Joe texted me the address to his house; Declan would be there. I was the one who asked for it. That was harder than I thought, but his “do hurry and make up with him” text told me that my father was a bit enthusiastic about the idea of Declan and I together. He also requested his reading glasses and a double cheeseburger, but that was pushing it.
My throat feels thick, like it’s closing up, as I walk to the door. The house is on a cul-de-sac, just outside of Cavanagh’s town center; a small neighborhood of older homes; Craftsmans, Victorians all done up like rows of dollhouses, pointed and arched gables, yellows and blues and white structures that remind me of someone’s grandmother. I half expect to smell cookies baking as I stand on the front porch of Joe’s neat little cottage. It is gray, with white trim and a haint blue ceiling on the porch that I don’t think will keep the spirits away.
I knock on the door and when no one answers I debate walking away, not sure if Declan would want me here, not sure if he’s alone. But then I remember that Joe is my father, that this is his home and, regardless of what thickens the distance between us now, I want Declan. I don’t care about anything other than that, and I want to fight for him. So, I stand on my tiptoes, slip my hand up to the jam above the door and take the key that Joe told me would be waiting for me there.
When I open the door, I see hardwood floors that are dark, scrapped with knots scattered on every other plank, and there is a homey, comfortable feel to this place. It isn’t overly masculine, no coolers for tables or lawn chairs replacing recliners, but there aren’t any flowers, no sweet smelling fragrances that mark a woman’s touch. Still, as I head out of the foyer, running my fingers over the pictures on the walls, the low console table behind the leather sofa, I see Joe’s influence everywhere. A crucifix hangs over the molding of the hallway entrance. The Irish flag is framed above the mantel of the fireplace and horseshoes rest above every doorway.
“Hello?” I say coming further into the living room. No one answers. On the mantel there are pictures of Declan. Him as a lanky kid, all knees and elbows; him diving for a catch, wearing a jersey I don’t recognize and, in a new frame, silver and clean, I see my own face, younger, fuller, as I sit on Joe’s lap next to my mother. I reach for it, want to touch my mother’s face, but then I hear someone coming down the hall. A smile quirks my lips, preparing for what I hope is a friendly welcome to Declan, but then vanishes as Heather stops short, pulling her shirt down over her stomach.
I feel like I want to vomit.
“Autumn?” She nears me, no shoes on her feet and her hair rumpled as though she’s been napping or doing other things that require a prone position. I want to die. “What are you doing here?”
The way she looks at me, as though she knows something I don’t, makes speech impossible. Quick flashes of Heather wrapped around Declan fill my head. Of them naked, rutting together, their bodies slick with sweat…I have to close my eyes, calm my beating heart. But then Heather’s smile grows smug, teasing, and something shakes me, wakes me up. I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Joe wanted his reading glasses.”
“Oh. I’ll ask Declan. He’s in the shower at the moment.”
My gaze veers to the window at my left and I don’t care if Heather gets some sort of smug satisfaction at seeing the flash of pain I know is there. “Just ask Declan to bring them to the hospital,” I say, watching my feet as I walk across the room.
“I will,” she says, following me out of the living room. “When he’s decent. We’re just going to stay in tonight, since you’ll be at the hospital. Poor thing is exhausted.” She lowers her chin, comes a step closer. “I guess all the worry over Joe got to him, but don’t worry, Autumn, I made sure your brother relaxed.” Heather’s smile is taunting, vindictive and it takes all my strength not to lash out at her.
My hand on the doorknob freezes when I hear Declan call after me. If I turn, right now, I promise myself I will look in his eyes. I want to see if there is guilt there. If there is shame. My breath hitches when I face him; shirtless, his hair wet, the button of his jeans undone. A white button up hangs in his hands.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen with Joe?”
“He wants his reading glasses.” There is realization on his face, understanding, but I don’t see guilt. I don’t have to.
Stretching my fingers to still the shake does not help. Neither does looking over his shoulder, ignoring his freckled and tattooed chest when he picks Joe’s glasses off of a side table and hands them to me. Our fingers touch and I know he can see how upset I am. “What…”
Heather makes a great show of tidying her hair, patting it down before she takes Declan’s shirt from him, pulls it over his shoulders. He follows my eyes to the intimate way she angles against him, to her hands brushing his shoulder. Then, he gets it, sees the accusation in my eyes.
“No. It’s not what it looks like.” He turns to Heather, quickly buttons his shirt. “Tell her nothing happened.” She remains silent, but smiles and Declan curses low under his breath. I try to leave, manage to turn away from him, before he has me, fingers digging into my arms, giving me a small shake. “You can’t possibly think that I would be with her after I told you I loved you.” He steps closer. “You didn’t believe me?”
“You guys are gross. You’re related. You can’t love her, Declan,” Heather says, trying to step between us. If I were her, I’d be scared at the sneer he gives her. His cheeks flush and I can tell that it takes mammoth control to keep his voice from rising.
“For the last fecking time, Heather, Autumn and I aren’t related. I told you that when you bummed a ride here, which, by the way, why haven’t you left?”
“But Declan, it’s so weird.” She passes a glare between us. “You and Autumn? What will people say?”
His temper snaps when she reaches for his arm. “I don’t give a feck what people say.” He drags her to the door and flings it open and pushes her out onto the porch. “Least of all you. Now. Feck off.” He slams the door in her face.
Declan’s back is to me, shoulders lifting with each heavy pant that spills from his lungs. He waits and the silence in the foyer grows thick. When he finally turns, his hands are at his sides, arms straightened down hard as though he has to restrain himself from touching me.
I don’t know what to believe. There has been too much confusion, too many lies. I came here willing to fight for him, wanting to claim him. But I had not expected Heather to look so comfortable. To touch him so intimately.
Declan takes a step and I move around him when he reaches for my hand. “I have to get back to my dad.”
He won’t let me go, won’t let me have even a foot of space from his wide frame, from his fast moving chest. “What?” he says. His voice breaks, as though his shock rushed out before he could decide what he wanted to say. “You can’t leave like this, Autumn. Not again. You can’t do this to me again.”
He can’t be serious. What I’ve done? Me? “Excuse me?” I say, stunned by his subtle accusation. “What did I do exactly? Lie? Break up with you?” When Declan shakes his head, releases a dismissive, annoyed glare, I want to throttle him. React first, think later. “Tell you I don’t want you and then not give you a moment’s peace?” I slam my palms against his chest, livid. His body barely moves. “Oh wait, - that’s what you do, not me, Declan.”
When I try pushing him again, he catches my wrist in his hands, holding it against his chest. “I was protecting you, you stubborn arse.”
“I told you, I don’t need your protection.” I’m tired of this, tired of being coddled, told what’s best for me, people keeping secrets from me like I’m incapable of dealing with the truth. Declan pulls me closer, tries forcing a kiss, but I twist my head, not sure if the tears clouding my eyes are from wanting him to never stop touching me or from my anger at him blaming any of this nightmare on me. “Don’t touch me. God, Declan, Heather just left your bed.”
His expression is harsh, as though I’d slapped him. “I did not fuck her! Dammit, Autumn, I’m not going to let you do this again!”
“Do what, you jackass?”
Instantly, Declan’s hands rip through his hair, his eyes shifting to the floor, over my shoulder, as though there are too many thoughts, emotions confusing him; too many ways to make things worse. He tries for control, for rational thought, but fails. He fails tremendously. “Rip my fecking heart out!” We stare at each other, breathing hard. “You wouldn’t let me explain. I tried to tell you over and over, but you kept putting me off or we got interrupted. There was never a time and then when you found out, you just locked me out. I was begging you, fecking begging you, Autumn.” He grabs my shoulders like a lifeline, as though he is drowning and I anchor him above the water. “I don’t beg. Not ever, and yet I was begging you. You wouldn’t listen. You destroyed me.”
What did he expect? What was I supposed to do? “Yeah Declan, and you destroyed me.”
It’s as though the air collects poison, seeps into the moment and freezes us until we can only manage to exchange a glance—watch the wall that should be broken down, but neither of us will attack it first. Declan’s chin shakes and I don’t believe it’s anything but anger, maybe disbelief, that is causing this physical reaction.
He is the first to breach the silence, but his voice is too quiet, too precise. “I know it hurt, Autumn. I know everything that has happened hurt you. I should have tried harder, but I told you I loved you and I meant it. I’ve…I’ve never told anyone that but my mum. I can’t do this. I can’t let you do this to me.”
“I’m not doing anything to you.” I curl my arms around my stomach, pinching my coat between my fingers.
“You’re not listening. You’re angry, I know that well. But I’m angry too. I’m hacked off at Joe for almost dying, for taking his sweet bloody time to tell you the truth. I had to watch you with that bollocks, watch him touch you,” Declan closes his eyes as though just the thought of Tucker touching me burns in his memory, cripples him, “and it killed me. You were the only one I wanted and when everything was out in the open, when you knew, you threw me out, tossed me away like I was some piece of rubbish. I needed you. I was scared, I’ve never been so scared and I needed you and you didn’t fecking care.” He runs his hands over his face, takes a calming breath. “That’s the only reason Heather came with me to hospital. She showed up there, said she’d heard about Joe and I was so out of my mind hurt, afraid, that I just let her come along. She knew what it was like. Her da, last year, he had a heart attack as well. It scared her. I…I didn’t know what to do, Autumn. I never thought this would happen to Joe. I had no one, not one bleeding person to tell me what to do.”
“So you went back to your ex-girlfriend?” I’m grasping at straws, trying to keep my guilt at bay and Declan knows it. For a moment, I think he’ll disregard my snide comment completely.
“I have never touched Heather. The only reason I hung around her was to throw you off, to keep my distance from you so that I wouldn’t bloody touch you until you knew the truth.” Again, he scrubs his face and this time his fingers shake. There is no warmth in his eyes; it’s all vacant but for the seething anger. “I needed you. But you, you couldn’t even look at me. You wouldn’t even try. That’s the only fecking reason I even let her come along with me.”
It doesn’t make sense. I understand needing support, needing comfort, but she touched him so intimately, as though she’d done that often and that touch was welcomed. I came here to fight for him and one touch, one glance at Declan’s half naked body and Heather’s confident touch knocked me out of the fight. He’s lied to me before. How do I know he isn’t lying to me now?
There is no excuse to give him for my reaction. It should be obvious and now, with him fuming down at me, accusation in his sneer, I feel my fight dim. The game is over because I didn’t have the energy to keep fighting anymore. But Joe belongs to both of us.
“What do you want from me, Declan? We can’t keep arguing with each other. He’s…Joe’s important to both of us.”
I’ve noticed over the months that Declan’s face is expressive. I’ve sorted out how to tell when he’s angry, when he’s tired, when something overwhelms him. But now, watching the quick quiver of his chin and the small twitches that move his lower eyelid, I know he is near the brink of a complete breakdown.
He’d never let me see that and when he moves the heels of his palm into his eyes, rubbing them, I suspect that he is trying not to cry in front of me. Either that or he is trying not to lose his temper completely.
The steely silence of his anger only darkens. His stern eyes soften, but only slightly. I want to know his thoughts. Something settles in his mind, a decision he keeps to himself and then Declan steps away from me, stands with his hand on the door handle.
“I can’t be around you, Autumn,” he says, his voice uneven, fractured between high and low pitches. “You go home. I need to see Joe, talk to him about some things. I’m asking you, please, to stay back a while.” He opens the door, stands back though I think it’s an immense effort to not look at me, to not stop me when I pause at the threshold. “I love you,” he says, eyes downcast, voice cracking again. “I’m blind from how much I love you, but I won’t let you hurt me again. I needed you and I never need anyone. But you weren’t there. You turned your back on me.”
I at least manage my pride, to not make excuses or catch his eye. And I’m fine with his answer, fine with being chucked out. But then I turn, face him as I stand outside on the porch. There is a second where I think I might apologize, where I think he may let me. It’s the potential of resolution that moves between us. These expressions, our restraint tested as the moment stretches. But it passes and the anger returns, stubbornness extinguishing the natural instant to move toward each other. And then, Declan slams the door in my face.
Sayo would not let Sam keep her from McKinney’s. It is our place, she said, a second home that is as familiar to each of us as the library and the falls. That they are no longer a couple would not keep her from seeking the pub’s comfort. And so we sit in the back, listening to the crowd as they scream at the television, watching the match. Mollie is not with us. Her marine asked that she give him the full rugby experience so they are at the match. Layla is here, but has been fighting her way to the bathroom for twenty minutes.
I told them both about Heather. I told them how easy it was for me to see the attachment the blonde has to Declan. In the back of my mind, the phantom voice returns; a voice that sorts out my confusion. It’s my mother’s voice, that rich, smooth tone of her words brushing against my subconscious, telling me Declan is a good man. Telling me that my father would have not raised him any other way.
But when you have been gutted; when you have lived a life at arm’s length, keeping yourself guarded and secure from the endings you know love brings, it is very hard to listen to reason. It is harder still to imagine that someone could love you, could want you when you don’t feel worthy of it. Declan may have not slept with Heather, but he sought her comfort. That seems, somehow, still intimate. It cuts a bit deeper.
“And it’s Fraser with the try,” I hear the announcer say. My eyes slip over the crowd, then back to Sayo across the table. I don’t return her smile. I’m not even sure of the score. My mind is elsewhere, locked in the deep confusion of the epic drama my life has become.
It always ends. I told Declan that weeks ago. I should have kept that mantra playing in my head on our date, every second I let him touch me. He got too close. He infected my heart. I didn’t want to be the girl I was last year. I still don’t. But I was, I had been.
Layla appears from the crowd, slamming down next to me. She is out of breath and smiling. “That skinny little bitch,” she says.
“Who?” Sayo asks.
“Freakin’ Heather.” She moves her shoulders, as though her answer is the most reasonable thing. My head turns, trying to place the girl in question, not sure if I could handle another confrontation. “I heard her, in the bathroom just now, talking on the phone. She’s gossiping about you,” she says, moving her chin at me. “Spreading shit that you and Declan are related and fucking each other.”
I’m not surprised. Not remotely worried. I stopped caring what people said behind my back when Joe left us and I became the source of rude middle school gossip. “She’s half right. Or, she was.” The straw wrapper twists around my finger and I don’t meet my friends’ eyes. “But why should she care? She got the last of him today.”
“Are you stupid?” Layla says. Normally, I love how frank, how honest she is. Normally, I don’t get offended by her sometimes callous way of talking.
“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”
In my peripheral sight I see Sayo smile. Layla stretches back against the seat, her legs knocking against mine. “Yeah, well, when a guy begs on his hands and knees and screams to the top of his lungs how much he loves you; when that same guy kicks out the girl who saw you on the porch, reaching for the key, who acts like she’s been freshly screwed by your man just to piss you off, and you still don’t believe him when he says he didn’t touch her? Yeah, you’re an idiot, Autumn.” She pulls my arm so that I can’t look anywhere other than her face. “I love you, I do. You’re one of my best friends in life, but shit, Autumn, you’re so worried about being left, being hurt that you are making up excuses not to be with someone you are very clearly crazy about.” She releases me, but I cannot relax. “Heather is a manipulative asshole, and she was fucking with you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m a nosey bitch and heard her telling whatever fembot she was talking to on the phone about how she tried seducing Declan, but he was hung up on his stepsister.”
My eyes burn and I’m sure I look ridiculous, my mouth bobbing open like a guppy. “How…why would she…” my cell ringing interrupts whatever idiotic excuse I was about to offer my friend. When I see Joe’s face smiling up at me, I instantly answer, disregarding how Sayo and Layla giggle between each other.
“Joe? Are you okay?”
He is panting and I climb over Layla, uncaring about the stares I get as I jump from the booth. “It’s Deco, love. I think he’s planning to leave, to transfer away from Cavanagh.”
My heart is a thundering beat, cracking against my ribs. “What?”
“I’ve never seen him like he was last night, love. He left for the match this morning with a bag. I tried phoning you, but the bleeding nurses came in and drugged me up. Did you lot have another row?”
My back hits the paneled wall and I stretch my neck, watching the brown ceiling and assortment of memorabilia tacked above. “He told me I ripped his heart out.”
My father is silent, but I hear his exhale, a rough noise that tells me he’s upset. “This is all my fault.”
“No, Da, it’s mine. I’ve been so stubborn. I’m an idiot.” I don’t disclose how stupid I feel, how I should have seen Heather’s little act for what it was. God knows I’ve been goaded before, the signs were all there. “Why do you think he’s leaving?”
“He mentioned something about visiting Cameron. Meant to leave straight after the match.”
“He’s leaving you? You’re not even out of the hospital yet.”
“He’s still angry with me, love. I don’t think he’s thinking clearly.” I hadn’t thought about how Declan’s anger might not be reserved solely for me. When Joe speaks again, I catch the desperation in his voice, the way his accent is elevated, anxious. “You still have half hour before the match ends. You can catch him before he leaves, can’t you now?”
Could I do that? Run after him? Beg him to stay? Would I forget my concerns, my worry, the betrayal? Just as an image of me acting ridiculous, storming the pitch to leap against Declan’s chest comes to me, I see Heather marching through the pub. She has a determined, focused expression on her face and I don’t even stop to think. I’m tired of overthinking, of shirking away from what I want for fear that it will all end in disaster.
Declan is mine. It’s time everyone knew it.
“Yeah,” I say to Joe as I watch Heather stop next to a booth right by the door. “I think I can do that.”
Heather lingers at the booth, twirls her hair around her finger like an idiot. Decision made, I march across the pub. She turns at my approach and the fake smile on her face falters.
“What do you want?” she says.
I begin to answer her, to return the warning she gave me that day on the pitch, but then she moves to the side, away from the person sitting in the booth. Tucker. He is drunk. The empty bottles and cups crowding in front of him are proof of that.
I smile at Heather, grab her arm to rustle her into the booth next to my ex.
“You two are perfect for each other.”
“You don’t know—” Tucker begins, but I silence him with a wave of my hand.
“I know plenty.” I pull out some cash from my back pocket, there already for the drinks I’d planned to drown in when I first called Sayo and Layla to meet me here. “I know Heather wants someone to take care of her because she’s an insipid little twit not smart enough to realize that she is capable of taking care of herself.” When Heather sits up, an insult on her tongue, my friends approach, arms crossed as if daring her to say a word against me.
Tucker’s head bobs and sways as he tries to focus on my face. “Sweetness…”
“Save it,” I say. “I know something else, Tucker. I know you need someone to boss around, to control. That isn’t me anymore, but Heather here, she seems willing.” I drop the money on the wet table. “Have a few drinks on me. You two deserve each other.” I begin to walk away, eager to hurry to the pitch, but can’t manage to make my feet stop before I face Heather. “If you ever so much as talk to Declan again, I will gauge out your beady little eyes with my nails.” She flinches back when I get in her face. “Declan’s mine. Stay the hell away from him.”