N O W
Four Days Ago
Donovan has let me kip out on his sofa for days now. It’s a lump of a thing that makes my back ache and gives me a wicked crick in my neck. The only comfort I get at night is from my own pillow.
I waited until I knew Joe would be off with his mates for poker night down at McKinney’s. Thursdays, eight p.m., every week like clockwork, and then I snuck into my own home and bagged up some clothes, my book bag and my pillow.
For the first couple of days on Donovan’s sofa, I slept like a baby, mainly because my pillow smelled like Autumn. I cuddled with the barmy thing and let the scent of her shampoo, her perfume relax me.
Jaysus, that makes me sound like a sad little wanker.
Still, those first days, I got more sleep. But now, my pillow smells like me, or mostly like the God-awful forty dollar shampoo Donovan keeps in his shower. It also smells mildly of weed which Donovan’s idiot roommate smokes every afternoon after his classes. More importantly, and pathetic as it sounds, all traces of Autumn’s scent has disappeared.
I haven’t slept more than five hours in two days.
Dark circles have formed under my eyes and today at practice, Coach asked if I had the flu, threatened to send me to the infirmary. I begged him off and doubled my efforts with the sprints we were running, hoping that sheer exhaustion would help me sleep. But so far, it hasn’t worked, most likely, though, that’s due to Donovan’s amplified yells at whatever arsehole he’s playing against online. Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag.
He’s losing.
I’m not one to beg. I’m not one to want things that I have little chance at getting, but with Autumn, I have become a beggar. She is mine, no matter that she refuses to speak to me, the stubborn arse. She’s mine as much as I am hers. And so I swallow my pride, bite back any shred of dignity I thought I might have and dial a number on my phone out of desperation.
It’s only ten p.m. Surely, she’s not in for the night.
The phone rings twice and then I hear a fumble as though the person on the other side has answered then dropped their phone. I hear a distant “shit” and then “nice” and the soft voice picks up.
“Declan, seriously?”
“I’m sorry. I need to talk to you. Can you meet me?”
Sayo’s breath is heavy, like she’s debating the wisdom of getting involved in Autumn’s love life at this point. It hadn’t gone well for Layla, even though Donovan says Autumn has finally resolved to speak to her again, deciding that her friend’s lack of judgment was actually my fault. Whatever. Besides, I know Sayo. She’s Autumn’s best friend. Of course she’s going to stick her nose into Autumn’s business.
“You still at Donovan’s?” Sayo asks and I don’t bother to question how she knows that. Small fecking town and Donovan’s bigger mouth.
“Yeah, but I can meet you at the coffee shop in town.” I don’t think Sayo would be too happy to visit me in this sardine can, guy-smelling weed shop of an apartment.
“Fine. I’ll be there in ten.”
She does not meet me in ten minutes. She does not meet me, in fact, until thirty minutes have passed and I’m convinced her lateness is meant to be some sort of test of my patience. I don’t care. I’d wait an hour, ten hours, if it meant I could actually talk to someone close to Autumn. Sayo is close to her, I know that, and so I don’t mind waiting. I don’t mind eating day old muffins and espresso that will ensure I get zero sleep tonight.
The manager of the coffee shop kicked me out ten minutes ago to close, but I still wait at a table outside, running my take out cup between my fingers. It clicks against the plastic table as my eyes move up and down the nearly empty sidewalk. February in Cavanagh is always frigid; breath fogging in the cold temperatures, the smell of damp weather clinging to your lungs. The winds are picking up, the leaves gone from the trees. I know that the heat and humidity of summer will be here soon enough and I can’t wait for it. Autumn’s promised to take me to the Smokey Mountains. She wants us to watch the fireflies swarm. At least, that’s what she wanted. There is no way I can endure without her. No way for me to move past her, forget that I belong to her.
She owns me.
Sayo clears her throat as she approaches and my vision jumps to her. She nods once, but doesn’t speak and falls into the chair at my left. She wears one of her usual mad outfits—white, ripped Sex Pistols t-shirts and jeans so holey I can see the faint birthmark above her knee and a thick, gray wool pea coat. Her combat boots are black, the laces fluorescent orange. She looks rested, which surprises me since I know as Library Director she’s likely already preparing for this year’s annual book sale, even though the last one was just four months ago. Funny how I was forced into volunteering for that. Funnier still how all that organizing and dusting and shelving led to me in Autumn’s bed and her entrenched in my heart.
God, I sound pathetic.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I tell Sayo, but before I can utter another word, she stops me with her hand uplifted.
“Let’s get a few things straight.” She lifts her index finger as though she’s ticking off a list of annoying caveats. “One, Autumn knows I’m here. I wouldn’t have come without telling her.” When I nod, she raises her eyebrow as though daring me to interrupt with a million questions about my ginger angel. “Two,” another finger goes up, “for the record, I think you’re both being stubborn and ridiculous, which I told her.” Sayo reaches into her bag and pulls out that damn letter. The one that started this entire mess. She folds it out on the surface of the table and smooths out the crinkles. “My father is a lawyer, don’t know if you knew that, but Joe asked me personally to have a look at this.”
The chair I’m sitting in whines when I sit back and fold my arms over my chest. Joe is a smooth arsehole, asking Sayo for favors, assuring that she’s on his side of things. Sayo uses my empty cup to hold the letter flat on the table. An old VW bug passes in front of the coffee shop, splashing water next to our feet. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about Joe.”
“I know you didn’t, but he’s been nice to me, and I think he’s really worried about you.” When I don’t look at her, Sayo smacks my shoulder hard.
“Jaysus, what’s that about?” I have to rub my arm to keep the throbbing at bay. Sayo might be tiny, but she delivers a hell of a punch.
“That was for hitting your ailing stepdad. Really, Declan, what the hell?”
“I was hacked off.”
“Yes, well, you need to learn to control your temper.” She challenges me with another lifted eyebrow and I’m not too keen to receive an additional throttle so I placate her with a curt nod. “Now,” she says, smiling like she’s a bit too pleased with herself, “I’m going to tell you what my dad said about this letter.”
“Jaysus, has everyone in town read that buggering thing?”
Sayo’s shoulders lower, but she manages not to roll her eyes. “No. Just Joe, my dad and me. I don’t even think Autumn read it. Joe asked for an interpretation, that’s all.”
I know that if I ignore her, she’ll just yammer on until she’s had her say, anyway. All I care about is finding how Autumn is, what’s she’s said to Sayo. Does she miss me? God, does she hate me? If that means I have to endure endless lawyer babble to get what I want, then so be it.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like the waiting.
Resigned, I slump against the back of my chair and nod to the annoying Japanese cutie in front of me. “Get on with it then.”
“Okay, so basically, Mrs. O’Malley’s will is connected to her husband’s.” Sayo avoids my eyes by scanning the letter again. “Um, your father Micah.”
“And?” I have no intention of making this easy for her.
“And…,” again her dark eyes move over the paper, “Micah’s will set aside an inheritance for you to be released at his wife’s death. My dad said it was unusual, but not uncommon. Basically when there is a question of paternity, stipulations can be set so that the potential heirs will have what’s due them.”
I laugh. It a small, bitter sound that I don’t think Sayo understands. What’s due me? That’s a joke. It has to be. When Sayo frowns, her knee shaking as though she’s uncomfortable about my reaction, I move my hand, urge her to continue. “What else?”
“It seems that Mrs. O’Malley tried to have you written completely out of the will. When she couldn’t do that because of the stipulations Micah left, she added an addendum.”
“Which was?”
“You have to agree to take a DNA test.”
“I’m sorry?” Sayo pushes the letter in front of me, but I don’t bother to even glance at it.
“He left you fifty thousand pounds, Declan, but the estate won’t give you a penny until you prove that you are Micah’s heir.”
I blink twice and release a loud, echoing laugh. “You’re joking.”
“No. I’m not. That’s what the letter says right…” she points her orange fingernail to a section in the middle of the letter, “there. You have to submit your DNA for testing. If the results are positive then the estate cannot contest your inheritance.”
“And how exactly are they going to test my DNA against a dead man’s?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Sayo gets up from her spot to lean in next to me, working her fingers over the pages until she comes to a final section. “See here?” she says, nodding down at the paper. “It says that your DNA will be compared with, well, the other heir.”
“Other heir?”
I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that I wasn’t O’Malley’s only kid. Not like the bugger seemed able to keep it in his pants.
“That’s what it says.” Sayo moves back to her seat, leaving the letter in front of me.
“You mean a sibling?” The idea has me conflicted a bit. Do I care about having a blood relative? Would they care about me? They’d have to know I exist if I’m mentioned by name in this document.
“That’s what my dad thinks, yes.” She keeps her eyes diverted, messes with the flaking paint on her fingernails—a nervous habit when she’s out of sorts or feeling awkward. “It would have to be either a sibling or maybe someone directly related to your father, like brothers or sisters. The other heir isn’t mentioned further.”
Joe knew. This whole time he would have known about the faceless relatives I have back home. He grew up there. He told me himself he knew about O’Malley and my mum, it’s no large stretch to assume he knew the whole O’Malley clan, knew exactly who my kin was.
Sayo finally settles her eyes on my face and I can tell by the small line denting between her eyebrows that she’s expecting a reaction from me. Maybe she thinks I’ll freak out. Maybe she’s hoping I’ll be grateful to her and her da. I’m really not, to be honest.
“And what did Joe say about all of this?”
The wrinkle deepens and I catch the frown Sayo tries to hide. “Not much, but I have to be honest, Declan. I got the feeling he wasn’t shocked.”
It’s all the confirmation I need. Fecking, old bollocks. The letter crumbles in my hand and I toss it in the bin next to the sidewalk.
“What are you doing?” Sayo says.
“I don’t give a flying fart about some dead man and his money. It’s not important to me. Not one buggering pence.”
“Declan, that’s a lot of money.” When I only stare at her, Sayo falters, pushes her hair behind her ear.
“I know what it is and I don’t care. I don’t care that my mum shagged another woman’s husband. I don’t care if it was a pity fuck or a drunken shag or something they did to pass the time. If I’m being honest, I don’t really care that Joe knew all this shite about me and didn’t say a buggering word. I only care about Autumn. She’s all that matters. I care that she’s hacked off at me. I care that she won’t speak to me. I care that I can’t see her, can’t touch her. It’s killing me, Sayo.” My voice has gone all pitchy and soft and I hate that my vision is blurring. I hate that Sayo can see this. I hate that she’ll likely tell Autumn what a weak, pathetic sod I am, but I can’t help it. I’m useless without her. “She’s not here and I don’t know what to do with myself. So this sibling I’ve got somewhere back home can have all of O’Malley’s money. I don’t want any of it. I only want Autumn. Do you understand? I want her to forgive me. To speak to me again, to put me out of my fecking misery.”
Sayo’s body sags and she plops into the seat next to me. She takes to flicking against the paint on her nails again. “You fucked up, you know that, right?”
“I do.”
Instantly, she shakes her head. “I don’t think you understand, Declan. You know Autumn. You know her fears. After everything you guys went through, after putting herself out there for you, you walked away from her.”
“I was angry.” It’s no excuse, I know that. Sayo knows I know that. I only wish Autumn did. “But I didn’t think she’d want me to stay away.”
“To her, everyone leaves. You see that, don’t you?” When I lower my head on the table, trying to conceal my leaking eyes, Sayo touches my shoulder, gives it a small pat. Her voice comes out softer, more controlled when she speaks again. “I know it’s irrational. I know you may not get it, but you’re the first guy since Tucker that she’s let in. You’re her first real love.”
“And I’ll be her last, if she’ll have me back.” I say, my head popping up.
“Well, you’re going to have to prove that to her, aren’t you?”
“How the hell do I do that? Tell me what to do.” Sayo’s fingers are cold when I grab her hand. “I’ll do anything. Any fecking thing at all.”
The expression on her face is a puzzle. I know she’s considering my pathetic, whiney state, trying to gage if I’m really as broken up over Autumn’s radio silence as I seem to be. I get it. Sayo is Autumn’s best friend. They’re more like sisters and I’m just some arsehole who showed up making promises I haven’t managed to keep.
Finally, Sayo smiles and her body relaxes. “Do something monumental. Something that proves to Autumn that you care more about her than anything.”
“Like what?”
She shrugs. “You need to figure that out for yourself. Autumn doesn’t like words.” She collects her things, throws her bag over her shoulder before she moves from the table to stare down at me. “She’s about action. And Declan, if you love her, if you really love her, then you have to show her. Actions, not words. Monumental actions.”