

  “Well,” she sighs and throws up her hands. “I guess there’s nothing to be done about it, right? I mean, I wish you could help me with the boxes and get the furniture put back together, but I’ll manage.”

  And there it is. The tiniest crack appears.

  Sure, baby, the door to your heart may be shut tight, but I’m a resourceful man.

  “I’d be happy to help,” I offer, with the most unassuming smile I can muster. Her pursed lips say she’s half-buying it. But her narrowed gaze tells me my balls may be in danger after all. “I can lug boxes with the best of them, and I’m a master at putting together bed frames. I even have a toolbox.”

  She bites her lip and runs the bottom of one shoe over the top of the other. That mindless motion, shoes twisting and tapping nervously on top of each other, has me mesmerized. If that’s all it takes for her to grab my attention, I don’t stand a chance.

  And when her lips quirk up into the tiniest of smiles, I think maybe, just maybe, neither does she.

  Chapter 15

  Sebastian

  Present Day

  Haven, LA

  The first time we kissed, Autumn’s fingers trembled as she ran her hands up my chest. When she snuck out her bedroom window with her parents only two doors away, her widened eyes looked as if she was waiting for the SWAT team to light up the yard and cuff us both. The first time we made love, her stuttering breath and racing heart were off the charts.

  But when I closed the apartment door behind us, leaving nothing between us but a shit ton of boxes, four walls, and utter silence, Autumn redefined the meaning of anxious. I’d never seen her this keyed up. A bundle of exposed nerves and unspoken words pulse around us as she flits from box to box.

  “Wait, stop.”

  “No, don’t touch that one!”

  “I’ve got it.”

  I’ve relegated myself to the corner, patiently awaiting my instructions. Or for Autumn’s head to explode from the pressure—whichever comes first. It takes her a good ten minutes to notice the lack of movement on my part, and she shoots me a quizzical look. She throws her arms out and shrugs. I cross mine and do the same.

  “What are you doing over there?” She huffs.

  “Waiting for my marching orders.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You don’t have to be a jerk, you know.”

  “What? I’m not … what are you talking about? Look, I’m here to help, Autumn. I’m not trying to upset you or unnerve you or do whatever that is to you,” I wave a hand in her direction. “Tell me where you want me, and that’s where I’ll be.”

  If she gets my double meaning, she doesn’t show it as she runs a frustrated hand over her face. She shakes out her hands and gives me a tight smile.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just … gah!” She smiles her apology, and like the whipped idiot that I am, I melt. “It’s just that … I mean, this is hard, right? Don’t you think this is hard?”

  Is it hard to hold back the urge to eat up the space between us and wrap my arms around her? Yeah. Is it hard to swallow the words held hostage in my gut for the last five years? Hell yeah. But “hard” is all relative, because nothing, and I mean nothing, could be harder than walking away, staying away from her all this time.

  “It doesn’t have to be, Autumn. Come on, it’s me,” I say with a gentle smile. “It’s just me. So, put me to work.”

  She sucks in a nervous breath and blows it out with a shake of her head. “Okay, sorry. I guess you can start by bringing the dresser into the bedroom and putting together the bed frame. And thank you.”

  I walk over to the dresser and pluck the hot pink, fuzzy pillow off the top. It looks like the top of a troll’s head, and the backside is silver sequins. I run my hand over the fuzz and laugh.

  “Looks like a unicorn barfed up a hairball in your new apartment.” I toss the pillow at her head, and she catches it with a grin. “Quick, get rid of it before it multiplies.”

  “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and places the pillow on the counter next to her.

  “Never in a million years did I think I’d find a pink, fuzzy anything in your possession. That thing,” I say, pointing at the glob in question, “is the anti-Autumn.”

  I expect her to throw the damn thing back in my face. Maybe shoot me the bird and tell me to piss off. What I don’t expect is for her lips to turn down into a frown as she averts my gaze.

  “Things change,” she whispers, her nerves creeping back into her words. “A lot has changed in the last five years, Sebastian.”

  * * *

  “Furniture assembled. Kitchen unpacked. Cable and Wi-Fi wired and ready to go.” I lean against the doorframe of Autumn’s new bedroom and cross my arms. “You sure you don’t want me to help you in here? Or work in the spare bedroom? I assembled the twin bed you brought, but I could unpack the boxes …”

  She stands up and brushes off her shorts, shaking her head. “No, no I’ve got it. Really, you’ve done more than enough. Thank you for the help.”

  She brushes past me and into the living room, and her tone and demeanor feel so formal all of a sudden. She’s already headed to the door like I’m the hired help she needs to see out. I half expect her to hand me a check.

  She stops in front of the graffiti mural in the living room and glances back at me.

  “This is amazing.”

  “It is.”

  She traces a finger along the tattered devil’s wing, then turns her attention to the opposite side, a curved an
gel’s wing in pristine condition. Good and evil. Light and dark. Yin and yang. The art nearly takes up an entire wall in the living room.

  “I told the artist to choose whatever she wanted. She said there’s light and dark in all of us. It’s the ultimate balance. She thought I needed a reminder. Or maybe she thought I needed saving.” I shrug as I take in the yin and the yang of it all. “I just think it looks cool.”

  “I suppose she’s right,” she whispers, then walks the length of the room.

  Our time together has ended.

  “I’m sure Brady and Isaac are starving, and so am I. What do you say I order takeout and we can all have dinner at my place?”

  She shakes her head as she swings open the door, not even turning around to look me in the eye.

  “I’ve got way too much to do. And you shouldn’t feed that idiot—it’s like rewarding bad behavior. He should starve for his deceit.”

  I raise my eyebrows and smirk, silently admitting, “Maybe he wasn’t the only one involved in said deceit.”

  Her return smirk and playful glare say, “No shit, Sherlock.”

  God, I miss our silent conversations.

  I’m halfway down the stairs when she calls my name. I turn around and smile, feeling way more hopeful than I have any right to be.

  “We need to talk,” she says. I wait while she fumbles. “I mean, not right now. Of course, not right now, but soon. I just think we should, you know, have a conversation. That’s all I’m saying.”

  She blows out a breath of frustration, shaking her head and laughing at herself. I can’t help but join in.

  “Sure thing,” I say with a chuckle. “When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

  “What?”

  I point to the coffee shop below us, and she gives me a goofy smile. There she is. Behind the bluster and nerves, there’s the Autumn I remember.

  “Duh …”

  If she were interested in a second chance, she’d have walked right into my arms and kissed me. The only reason she’d want to have a “talk” is to make sure we’re on the same page, which is no fucking page at all. As I walk away, I know I should bury my burgeoning hope under a big steaming pile of realism.

  I’m a lot of things—scrappy, sarcastic, too broody for my own good. And I’m one helluva sweet talker.

  But one thing I’ve never been is a realist. And this isn’t over.

  * * *

  “I hope five pounds is enough for you, my friend, because Isaac and I have done a number on these crawfish,” Brady says as I meet them on my back porch.

  I peer into the garbage bag they’ve been filling and scoff. “How many pounds have you two eaten already? This is easily fifteen pounds in this trash can.”

  “Who can remember?” Brady points a gloved finger at Isaac. “Do you remember?”

  “Nope, I don’t remember,” Isaac says with a somber shake of his head.

  “Plus, Isaac is a growing boy.”

  He meets my eyes and gives me an apologetic shrug. “I’ll do all the cleanup, Uncle Seb.”

  “And what kind of pussy wears gloves to eat his crawfish?”

  “The smart kind,” Brady mutters, sucking and tossing another head into his pile of destruction. “I’ve got hangnails and the cayenne pepper burns like a mother! Leave me alone.”

  “You say hangnails, I hear pussy.” I grab an empty tray and fill it with crawfish as Brady mutters unintelligible insults under his breath. When I grab his dipping sauce and put it between our two trays, I dare him with my eyes to touch it.

  “Miserable fucker.” Brady laughs and elbows Isaac. “How do you live with this guy?”

  “Lesson of the day, my dear nephew,” I cut in before Isaac can respond. “When there’s someone out there who knows where all your skeletons are hidden—like in the deep end of Mrs. O’Malley’s pool after her unfortunate divorce from her husband, for example, that’s a bear you don’t want to poke.”

  Isaac looks from me to Brady, then back to me again while we both sit in utter silence.

  “Which one of you was it?” Isaac asks, kicking me under the table.

  Brady and I answer at the same time.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “No one … I made the whole thing up.”

  Isaac resumes peeling crawfish … while quietly humming the opening ditty to Mrs. Robinson.

  And Brady and I burst out laughing.

  Chapter 16

  Sebastian

  Present Day

  Haven, LA

  “Tomorrow’s the big day. You’ve got your game face on?”

  I keep my eyes trained on the boxing match highlights lighting up the television. Teenagers are like wild animals. Direct eye contact scares the shit out of them, and they dart out of sight at the first hint of a threat.

  The kids in my high school class were the same kids eating glue beside me in kindergarten. I’m definitely not an expert on the subject, but I’d bet switching schools in your junior year of high school sucks balls. Big hairy ones, if I had to guess.

  “Yeah.”

  That’s it. Yeah. Chatty Cathy, this one.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed getting to know the kid. He’s low maintenance, no frills, and he helps around the house and coffee shop like it’s his job—hell, Lexi could learn a thing or two from him—not that I’d ever make the mistake of suggesting it. I’d like my big, hairy balls to stay intact, thank you very much.

  But it’s not only that. Sure, I appreciate the help, but I’ve also enjoyed the company. Issac and I shoot the shit about all sorts of things, and we agree on what’s important—Pearl Jam is the greatest rock band to ever live, Scarlett Johansson is what spank banks are made of, and Drew Brees is the best quarterback in the NFL. Everything else in life is negotiable.

  But when the conversation turns to him, what he’s doing, or God forbid, his feelings, I’ve got to treat my otherwise amiable nephew as a hostile witness.

  “Did you meet anybody yesterday in orientation?”

  “Yeah.”

  Eyes still trained forward, I grab the throw pillow next to me and smash it into the side of Isaac’s face.

  “Wha—Come on, stop it, Uncle Seb,” he chuckles, wrenching the pillow out of my grip.

  “Swear to God, man, if you say ‘yeah’ one more time, I’ll line your path to the bathroom with rat traps tonight.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m serious. Not mouse traps—rat traps. Strong enough to snap a toe bone like a splintered toothpick,” I say, serious as a motherfucker. “Now, how did orientation go yesterday? Think long and hard about your answer. Your toes are depending on you.”

  He lets out a long-suffering sigh, shrugs, and mirrors the posture of Eeyore. I’ve learned Eeyore is the actual mascot for the teenage condition. Lucky for me, Isaac usually keeps a tight leash on his inner donkey.

  “It was good, I guess.” Another shrug. “I mean, the other guys were cool, but I don’t really know them, you know?” Sigh. “Some of them were kind of showing off and acting douchey, but I don’t know. It might just be me.” Shrug—seriously, if he keeps this up, he may need a chiropractor. “I’m sure they’re fine, and I’m being a dick. I’ll get on board, Uncle Seb, don’t worry.”

  “I know you will,” I say, then reach out and rub his shoulder.

  Isaac looks down at my hand and scrunches his face. “Why are you rubbing me?”

  “Shut up. I’m not flirting with you, man. I just figured your shoulder was sore, with all that shrugging and shit.”

  He flutters his lashes at me and cocks his head to the side. “Are we having a moment? Should I braid your hair?”

  My grip on his shoulder tightens until he lets out a lady-like squeak. “Like a splintered toothpick.”

  “All right, all right,” he chuckles and squirms out of my hold.

  “But seriously, I get it. It sucks to switch schools with only two years left, have to meet a whole new group of p
eople, start over from scratch. Hell, I’d have a bad attitude, too. But I bet you’ll like them more once you get to know them.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure I will.” Shrug. “I guess we’re both out of our comfort zones, aren’t we?”

  My first reaction to his statement is damn straight, but the thought grates. Autumn is warmth, comfort, and every happy memory from the first two decades of my life. I’ll always consider her and Brady my best friends, no matter time, distance, or circumstance. After years of separation, Brady and I picked up our friendship, dusted it off, and moved on as if we were never really apart.

  Autumn and I, on the other hand, feel like a bloody hangnail. Something that desperately needs mending but hurts too badly to touch. I look at her and feel everything—the accident, the guilt, the bad decisions, the longing—separating us, making a few steps feel like miles. I look at her and the mountain range I’ve erected between us and think, “Take a good look. This is all your doing.”

  How can the accident and everything after be water under the bridge for Brady and me, but feel like a brewing thunderstorm with Autumn? He was the one who was injured. He was the one who lost his career … his legs … his independence. If he can forgive me, then everything else should just fall into place, right? If only that were true …

  They were both my best friends, but our relationships were obviously very different. In a twisted way, I’ve always felt I ruined Brady’s life, and losing Autumn was part of my punishment. If I couldn’t protect those I cared about most, then I didn’t deserve them.

  Whatever the reason, and as much as I hate to admit it, Isaac is right. What was once my greatest comfort is now so unclear. And I either have to live with what we’ve become or fix it. But how?