T H E N
Four Months & Two Weeks Ago
I’d never had anything all to my own.
Not really.
When you’re a poor kid in Ireland, you get used to that sort of thing; the distain of wanting things that can’t be yours, the sense that the things you do want are just out of reach. Over time, you come to understand that what you want for yourself, anything you want for yourself, you can only manage if you take it. Or if you earn it.
My step-da made sure, once he came back into my life, that I did not go without. He worked very hard to give me the things I’d never had when it was just Mum and me. Eventually, the wanting went away, but with that came the understanding that you have to appreciate the rare gems you are given.
I’ve never wanted anything like I wanted Autumn McShane. Oh, I knew she wasn’t a thing. She was much more than so many things. And when I said I wanted her, I didn’t mean I wanted a quick shag, thank you, that’s all and I’m done.
I wanted her to touch me and mean it.
I wanted to wake up in the mornings to the smell of her hair across my chest.
I wanted to touch her body, to have her touch mine and know that this is who loves me, this is who I love.
I never wanted to put that shocked, hurt expression on her face again. The same one she wore when I walked away from her.
Because of secrets.
They are not my secrets, but I cannot tell her that. And Morrison. Fecking, buggering, pouncy Tucker arsehole Morrison and his bleeding threats.
“Stay away from Autumn, Fraser. Stay away or you’ll lose a hell of a lot more than your spot on the squad. I’ll make sure of it.”
He knew the secret that wasn’t mine to tell. He knew that if Autumn discovered it, she’d hate me. I wouldn’t blame her. And there I was on the pitch, watching her talk to that amadan Morrison with the sad, angry expression on her face. Heather was blabbering on to me about something I didn’t hear, because my attention was on McShane. And Morrison. And how close he stood next to her; to the smug, satisfied expression on his face.
He’d found me out, somehow. He knew my family history and that Autumn was part of it. And he knew that she didn’t know how we were connected, or that we were connected at all.
She only knew that this morning while I trained the girls, I couldn’t keep my hands off her. She knew that I thought about our date all night. Couldn’t sleep for the recall of every detail. She knew that I just broke it off with her. She didn’t know that it was forced, that I would have rather gouged out my eyes than leave her be.
Because of “not mine” secrets.
I wanted to kill Morrison.
I wanted to punch Joe in the throat.
I wanted Heather to leave me alone.
I wanted Autumn’s face to be frown free.
I wanted her. Just her. Only her. But if she knew what I must keep to myself, for now at least, she wouldn’t look at me twice.
She’d hate me.
So, I didn’t do what I wanted to do. I didn’t take what I wanted to take. I didn’t run up to where Autumn and Morrison were talking, and knock that satisfied grin off his face. I didn’t throw McShane over my shoulder and cart her away so that she was well away from that arsehole. And I didn’t tell Heather to piss off.
And I really wanted to tell her to piss off, trust me.
I just stared at Autumn, accepted the glare she gave me.
“Declan? Did you hear me?” Heather asked, pulling my attention off my McShane.
“Sorry. What’s that now?”
“I asked if you wanted to grab a bite to eat.” I didn’t move Heather’s hand from my chest, not when Morrison touched McShane. Hands off, arsehole. But if I went after them, that would only confuse Autumn. I gave her the toss just minutes before. Me telling her to stay clear of her ex would be barmy. Heather ran her nails down my arm, made me stare down at her.
Maybe if I talked to Heather, kept her around a bit, then I won’t be tempted to annoy Autumn. Maybe diverting my attention would help keep my mind off of where it’s stayed for weeks now.
“Yeah, sure,” I told Heather, no enthusiasm in my voice. “After practice.”
I walked away from her, from Autumn making plans with that wanker and onto the field thinking about the things I wanted.
The things I wanted and could not have.
Ages back, Autumn told me that her folks were mad for each other. They’d snuggle and touch and kiss and do all the things that parents do to mortify their children. Many times, McShane said, she felt left out, even as a kid, understanding that when her parents carried on that way, she didn’t feel like she was visible. And so she took to sneaking away in books, disappearing to Narnia or to Middle-earth, discovering the secrets of the tesseract with Meg, Charles and Calvin. Those moments were her escape; the imaginary friends that helped her pass the time when her parents were too focused on each other to mind what Autumn did.
She sat on the basement floor with books littered around her like comrades, steeling her, giving her the strength she pretended she didn’t need.
And now she believed that I didn’t want her.
She believed that with me she wasn’t visible either.
Load of bollocks, that.
Her hair glinted against the overhead light, shone like glitter. I wanted to touch it, touch her, breathe in the sweet scent of her skin. But I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair, or honorable.
I was getting fecking tired of what was fair and honorable.
“Those need sorting?” she asked as I came down the stairs with a box of books in my hands. She directed me to the floor at her right when I didn’t answer with more than a grunt of confirmation.
I should have walked away. I shouldn’t have lingered in that dark place. I should have ignored her, as she did me that morning when she came into the library. She’d seemed more concerned with speaking to Sayo than paying me much attention.
My trainers moved, three steps at least, but it seemed my body had other ideas. It was her smell, sweet and tempting. It was the way her back straightened as though she needed to be on alert just because we were sharing the same space. I couldn’t help myself. Never could where Autumn was concerned.
“I’m sorry,” I said, hoping she’d nod, dismiss me quickly. Yeah. Like that would ever happen.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” She dismissed me alright, a quick glance and then returned to those beloved books of hers. But her indifference was forced. Her guard was held tight against any emotion I might have caused her to have.
It was frustrating how guarded she could be, how at-arms-length she kept the world, especially me. I hated seeing her that way. Hated that she wouldn’t relax her rigid shoulders or let her back lower into a slouch.
Her shoulders tightened further when I squatted next to her. “I know you were upset.”
“No I wasn’t.” Stubborn arse. Such a liar.
“You were.”
I saw the tirade coming, the hurtful words eager to jump off her tongue. Her eyes were narrowed, hard, and I should have expected the cruelty that came next. “Yes, because all the weeks you’ve known me gives you unfettered knowledge to every one of my emotions.”
I needed a breath; something to calm me, to cover my eyes with my hands, release an exhale to keep my temper from flaring. “I just meant that the other night, after our date, at your apartment, wasn’t how I—”
“Don’t mention it. I’m over it. It was fun, but it’s not gonna happen again. You made that perfectly clear.”
Anger it was. Anger and a fat lot of bullshite. She was deflecting. She was a fecking master at deflection. “Autumn…”
“It’s fine, Declan. Don’t worry about me. You were right. We would be a disaster.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t give me any indication that there would be any cracks in her self-inflicted guard. It pissed me off. “Disaster is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“I don’t.” Again she returned to her books as though I wasn’t significant enough to even acknowledge.
“Really? I thought we were going to be mates.”
“I have enough mates.” Autumn made the word sound dirty, foul. “Don’t know how many times I have to tell you that. Besides, it’s not like we have anything at all in common. That’s sort of a requirement for friendship.”
Well, that was rude and complete bollocks. “We have plenty in common.”
“Dead mothers and rugby do not a friendship make, Declan.”
I couldn’t keep my temper in check. There was a connection. She knew that. It went back to that first day in her classroom when I wanted to kiss her, touch her, even though Morrison stood feet from us. It was a connection that I knew wasn’t forced, wasn’t some barmy little figment of my own creation. She was being cruel on purpose, and in the back of my mind I knew that, but sense and reason didn’t carry much weight when your temper tells you to scream your mad head off. I looked down at her, straightened my own shoulders, mimicking the defensive cast of her body, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“You don’t have to be a bitch about this, McShane.”
Shite. Her jumping to her feet, rounding on me wasn’t good.
“I’m not, Declan. We aren’t friends. We were never friends. Remember telling me that? You were right. Friends don’t attack you when they’re drunk. Friends don’t cheat you into a date. Friends don’t act like assholes after—after kissing you and touching you and— where was friendship in all of that?”
She wasn’t wrong. I never wanted to be her friend. We could never have just that. That connection again, moth to flame, light to dark, there was no bond past the wanting, aside from the passion. I let the anger bubble around my gut, curdle until it lifted into my chest. There were insults sliding on my tongue, desperate to hurt, to fight back, but then I saw the quick glisten in her eyes and that crackle of energy that was fecking everywhere when we were together, and it ripped away anything in my head but the need to touch, to take.
My hands moved forward, reached for what I knew was mine, nearly touching, but she was surprised, shocked maybe that I’d try to hold her and she stumbled, ended up on her arse in the middle of the basement floor.
“Shit. Oh, shit.” Autumn said, pulling on her ankle, immediately slinking away from me when I try to examine her injury. “Stop. I don’t need your help.”
“Let me see, you big baby.” I made quick work of getting to her foot, moving her boot and sock out of the way, but it wasn’t bad, not something of any real concern. “It’s not swelling. Probably no worse than a sprain.”
“Yes, I know, thanks.” She seemed compelled to pull out of my touch, inching back and my heart clenched at her reaction. I barely noticed that I was still holding her leg.
“Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?”
“No. I want you to go back upstairs and do what Sayo told you to do. I can manage on my own.”
“Why are you being like this? I want…I want us—”
Her. That’s what I wanted. Just her.
“I don’t really care what you want. I could give a flying shit about what you want, Declan. Just get out of here. Leave me alone.” She didn’t mean it. That much was written on her face, hidden beneath her anger, her need to push me away. But, my ginger angel was a spitfire, dangerous when she was hacked off and for a second, I forgot that. She jerked again, slipped back and when I didn’t move fast enough for her liking, she took to throwing books at me like a woman possessed. I weaved around them, managed to avoid the spines and corners, before she started raging right at me. “Get. Out.”
Then, she hid from me, turned around so that I couldn’t see how upset she’d gotten, couldn’t see her wiping at her face. My anger fled, disappeared as though it had never made an appearance and all I wanted was to hold her, clear away this entire mess until she was wrapped around me again.
My fingers moved on their own as I knelt behind her, working through her hair and she let me. “I’m sorry, love. I really am.” She smelled so sweet, delicious as I buried my face in her hair.
“Was it me?” she said and I could just make out the crack of consonants between her words. God, it killed me that she thought I didn’t want her. Fecking killed me.
“Course not.” I’d had enough of this and ignored her small protest when I sat beside her and pulled her onto my lap.
“It was too fast, right?”
“I pushed, remember? I’d have likely pushed harder if I thought you’d let me get away with it. It’s not you.” Autumn was beautiful with her cheeks all red from her anger, but I didn’t like the tears, couldn’t stomach seeing her upset, so I wiped them away. “You’re right, something did happen, but I can’t say—”
“Are you married?”
Where had that come from? “What? God, no.”
“Do you have a kid you just found out about or are you dying?”
Some of the tension that had built between us, eased and I released a breath. “No, McShane, it’s none of those things.” Her leg was firm, solid under my touch and I was glad that she was there, letting me hold her somewhat. It made the ache in my chest less biting. Fuck me, did I want to tell her, but I promised Joe. Swore that his secrets would remain his until the time was right. Why the hell had I agreed to something so stupid? “It’s not my secret to tell. If I could, I would tell you and you’d know and everything would be grand, but I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Don’t you trust me, Declan?”
Trust her? I think I’d known for a while that I more than trusted her. I think I’d known for longer than I wanted to admit to myself that Autumn was likely the only person I’d ever trust, save Joe, maybe. But I couldn’t find the words, they’d slipped away from my mind, filtered out until I was left staring after Autumn like a fecking idiot.
She didn’t like that and I reckon I couldn’t blame her. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Autumn…”
Again she tried fighting me, seemed intent to put as much space between us as possible, but I couldn’t let her go, didn’t want to be more than inches from her. I tugged on her jeans, slid her toward me by her belt loops and frowned at her, challenging her with a look to push me away.
“Just go upstairs. Do the stuff that Sayo asked you to do and leave me alone.”
Yeah, that’s not what she wanted. She wasn’t pushing anymore and her eyes stared too long, too hard. We didn’t speak, didn’t argue in the least. A small kiss on her forehead, the smallest taste of her sweet skin and I was undone. She shuddered, moved her arms and shoulders as though she’d grown cold.
Nope, she didn’t want me leaving.
“I can’t do that.” I didn’t think I could ever leave her alone. She was in my blood like an infection, heady and consuming. With her so close to me, her breath lifting over my face I did the only thing I could and moved my thumb across her bottom lip. I was going to kiss her. There was nothing for it…moth, flame, I was well fucked and I pulled her closer, there, just a bit closer… “Autumn…”
“No.”
Buggering hell.
I watched her face, the play of resistance and need, moving across her features, forcing her eyes shut as she struggled for control. And then, she scooted back, jumped to her feet, as though I was contagious, as though being anywhere near me was a slight on her good sense. I understood, trust me. My rational mind organized reason and logic and helped me see that my rejection of her had her wanting distance.
Telling my body that, though, was impossible. Primal Declan grunted “want…woman…now” and I followed her, barely managed to keep myself back, ignored that she wouldn’t face me, that suddenly the bookshelf was the height of interest to Autumn.
Then, she jabbed below the belt. “I’d hate for Tucker to find out we’re fighting. We—we need you playing. Cameron gave us hell last season and—”
“Don’t tell me about you and fecking Tucker.” I couldn’t take it. The edge of my patience was somewhere behind me, and I let all my frustration, all my anger spill over, slamming my fist on the table. “I don’t want to know about it.”
I knew I’d scared her. The severity in her stance was back, her cheeks had paled. “I didn’t say anything about us.”
I’d seen them, the night before, cozied up together at the coffee shop. He touched her, touched my Autumn, and she let him. I wanted to avoid a scene, give her space, let that wanker see that I could follow directions, that I wasn’t as consumed by her as he assumed. What a fake I was. I couldn’t manage to get far away, slipped out of the shop and watched them through the window. Like an idiot. Like someone whose heart had been ripped right out of his chest. Morrison held her hand, lead McShane to their table with his hand on her back. I had to walk away. If I hadn’t, I was certain I wouldn’t be able to hold back from bloodying his face. Again.
Just the thought of them together had my blood boiling and I couldn’t calm myself, couldn’t resist getting too close to Autumn, invading her personal space, circling her head with my arms, breath hard, expression likely desperate, pathetic. “Did you want to hurt me? Last night, when you were with him? Did you want me jealous?”
“I didn’t do—”
“I saw you, McShane. I saw you with that bollocks. You know I saw you. Him touching you—” No, I didn’t want to remember it, shook my head to drive out the memory. “He kept touching you. You let him. He held your hand, you held his. I saw that too. God, did he kiss you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
A worse, highly graphic image pumped through my brain and I couldn’t make sense of the thoughts I was having. Ridiculous ideas, desperate assumptions I knew couldn’t possibly be true. “Did you fuck him?”
“What?”
“Jaysus, you did, didn’t you? You fucked that nancy bollocks.” I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t stomach the shock on her face; the expression I tried to convince myself wasn’t shame. “I can’t believe that pouncy little shite—”
“Declan! Stop it.” Autumn reached for me, but my mind was too full of those wild scenarios invented by my addled brain. I didn’t want her then, brushed off her hand as she drew closer. Her fingers shook, pulled at me. “Calm down, will you? What is your problem?”
“I told that arse not to try anything. I warned him—”
“You can’t do that. It’s not your place.”
Morrison’s lips on her neck. McShane gripping at him, moaning, panting as he touched her. The thought made me sick, had me forcing bile back down my throat. I had to know. Even if it gutted me, even though deep down I knew I was being irrational, I had to hear her tell me the truth. “Did you, Autumn? Did you let him touch you?”
“I didn’t sleep with him, dammit.”
My hands trembled but when I touched her, when I pulled Autumn close, cupped her face between my hands, it felt like coming home. “Don’t ever let him, love. He doesn’t deserve you. I can’t stand the thought of you with him…you have to—” I wanted to pour everything into the kiss I gave her. I wanted her to forget that I rejected her. I wanted her to know she was mine, even if it was only for a moment. “No one touches you, McShane. No one but me.”
She didn’t push me away. She did nothing but brush against me, became pliant by my touch and it felt fecking unreal. In that moment we hadn’t argued, hadn’t been separated by lies, by secrets. Just then, with my mouth working over her lips, with her hands slipping under my shirt, scraping, grabbing at my skin, the world melted away. There was her touch, her taste and a moment of serenity.
With her small fingers smoothing down my stomach, Autumn reminded me what it was to be touched by her. How could I have walked away from that? Even if it was for her own good, how could I ever have pretended not to want her? I was drowning, sinking beneath whatever tide she swept over me, gladly letting her suffocate me, and when she tugged lower, when her fingers touched the head of my dick, I died, just then, just for a moment.
A hiss moved between my teeth and I caught her stare, urging her on, silently begging her to keep her hand just where it was, on me, working me until I thought the glint in her eyes, the smell of her breath against my mouth would make me explode.
My jeans loosened, barely hung off my hips as she continued and I heard noises escaping my throat, noises and grunts I likely should have withheld. She already had too much control over me, but I was drunk off her touch, too far gone to mind things like control and decency.
“Yes.” It was a simple word, but held so much meaning; giving her permission, telling her what a wasted mess I was. Then my body took over, hips helping her along in the job, bollocks tightening. Only McShane could make me feel this, and only I could give the same back to her. “Promise me,” I told her. “Fecking promise me you won’t let anyone else touch you.”
And then she backed away, took her fingers from me and frowned at me as though I’d slapped her. “What are you doing to me? What the hell are you doing to me? You can’t tell me that we don’t spark anymore and then kiss me. You can’t ask me if I’ve slept with Tucker and then order me to promise never to let him touch me. You don’t own me. I am not yours.” I didn’t stop her when she shoved me against the bookshelf. “Do you hear me, Declan? I don’t belong to you.”
The moment was dashed by the harsh reality of my words, of what I’d said to keep her from knowing the truth. My dick throbbed, and I shut my eyes, realizing what a fecking arsehole I was. “I know you don’t.” I stared at my feet, the floor, anywhere but back at the accusing expression on her face as I righted my jeans. “I’m…I’m sorry, McShane. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m just…I’m not for you.”
I left her standing there, knowing she wanted me, knowing what I was denying us both, and yet still not abandoning hope that the day would come when she would never stop touching me.