Falling for Autumn (13 page)

When I finished, Blake hugged me and I paid close attention to how his muscle flexed under his shirt as his grip tightened. I was bleary-eyed as I burrowed into his body. He didn’t notice my response and kept his tone playful. “You’re a natural. Maybe instead of being a cheerleader, you should’ve been playing football.”

Tension coiled in my chest and I moved out of his hold. The fire burning between us was instantly extinguished. Gawking at him, I folded my arms over my chest. “How do you know I was a cheerleader?”

He barked out a short laugh, his face showing his confusion over the switch in my mood. “You told me.”

I shook my head. “I never mentioned cheering to you.” I studied him and asked, “What was the name of your high school again?”

“Clark,” he answered. “Why?”

My shoulders lowered, the crushing weight on my chest lightening. “We never played your school in football, right?”

He was puzzled and I could see his mind working overtime trying to see where my line of questioning was going. “No.”

Clark was about forty minutes away from
Newpine and although I had heard of the town, our schools resided in different counties. Blake’s mention of cheerleading made me wonder if he had played games at our school when I cheered. He was two years older than me and would have been on the football team through my sophomore year. But I knew the districts we played and Clark was never one of them.

Blake knowing I was a cheerleader made me feel paranoid, especially since I had come to
Cook to regain my anonymity. I believed it was achievable since most media outlets outside of Newpine kept my name out of print. The narrowed-minded citizens of Newpine had no such qualms about sullying the reputation of a seventeen-year-old girl.

“Why do you look so worried? If you didn’t mention it, maybe I assumed it when you were talking about how you were into homecoming during high school.” His expression was tense and I chided myself for the overreaction. It shouldn’t matter he knew about my cheerleading, but for some reason it bothered me. It made me suspicious of him and his motives. I wanted to trust him, but it had become so damn hard for me to believe in anyone.

“It’s fine. I guess I was wondering if we could’ve met before.”

He gave me a playful pout. “And you think you would forget this face?”

“Okay, maybe not.”

I decided not to dwell on it because I was raising too many red flags by getting freaked out over a meaningless assumption. I laughed it off, hoping the hollowness could only be heard by me.

Although it was liberating to hit the sled, I had no desire to return to it. “Is there a football around? Want to play catch?”

He brightened. “Hell yeah.”

Blake disappeared for a few minutes to a storage area for the sports equipment and came back with a pair of footballs. The disquieting sensation was still there, but I decided to not read into things. His explanation made perfect sense and I wanted to accept his answer. But being paranoid was better than being ignorant.

As he lumbered back toward me, I silenced my misgivings. He positioned me down the field and jogged a few yards away and faced me. When my first throw landed dead center between our positions, he moved in closer. With each throw, I tried to make him work harder for the catch. I purposely sent the ball high and then low. I never launched it straight, trying to make him dive left or right to get it. Blake was a good sport and attempted to make every catch.

“So, spring break is coming up...” I started as I caught the football. I positioned my fingertips between the laces and tried to put more power behind the throw by taking a step first. I was pleased to see the ball sail far over Blake’s head.

He ran over to the ball and called back, “Any plans?”

“I’m going home for the week. My dad is picking me up on Friday. What about you?”

He chucked the ball back in my direction. “Cancun with a few buddies.” My face fell and the ball dropped through my fingers. He laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t resist. I was jok
ing. I’m not going away.”

“Whatever, like it would matter to me if you went to Cancun.” I took out my frustration by wildly throwing the ball.

Blake’s eyes danced as he said dryly, “Sure it wouldn’t.”

“It wouldn’t. You’re a free agent. I’m not going to tell you what you can and can’t do.”

“It’s almost insulting how often you talk to me using sports metaphors.” He gripped the football tightly as he said, “I’m not seeing anyone else, Autumn.”

“I’m not asking,” I answered automatically before adding in a lower tone, “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“I’m not asking,” he teased. “But I still like the answer.”

“Well, I like your answer too.”

I blushed at his grin and allowed myself a moment to revel in how happy I was with him. Blake was constantly surprising me and I liked how he challenged me. He pushed me out of my comfort zone and I needed that. I was trying to live in the moment with Blake and not make predictions about our future, but his declaration made me curious. As though our relationship could be more than casual.

It was daunting to think about opening myself up to the possibility of falling in love with Blake. When Hunter and I broke up, my pride had been hurt more than my heart. If things didn’t work out with Blake, I had the strongest sensation something inside me would be permanently fractured and no glue would be strong enough to put me back together again.

There was a heavy quiet as I passed the threshold once again into Newpine. I closed my eyes as my dad drove into town, trying to make the familiar rush of disgust vanish. Every landmark was too memorable, forcing every horrible event to the forefront of my mind. The ghosts refused to be silenced and, against my will, I heard his voice in my head.

“You don’t belong here, Autumn. I’ve taught for years and I’ve come to recognize the signs. You have such potential and you hide it away to fit in with your peers. Once you break free of Newpine, you’ll be unstoppable.”

“Do you really think so?” It was my voice, but not my voice—a tone too full of longing and naïveté.

“I can help you. We’ll keep up with the tutoring and when the time comes I’ll help with your recommendation letters. I know several board members at the top schools in New York…”

“New York, seriously? I never imagined I could get into anywhere out of state. My parents do okay, but I’m not sure they’d be able to afford the cost.”

“Don’t worry. There’s a lot of scholarship money open to you. You’re involved in the student council and an athlete. If you get your math grade up, you’ll have no problem at all impressing the scholarship committees.”

“Mr. Bridges, I can’t thank you enough. You actually make pre-calc interesting and I’ve been doing the worksheets you’ve been giving me every night. If I get my grades up, I would take any help you would give me. I mean living and studying in the city would be incredible…”

***

I cringed as I recalled the conversation. I’d been as gullible as they came. Mr. Bridges could’ve offered to gift me the stars and I would’ve believed him. He wasn’t particularly handsome, with an average face and a husky build. But it wasn’t his looks that drew me into his orbit—it was an unmatched charisma. He made me believe his lies because he seemed to believe in them. If Mr. Bridges told me I would be unstoppable outside of my confining community, then I accepted it as an absolute.

The memories of the time he spent tutoring me were torture—I had granted him the ability to reach inside of me, wrap his hands around my heart, and squeeze. Hindsight was hell to someone like me. If I’d been smarter, I would’ve seen every interaction was all building up to a predatory relationship.

“How’s school,
hon?” My father turned down the radio and smiled over at me. He had taken a half day off of work to pick me up and I’d been ecstatic to see him arrive at my dorm. My dad wasn’t much for talking on the phone, so it had been nice to catch up. We hadn’t spoken for more than five-minute intervals since he had driven me to school in January. Although my dad never complained that the drives were an inconvenience, I was looking forward to returning to school my sophomore year with my car in tow. I owned a seven-year-old Toyota Corolla and it ran perfectly. It pulled at my gut each time I thought of it sitting unused in my parents’ driveway. I also wanted to look for a part-time job next year and having my car back would make it possible.

“It’s good. I like my schedule and classes. I told you this before, but I really lucked out with a great roommate.”

He didn’t make an effort to conceal his relief. Although I constantly told my parents how indebted I was to them, telling him I was okay meant more to him than anything else. They loved me fiercely and it showed in their every action since the moment I arrived home sobbing with my shirt skewed and my lipstick smeared. My mother was a force of nature and I feared her judgment over my actions. Because when it came down to it, I’d played a careless game with a dangerous man. I hated myself for what I’d done and the harshest judge through it all was myself. My mom never lectured, instead loaning me her strength when I needed it. She fought for me when I disappeared into a void so deep I never thought I’d find my way out of it.

My father and I had a less intense relationship and I appreciated it. He saw me crumbling and used his good humor to try and snap me out of my coma. I was a mess the summer between my junior and senior year. I barely crawled out of bed most days and when I did, I was manic. In the middle of an uncontrollable frenzy, I destroyed every mirror in my room because I decided I hated my reflection. I left my hair tangled and unwashed while I stayed in the same pair of grimy pajamas for days. My dad would come home from work and pretend like nothing was amiss. He spoke to me as if I wasn’t a shell of the girl I’d been, telling me stories about work and corny jokes he heard. I would hear whispered arguments at night sometimes between my parents. My mother would accuse him of being in denial over what happened. But my dad’s counterargument was since ninety-five percent of the day I was reliving every horrible moment, would it really hurt to not focus on the atrocities for five percent of it?

“Have you thought about your major at all?” I heard a note of excitement as his good mood continued.

“I was thinking of the possibility of social work.” I blurted out the sentence without fully registering my words. But I found the statement felt true. “I thought it would be feel good to do a job for the rest of my life that involved helping people.”

I wanted to help the victimized, the ones who were silenced and needed someone else to be their voice. I was tired of feeling sorry for myself and wanted to do something to make a difference. More and more, I thought about others who were in the middle of their own personal hells. I wasn’t an expert on surviving by any means, but I wanted to learn how to be. Because that was what I felt life should be about—thriving even when the odds were stacked against you.

“You would be great at it. Before you pick your classes for the next semester, give me a call and you can let me know what courses you’re planning to take.”

“I will.”

When we arrived, Mom was waiting on the porch. I shook my head in disbelief as I walked up the stone pathway. “What are you doing? It can’t be more than fifty degrees out.”

Without a reply, she scooped me up in a massive hug. My mother and I looked similar—the same honey-colored eyes and matching dark blond hair. Her hair was lighter than mine and I guessed she had been to the salon recently to touch up her highlights. My mother always smelled like an exotic blend of tropical flowers and green tea and when I caught her scent, it felt good to be home. My parents were my sanctuary, calming the rage in my heart brewing since arriving back in town.

My mother shivered and took me by the elbow as she led us inside. “I was too excited to see you! I couldn’t sit still.”

I pointed to her bare arms and said, “You could’ve put on a coat first.” My mom was dressed in a short-sleeved blouse and black dress pants. I noticed her bare feet. “Or your shoes.” My mother loathed wearing shoes. As soon as she arrived home, her heels were removed and set next to the door. She was also a neat freak and didn’t want anyone bringing in dirt from the outside, sullying her perfect wood floors.

“It feels positively warm to me. It makes me think summer is around the corner. I was imagining the two of us lounging in beach chairs all day and swapping paperbacks.”

“I saw the beach house rentals you emailed me. They look amazing, but I’m still worried about the price.”

My mom sent my dad a conspiratorial wink over my head. “Our daughter worrying about money? After begging us each year to buy her the latest iPhone and trendy designer purse? I think college is making her soft.”

“I agree. She was talking about being a social work major. Maybe she chose too much of a liberal arts college. We should’ve forced her into business school.”

“Fine, it’s your money and if you want to spend it on a beach house with an inflated rental price, feel free.” My parents both laughed as I slipped off my sneakers and placed my bag by the door.

Our house was an extended cape with four bedrooms on the second floor. My parents had redone the ground floor a couple of years earlier, removing the downstairs office to create an expansive living room. One of the extra bedrooms was converted into their office space and they kept the other bedroom as a guestroom. Our kitchen was spacious and the three of us usually ate dinner at the small round table instead of using the formal dining room. I peeked my head into the kitchen before turning back to give my mom a grin. “You’re making chili?”

“Of course, I know it’s your favorite.” She gestured for me to follow her to the kitchen table. “You can unpack later. Why don’t we eat and you can tell me all about school?”

Nodding, I fell into one of the kitchen chairs. Within minutes, my mom placed a steaming bowl of her turkey chili in front of me. She had perfected the recipe over the years and whenever I ordered the dish at a restaurant, it always paled in comparison. I reached for a piece of cornbread from the bowl centered on the table and sopped up the liquid before taking a large satisfying bite. “I’ve been craving a real meal for weeks. The food in the cafeteria isn’t bad, but it’s good to eat something that doesn’t have an expiration date five years from now.”

My mom served my father and herself before relaxing into the chair next to mine. She blew gently on her spoon before taking a bite. “How are you? We’ve played phone tag for the past couple of weeks.”

“I’m sorry about that. My schedule was hectic with midterms and by the time I caught a free minute to call you back, it was after midnight.”

“I was worried,” she admitted. Her eyes lowered and my father’s gaze shifted away from me too.

He ran a hand through his black hair. “We were worried you weren’t taking the news of the release very well.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t forgotten about Mr. Bridges’ release, b
ut I hadn’t allowed it to dampen the newfound happiness I found with Blake. It was exciting to start a new relationship and I didn’t want to ruin it. Counting the days until Mr. Bridges’ release would only fill me with righteous anger. “I’ve been fine, honestly. I was telling Dad how great school has been.”

“Oh good.” My mom released a long and shaky breath and added, “I shouldn’t have brought it up, but I wanted to let you know we’re here if you need to talk.”

“Thanks.”

Mercifully, my dad steered the conversation away from unsettling topics. We had a normal dinner without the feeling Thomas Bridges was an invisible presence taking up residence in the unoccupied fourth chair at the table.

After dinner, my mom asked my father to give us some “girl talk time” and he disappeared upstairs to watch TV. I loaded the dishwasher as my mom wiped down the counters. After the area was cleaned, she stood next to me, carefully inspecting me from head to toe.

“What is it? Do I have chili on my shirt?” I had worn home a simple white V-neck T-shirt paired with low-rise jeans.

“No, you look great. I think going away to college was the best thing for you.” She paused, sucking in her lower lip before continuing. “I was worried over winter break. You seemed a little down and didn’t talk to anyone while you were home. But now you seem like you’re settling in nicely. Your eyes are brighter and it looks like you put on the weight you had lost.” I opened up my mouth to protest, but she pressed a finger to my lips. “And don’t complain about me saying you put on weight. You were rail thin before and now you have these gorgeous curves I would kill for.”

I appreciated the compliment and had noticed my jeans and bras fitting nicely. With my anxiety under control, my appetite had returned and I was getting back to a normal weight. “I’m good, Mom. You honestly don’t have to worry. I like school and I like the people there.”

I had friends, good friends, like Lexi, Casey, and Josh. Even Will had been coming by to say hello from time to time, though I suspected he was using me to catch a glimpse of Casey. And it was liberating to be away from the high school hierarchies. In college I became aware that time was relative. When I went to Newpine High School, time had dragged on. I was stuck in place, waiting for my chance to escape. At Cook, time sped up and it felt like the stolen moments when I was with Blake would soon pass me by.

“You’ve met a boy.”

“Huh?” The dish almost slipped out of my hand.

“You must be dating someone. Autumn, why didn’t you tell me? I want to hear all about him.” My mother closed the dishwasher and her eyes grew large in anticipation.

“Well, I didn’t mention it because it’s very new. We’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s great. What’s he like? What does he look like?”

I couldn’t help but smile as I conjured up Blake’s face in my head. “He’s nice and funny and extraordinarily good-looking. He’s so handsome—perfect green eyes and light brown hair. He has let it grow longer now, but I doubt he’ll ever have a bad hair day. He’s tall, I never asked his exact height, but he must be at least six feet tall. I’m not short, but I feel minuscule standing next to him.”

“He’s from the college?”

“Yes, he’s a junior—a business major.”

“How did you meet?”

“At a party. We’ve been spending time together as friends for a couple of months. He’s in my art history class and we were study buddies.” I smirked at the term. Honestly, we hadn’t gotten much studying done since kissing entered the equation. I sent Blake off to study for our midterm on his own, so we both had a chance of getting a passing grade. I felt confident I had done well on the exam and Blake promised he pulled an all-nighter to study.