Four Months Ago
On the pitch, I was free.
I ran, sprinted, tackled, stole the ball and there was nothing else that clouded my mind. On the pitch, I had not been forced into secrets, not responsible for anything but loving the smell of the grass and the heavy grunts and curses from my opponents.
Out there, my mind was not cluttered with the memory of Autumn’s lips or the taste of her skin. This was my time to focus. This was my moment of glory. Unless, she runs around us, right on the fecking track, tempting me.
Autumn McShane was my kryptonite.
I had managed to avoid her, to break clear of her completely. Well, if I’m being honest, not wholly and completely. I saw her at the book sale, watched her with... with her da, and a part of me still wanted to protect her, wanted to shield her from the man who had abandoned her. Other parts of me that were louder and nagged more insistently, told me to leave off. Mostly, I listened to those parts. But fuck me, was it hard.
You simply didn’t walk away from someone like Autumn. She gets into your system, eradicates your sense. The woman was a fecking witch. A hot, funny, curvy, soft-in-the-right-spots, witch.
Morrison whistled at her as she ran past the pitch and I resisted the urge to attack him, though it was so fecking hard. She didn’t offer him more than a curt nod, seeming focused on her run, but because I stared after her a little longer than necessary, stopping my sprints to watch the way her hips moved, the lush curves of her arse, well, I drew the attention of the coach and our bollocks of a captain.
“Problem, Fraser?” he said, daring me with one look to keep gawking at Autumn.
I shook my head, not eager to invite more trouble from that wanker, and doubled my efforts with the squad. “Come on, lads. Let’s get this right this time,” I told my teammates, discussing new plays, tactics that I hoped would help us in our next match.
I blocked Autumn out, pretended I couldn’t smell her perfume on the wind, and instead tried to concentrate on our practice. Freedom. That’s what the sport was to me. Freedom from worries and submitting to the sheer euphoria of my blood pumping, the viral speed of endorphins shooting to my brain, moving me down the field with joy across my face. We scrimmaged, I ran and focused on the drills, on the new plays until I didn’t notice her staring at me, until Morrison with his damn whistle and smug, satisfied smile became a blur.
Then, I took a breath, grabbed a bottle of water from the sidelines and noticed that Autumn was no longer alone.
Shite. Feck. Bollocks.
Ms. Complication was with her. I had not seen this particular complication coming until it wiggled its way into my life. “It” being the too thin, wicked busty form of Heather. That girl was insistent and she simply refused to accept the word “no”.
I only tolerated her because Primal Declan was a jealous sod. I didn’t want anyone but Autumn. I especially didn’t want Heather. But that caveman bugger thought being around Heather would hack Autumn off. I wasn’t sure how well that was working until that day on the pitch.
I saw them face to face, Heather’s smug little grin telling me that the conversation they were having was anything but friendly. My stomach curled at what they were saying. I wasn’t worried about them comparing notes, I hadn’t touched Heather once, had barely seen her more than in the class we shared together, but she had followed me to practice, to the coffee shop despite my telling her that I wasn’t interested in anything serious.
It was like she had a filter, a You-Don’t-Mean-That-Silly-Boy filter. My rejection only strengthened her attachment and if Primal Declan had any sense, he’d let me tell her to fuck off. But, he was jealous of the time Autumn spent with Morrison and so I hadn’t given her the Gollum speech yet. You know the one “Go away and never come beck, er, back.”
Autumn’s shoulders were rigid—she does that when she’s hacked off or worried—and by the small frown tightening her lips, I knew that expression had nothing to do with worry. She was gearing up to slap Heather. Primal Declan usually had control of my dick and just the idea of Autumn lashing out had me a wee bit chubby.
But then Heather walked away, right onto the pitch to serve me a wink and a smile that promised things my baser, unattached-to-Autumn self might find fun. This wasn’t going to be good. I had to know what they talked about, but Morrison blew that fecking whistle again and sprints started up and my glance followed Autumn as she ran from the track with her friends trailing behind her and my mind erased any questions about Heather from my thoughts.
The ginger angel really did have a distracting, beautiful round arse.
“What’s the matter, Fraser?” Morrison again. I swear that wanker lives to hack me off.
“Sorry?” I said, tugging my gear into my bag. I was tired and sweaty and my mind was still full of the image of Autumn running away from the pitch. Nice image, that.
“You seemed a little out of sorts today. Just curious what’s got you off?” Morrison leaned against the locker and I could tell he was itching for a tussle. That fecking sod would do just about anything to keep me on the bench during our next match.
“What’s your problem, Morrison?” Donovan blocked me from Morrison. I didn’t need him to fight my battles, but my best mate didn’t have to worry about invoking the captain’s anger. His family had been in Cavanagh for ages and his folks were well off. Their money meant more to Coach than anything Morrison managed to do during a match.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Donovan. Fraser’s the one who was distracted today.”
“Distracted?” My best mate got right in the Captain’s face. “Did you see that play he came up with? The sneak? You’re outta your fucking head, dude. He was on fire today.” Donovan squared his shoulders and I couldn’t help but love the way Morrison’s eyes moved around the locker room to gauge how much attention was being drawn to them; he didn’t like what he saw.
“Bullshit. He was more worried about what was going on off the pitch than committing to practice. That kind of distraction can cost us a match.”
“You’re a worthless bollocks, you know that, Morrison?” I moved Donovan out of my way and came nose to nose with the captain. No way was I going to let him pull Autumn into the middle of this.
“Yeah? Well, Autumn doesn’t think so.” Morrison looked up at me and when that arsehole sneered, I knew I’d fallen right into his trap. “I took her out, but you knew that right? Probably going out with her again next week.”
He was pathetic. He knew well and good that I’d seen them, but I wasn’t going to get into some sort of twisted pissing match with him. He wasn’t worth it. “If you’re trying to hack me off, give it up. I know what she thinks about you. She knows what you are.”
There was a moment of what I thought was realization in the captain’s eyes. I didn’t know what Autumn was doing with him, other than trying to make me jealous. Guess she had her own primal idiot urging her to do barmy things, same as me. But Morrison let his annoyance go and the stupid sneer of his moved back over his mouth. I should have known what he was planning. I should have seen it coming, but at the time I only knew that my fists were curling and that I had to keep them at my sides.
“Yeah? Well just remember one thing, Fraser, it doesn’t matter what you say to her. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me.” When he spoke again, his voice was low, cut deep like a threat. “I had it first and it was fucking amazing.”
Donovan grabbed me by the arms, pulled me back when my fist went forward. Good thing he did. Coach came out of nowhere, stood right next to us and Morrison’s smile only widened.
“That’s enough. Break it up.” Coach said, pulling on the captain’s collar to push him away from me.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Morrison knew exactly what to say to get under my fecking skin. I was distracted, trying to drive the image he painted of him and Autumn from my mind. He had been her boyfriend for two years. I knew that. I knew they’d been together, I wasn’t stupid. But now? No. That couldn’t happen. Not again. I was determined to see her. I just wanted to make sure she knew I was sorry, that all this shite was temporary. I made it as far as the bleachers outside of the pitch, gripping my gear bag over my shoulder, those sickening images of Autumn and Morrison running through my head like a fecking porno, gearing me up for a fight, but my name coming from the soft voice behind me stopped me in my tracks.
Great. Fecking Heather.
“Hey,” she said. She moved like a snake, gliding toward me, her nails like fangs ready to strike.
Heather didn’t smell like Autumn. Her skin wasn’t as soft, too tanned, too untouchable. But she had a nice face, a small button nose and luscious, thick lips. What? I’m a bloke. Hard not to notice those things. I knew what she wanted. Those claws were itching to scratch down my back, I could tell, but I couldn’t shake that picture Morrison had painted for me. Couldn’t be rid of the memory of him holding Autumn’s hand or the feel of her fingers working over my dick.
I needed to tell Heather the truth. I needed her to understand that she and I weren’t ever going to happen.
When she leaned up on her toes, planted a kiss on my cheek, I pulled her arms away from me. “Heather, what are you doing here?”
“Coffee?” she said like it was supposed to explain everything. Like that one word promised more than a brief conversation and a flaky pastry.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The lipstick on my cheek left a mark on my sleeve when I wiped it away.
“Why not? It’s just coffee, Declan. I’m not asking you to marry me.” Her laugh was too high, too piercing and I was just about to deliver the Gollum speech, just about to make a clean break, but then Morrison walked past us, his phone to his ear and I heard him say Autumn’s name. The images came back and Primal Declan kicked my rejection back down my throat.
“Yeah,” I said, watching Morrison as he laughed into his phone. Heather curled her arm around mine and for a moment I forgot that I didn’t want her touching me.
But only for a moment.
N O W
Three Days Ago
Joe bought the house on Matthews Street after I’d been in Cavanagh for a few months. I came here first, at his insistence, and kipped in the dorms until he made it to town. It isn’t some sprawling estate, isn’t some McMansion that folks in the States seem eager to live in. The house, in fact, was at least seventy years old, a Craftsman with a wide front porch and a swing to the side. Before Autumn came into our lives, the place was quiet and smelled of cigars and men. She made it a home. Brought all sorts of girly things in like pictures and rugs and bowls of dried flowers that took the male funk away.
I haven’t been here since I snuck in to grab my shite. Days, it’s been, but as I walk up the steps, take in the planters of flowers on either side of the door and the wreath covered in oranges and yellows, I know that Autumn hasn’t stopped visiting. I knock once, holding my breath, like a vacuum salesman waiting to be given the toss. Funny how a place I loved and the people in it can make me feel like an invader.
Joe opens the door and the smile on his face lowers. “Deco?” he says, like he can’t believe he’s looking at me.
“Yeah. How is it, Joe?”
“Good, mate. Good.” He looks over my shoulder, then back at my face. The smile returns. “Have a drink?” I nod and he opens the door wider for me to enter.
It is awkward being here, wandering around my own home, eyeing corners and tables to see if there have been changes. But as I sit at the dining table, rest back against the chair while Joe fetches a bottle of Newcastle from the fridge, I let the warmth settle in my chest, try to eradicate the tension I can feel lurking around the corners of the room.
I nod a thanks to Joe when he slides me the bottle and sits across from me. He watches me, I’m guessin to see if I’ll start a row, but I can’t do more than lower my eyes to the bottle label and pick at the ends. He wants an explanation, same as me, likely an apology. Sayo was right. I’m an arsehole. Joe’s not elderly, but he’s been ill and punching him like I did was stupid.
“Look, Joe, I’m sorry,” I say. The corner of the label on my bottle digs underneath my fingernail.
“Deco, I know why you were upset. I do, son.”
My eyes shoot to his when he calls me that. We don’t mention what I know is on both our minds. I’m not his son. Not really. He raised me for a good space of my life, but we aren’t blood. My father was a wanker who skipped out on his wife. Shagged my mum and got her up the pole before he went back to his proper family. Joe and Autumn, they’re all I have, I know it. Joe knows it, but him calling me son just doesn’t seem right.
“I reckon you had your reasons for not telling me the truth.” I take a swig of the beer, giving my stepdad a chance to respond. He doesn’t, just stares at me as though he’s waiting for me to finish. “I don’t know what good reason you could have had for any of it…me, my father, the shite you kept from me about Autumn—” I stop speaking when Joe exhales, like he’s tired of rehashing the past. “It’s not something that can just be brushed under the rug, is it?”
Joe slouches, covers his face with his thin fingers. When he speaks, his words are muffled behind his hands. “I’ve explained everything to you about that, Deco.” He folds his arms over his chest, tight, defensive. “And if I’m being honest, it’s nothing to do with you, that bit with Autumn and my family here.”
My temper flares, but I’m able to push back my anger with another drink. “If you say so.”
“Autumn’s forgiven me, son. I was an arsehole about the whole situation, but the thing with your father, that was to protect you.” Joe leans on the table, folding his hands into a steeple. “Micah O’Malley was wild, careless, and when his wife found out about you, well, aside it being a scandal, it was quite the mess. The things that stupid cow said about your mum, Deco, no one wanted you to be caught up in that. Clara told me, they thought of leaving town, she and your mum, but then O’Malley takes his wife and moves off instead.” Joe brushes his hand across the table, wiping away the moisture my beer left on the surface. “When I went back home, when your mum was sick, she told me she hadn’t ever mentioned Micah to you. He’d been long dead by then and I reckon that’s a part of what made her the sad thing she was. But he’d had a son with his wife, a sickly little thing from what I heard, and your mum was still so very eaten away by grief and shame over the whole mess. She didn’t want you to know, was afraid it would hurt you.”
“So she asked you to keep it from me?”
“Not as such, no.” Joe lets his hands fall into his lap, moves his thumbs together. “But she did want to wait, until you were older. But then we came here and Autumn and you and…well, things were good, you see.” He wasn’t wrong. For months, we’d all been happy and Autumn had slipped into our family like she had always been a part of it. “I didn’t see the sense in dredging up the past, not after all I’d already put the pair of you through.” We let the quiet eat the seconds between us. There was a lot of information to take in, details that made the mystery of my past, of who my mum had been, fit together a bit more than it had, than what I had realized from my kid-sized view of things.
Still, it would have been so easy for Joe to tell me these things years ago. I was a big lad. I could have handled it. But he was ever the puppet master, still controlling, releasing small shards of truth when he saw fit. The thought of his needing to control our lives allowed my anger to return some. But more than anything, I wanted our family back. I wanted Autumn to slip back into where she belonged, at my side, here in this home, the three of us together again. But then Joe clears his throat, sits up straight as though what he said next was a commandment I shouldn’t bother refusing. “I think you should take the money.”
“No.” It slipped out of my mouth instantly.
Joe was surprised, I could tell. He looked at me as though I’d grown a third ear. “Deco, it would be a good start for you and Autumn. Set you off on the right road. You wouldn’t have to struggle so much. You’ll both be done with your studies soon and then you’ll want to marry, maybe have children. That money could help.”
I laughed at the idea. Joe was angling for a future that Autumn and I were far, far away from. It was what I wanted, eventually, but now, especially now? Please. I couldn’t even get her to return my texts. “Joe, Autumn doesn’t want any of that. Not with me.”
“O’course she does.” He seems genuinely surprised, as though he hadn’t caught on to the fact that we haven’t spoken in days. “Oh, you’ve hacked her off well and good, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. Take the money, son. It’s the least O’Malley could have done for you.”
The money again. Damn it, why can’t he just let that shite go? “I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything but Autumn, and I don’t even have that now. She won’t take my calls. She won’t see me, she won’t talk to me and all you care about is the fecking money?”
I have a fair notion that I should leave. Now. My anger is intensifying and I know that if I’m not careful, Joe and I will be at each other’s throats again. He just didn’t get it. What’s the point of that money? It won’t bring my mum back. It won’t make up for the fact that I’m some wanker’s bastard.
Joe’s arms are tight across his chest and I can tell that he’s not saying whatever has popped into his head. He senses the tension. Knows me well enough to recognize when I’m losing it. “Deco, I just want you to be able to take care of her. And yourself.”
“Yep. I got that.” It was clear to me now, his insistence on me taking that money. Just why he thought it was the only thing to do. Damn him, it all made sense. My chair squeaks against the floor when I jerk out of it eager to get away from my stepdad.
I’m not good enough for her, I know that’s what he’s thinking.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around, Joe.” When he follows me, stops me right at the front door, I don’t jerk away from him.
“Saturday night, at McKinney’s Autumn and Sayo want to have a party. My birthday, you see. Something small, karaoke and cake.”
I close my eyes, feel worse that I’d forgotten Joe’s birthday, but then a thought comes to me and I frown at my stepdad. “You hate karaoke. Autumn does as well.”
“It was Sayo’s idea. It’ll be a laugh. You should be there, son.”
I don’t make any promises to my stepdad, even though it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the concept of broken promises. “Thanks for the beer.” I leave my home, with Joe staring after me, wishing I knew when I’d be back. If I’d be back.