Fourth Down: A Beaumont Series Next Generation Spin-off

by McLaughlin, Heidi

  “Maybe,” I say and then pause, wondering if I should really go where I’m about to go. Peyton stares at me with her eyebrows raised. “What’s the deal with Autumn LaRosa?”

  She smiles. “Why? Do you want to be set up?”

  I jump back in my chair. “Hell no. I want to know where the hell she came from. I’m not trying to stir up any trouble, but I find it odd that she appears out of nowhere and is suddenly everywhere.”

  “Oh,” Peyton says. “Autumn was a sorority sister. We were in the same media program.”

  “Yeah, Noah mentioned some of this. I don’t know. There’s something about her that rubs me the wrong way.”

  Peyton eyes me warily. “I think you watch too many documentaries on crime or something, Julius. Autumn is probably the most genuine person I know.”

  “Don’t you feel she’s attaching herself to you because of who you are? I mean, you’re married to an NFL quarterback, your dad is a famous drummer, and your brother is the lead singer of one of the most popular bands out there right now.”

  Peyton sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. By the look on her face, I know I’ve said something wrong. I’d take it all back, but the truth is, I’m bothered by Autumn, and I can’t figure out why.

  “First off, if I thought people were hanging around me because of who I am, who I’m married to, or because of who my family is, I’d be holed up in a dark corner of a room somewhere, afraid to come out. I learned a long time ago to give people a chance to show they’re genuine.

  “Second, the only reason Autumn reached out to me is because Aiden suggested it after he told her we were at the same school. She had no idea until another sister of ours told her. I had moved out of the sorority house by the time Autumn moved in. Her being in Portland is pure happenstance and a testament to what she brings to the news.

  “Third, I see the way you look at her, Julius. And while I know you’re going through some things with Elena and the separation, maybe you can use the date Autumn won as a new stepping stone into a friendship with her.”

  My eyes widen at the mention of the date I have to go on with Autumn. “Speaking of, how do I get out of the date? I tried to pay her off, but she won’t take my money.”

  “Pay her off, why?” Peyton asks.

  “Because I don’t want to go with her. I literally loathe her.”

  Peyton laughs. “Oh, Julius.” She shakes her head. “You have a crush.”

  Before I can respond, Peyton stands and goes to her door. She opens it and stands there, waiting for me to leave. When I’m near, I open my mouth, but words fail me. Peyton smiles and tells me to have a great day.

  * * *

  When I open the door to my apartment, everything is quiet and dark. There’s a faint glow coming from the living room, and as I step into the room, I find Miss Meghan and Roxy snuggled on the couch, asleep. I leave them there and use the time to check on Reggie. I knock on his door, and he tells me to come in. My heart seizes for a second when I find him curled up on his bed. Immediately, I’m by his side with my hand on his forehead.

  “Are you sick?”

  He shakes his head and sniffles.

  “What’s going on, bud?”

  “I’m mad at Mommy.”

  I sigh and lay down next to him. I don’t know if I’m doing this right, the whole parenting thing when it comes to divorce, but I’m trying. “I get that you want to be mad at her.” Hell, I am too.

  “She doesn’t love us anymore.”

  “No, that’s not true, Reg. She loves you very much.”

  “Then why is she with that man?”

  “What man?” I ask.

  Reggie pulls his phone out from under his pillow. At eight, I believe he is too young to have a phone, but his mother insisted and went behind my back. I have taken the thing and put so many parental controls on it, and still, the wrong shit finds its way onto it. He taps the screen and then flips it around so I can see. There is his mother, in an embrace with her boyfriend.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “There’s more,” he says as he takes the phone away and swipes through a series of photos. My blood boils. I’m angry at Elena for being so public with this new romance, especially after pretending we were one big happy family last week.

  “Reggie, where did you find these pictures?”

  “Owen sent them to me. He called my mom a whore.”

  I groan angrily. I don’t know who Owen’s parents are, but I’m going to find out. I delete all the photos and then go to the deleted folder and remove them again. I hand Reggie his phone back and then use my finger to prop his chin up so he can look me in the eyes.

  “Your mom is not a whore. I don’t ever want to hear you say that word again. Not about your mother or any other woman. Your mom and I are getting a divorce. This means she’s allowed to date other men, and I’m allowed to date other women. This does not mean we love you or Roxy any less. The two of you are our worlds. We’d do anything for you.”

  “But Mommy loves someone else.”

  I nod. “I know, bud. And I know that hurts you. It hurts me too. We can be sad about it, and we can always talk about what’s going on, and you can also talk to your mom. Tell her how you feel when you see those things.”

  “Okay.”

  I pull my son into my arms and rest my chin on top of his head. I imagine Elena lying next to us, creating a Reggie sandwich, which we’ve done so often. Except, when I close my eyes, it’s not Elena’s face I see . . .

  . . . it’s Autumn’s.

  Eleven

  Autumn

  I’m thankful for the mild fall weather. When I lived in North Dakota, venturing outside at a time like this never boded well for my running habits. I never enjoyed jogging until I started my job. At first, I couldn’t run for five minutes without having to stop. Five turned into ten, and that ten finally turned into a mile. Now, I’m up to at least five miles before I need a break or lose total interest in what I’m doing. One of the perks of being in Portland, in the downtown area, is the waterfront. There is a nicely paved pathway that affords all sorts of recreational activity. Every morning, I encounter bicyclists, rollerbladers, and a slew of other joggers. One of the perks is looking out over the water to see the boats. From what I hear, fleet week happens in May and June, and it’s a sight to behold. Not gonna lie, I’m looking forward to summer.

  After last night though, I’m considering taking up boxing. Peyton called in between my broadcasts and told me that Julius Cunningham, the jerk I won in the auction and who has made me feel completely unwelcome, asked about me. Color me stumped. When Peyton said this, my mouth dropped open, and at first, I thought, “Wow, this guy is coming around.” Nope, nada. He despises me, and for what—I have no idea. Peyton thinks it’s because he likes me, but there’s no way. We aren’t in the first grade anymore. There is no “be mean to the new girl because you have a crush on her” game of tag happening on the playground.

  We’re adults, but Julius doesn’t act like one. He’s a giant man child with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon, all because he thinks I’m using Peyton. I find him sad, honestly. Peyton says he’s going through a few things with his wife but won’t elaborate, which I’m okay with. The last thing I want is to know more about him. And to be honest, I don’t want to spend the day with him. I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightmare of a time, and I’ll likely end up crying through most of it. Maybe I should’ve taken him up on his offer and accepted the check he wanted to give me. Nope, I paid for him, and I plan to use him to my fullest pleasure. He’s going to rue the day he decided to talk shit about me.

  When I come around the bend, my apartment complex is within sight. Usually, I go home but the morning is so lovely I decide to spend some time at the park. There was a time in my life when I thought I wanted to be a nanny. I love children and want my own someday, but loved the thought of taking care of babies. I was also sixteen at the time and thought I�
�d be an au pair in France or find a wealthy family in California that would take me on their vacations to Bali with them. I head toward the playground and sit down on the first empty bench I can find. I’m surrounded by strollers, moms, dads, and nannies talking to each other or chasing a toddler around. The sight brings a smile to my face. I hate that my clock is ticking and I have no one.

  For the longest time, I thought Camden and I would get married and start a family, but he’s out living his best life, chasing storms, and doing what he loves. I love my job too, but I’d give it up to be a full-time mother in a heartbeat. For this to happen, I have to start dating or go to a sperm bank. Neither idea seems ideal. Dating scares me. I see the tweets I get from random men and the stares when I’m out alone. The double-takes are what get me. Believe me, I’m not looking at men on the street wondering if they’re the next man in my life. And the idea of going to a clinic to comb through a million profiles to find the right combination of eye, hair, height, and intelligence is such a turn-off. It’s like dating, but without any commitment from the other party.

  After watching the action in front of me for a few minutes, I decide to close my eyes and tilt my head back to enjoy the sun. It’s in the mid-fifties. Not too warm, but not cold enough where you have to wear a parka either. I know many will disagree with me, but I find this weather perfect.

  I listen to the chatter around me. Someone is talking about going out to dinner and mentions a place I haven’t heard of. As tempted as I am to open my eyes and pull my phone out to put the name of the restaurant in my notes for reference later, I don’t. If I forget, there are hundreds of other places I can try. Another voice piques my interest. It’s a male, and if I had to guess, he’s on the phone. I hear bits and pieces of his conversation and quickly deduce that someone in his life has had an affair. I tune him out, not wanting to feel like I’m a creeper and eavesdropping, even though he’s talking about personal things in a park where anyone can hear him.

  I settle deeper onto the bench and relax, knowing that I could easily fall asleep right now, except something is touching my leg. I open my eyes and sit up, startling the little girl next to me. “Hi,” I say to her.

  “Yous the lady from TV.”

  “I am. My name is Autumn.” I hold my hand out for her, but she jumps at what I suspect is her name being frantically yelled. I glance around the play area, looking for her parent, only to find Julius storming toward us.

  “Roxanne Cunningham, you know better than to run off.”

  “Is that you?”

  She nods but doesn’t seem fearful of her father. I would be, but he probably likes her.

  “Daddy, wook.” She points to me while staring at her looming father.

  Julius and I make eye contact. I give him a soft smile and wave. “She yours?” It’s a stupid question, but I have nothing else to say to the man. Much to my surprise, his daughter climbs onto the bench and sits next to me. Her little legs are bouncing up and down with excitement.

  “Roxy, you shouldn’t bother people,” Julius says. “Come on, let’s go.”

  She shakes her head and hides her hands under her legs. “I stay.”

  “She’s not bothering me,” I tell him, meaning every bit of it. I glance down at her and match her toothy grin with one of my own. “Hi, Roxy, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “I see you on the TV.”

  “Well, I’m happy that you watch my weather reports. Now tell me, Roxy, do you like the rain or the sun?”

  “The sun,” she says.

  “Roxy, we should go.”

  I turn my attention toward Julius and shake my head a bit. “Honestly, she’s not bothering me, Julius. I don’t mind talking to her.”

  He nods but says nothing. He stays nearby, undoubtedly watching us like a hawk.

  “How old are you?” I ask Roxy.

  “Dis many.” She holds up three fingers. “How old is you?”

  Wow, I didn’t expect her to come back with this question. I hold up both hands and say, “I am many more than this.”

  “Yous old.” She laughs. If she weren’t so cute, I’d be insulted.

  “Sorry,” Julius says. “She doesn’t have a filter, so she says whatever comes to mind.”

  I wasn’t aware he was close enough to listen to us, but it makes sense. He probably doesn’t want me asking his daughter anything he would deem inappropriate. Not that I would.

  Another child comes up to us. He looks to be around Roxy’s age. I’m about to ask if she knows him when she yells out his name.

  “Henry, she is on TV.”

  “You famous like her dad?” the little boy asks.

  “No, I just tell you what the weather is going to be like.”

  “I don’t like the weather,” he tells me. “It’s stupid. Sometimes it rains and then I can’t go to the park. This one time, it snowed, and I got to stay home with my mom, but she was mad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you make the weather like my mom makes my lunch?” he asks. “Because you should make it rain cats and dogs.” Henry starts laughing and slaps his hand down on his leg.

  “You’re a funny guy, Henry.”

  “I know.”

  So humble.

  Henry decides to call the entire playground over by telling everyone that I can make it snow or rain. The kids find it fascinating, while the parents use the free time to their advantage and check their phones. Honestly, I don’t mind talking to them, but I hate disappointing them when they think I can change the weather.

  The alarm on my phone goes off. I’m one of those people who sets reminders to do things, like eat lunch. I give myself an hour and a half to figure out what I’m going to do. Lately, I’ve made this my big meal during the day because the break between the evening news and night news is often too busy. I tell the kids that I have to go. Some scatter, but a few linger. Glancing around the park, I scan the space looking for Julius. He’s over by the fence that keeps people from going into the river. I look down at Roxy and hold my hand out to her.

  “Come on, I’ll take you to your dad.” She takes my hand without reservation and follows me toward her dad.

  “Do you want to skip wif me?”

  Hell yes, I do. “Let’s do it.”

  Roxy and I start skipping until we reach Julius. He smiles, and my heart stops. Deep down, I know it’s because his daughter is with me, but I swear he looked right at me when he did.

  “I have to go,” I say when we reach him. “I didn’t want to leave her on the bench by herself.”

  “I appreciate that.” He takes Roxy’s hand. “She likes to wander off sometimes, as you can see.” He looks down at this daughter, who is beaming up at her father.

  “She’s sweet, Julius. I enjoyed my time with her.”

  “What do you say to Miss Autumn?”

  “Fank you for bisiting wif me.”

  I crouch down, so we’re level. “You’re welcome, Roxy. I hope we can hang out again real soon.”

  “Me too.” She wraps her arms around her dad’s leg, suddenly shy.

  “Have a great day, Julius. It was nice to see you.” It wasn’t, but I’m a firm believer in killing people with kindness. I leave them there and head back toward my apartment. I’m tempted to look over my shoulder to see if he’s watching, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I care whether he’s paying attention to me or not.

  Once I’m back in my apartment, I head to the sliding glass door and step out onto the balcony. I find myself surveying the area for Julius, wondering if he’s still out there or if he’s left. I’m curious where he lives and why he would be in this neighborhood. According to Peyton, most of the guys live in the suburbs, at least the ones with children, while a few of the guys live in the same building as her and Noah. When I don’t see him, I step back inside and head for the shower.

  One thing is for sure—the Julius Cunningham I’ve met and encountered since moving here is not the same man I spoke with tod
ay. When his daughter is around, he’s soft and vulnerable. The bad attitude, the snark, and disparaging comments don’t exist, and that is something I could definitely get used to.

  Twelve

  Julius

  After practice, Noah and I head to the golf course. The sun is shining, and we want to get as many rounds of golf in as we can before the course closes for the winter. Granted, we still have time, considering it’s only mid-September, but with our schedules, it’s hard to say when we can come out again.

  I tee off from the fifth and watch my ball sail through the air until it lands approximately one-hundred and fifty yards from me.

  “Not bad,” Noah says as he pushes his tee into the ground and sets his ball on top of it. He takes a few practice swings and then finally centers his driver behind the dimpled ball and swings, hitting the stupid white orb about twenty yards farther than mine. I’m starting to think there isn’t anything Noah Westbury isn’t good at. I’ve seen him play baseball when he volunteered for the Pioneers for a charity game. The dude can not only pitch lights out but is a beast with the bat. And he can even sing, but it’s a rare day he belts out a tune.

  “Did you get good grades in school?” I ask as we head back to the cart.

  “What do my grades have to do with golf?”

  I slide into the driver's seat and wait for Noah to sit down on the passenger side before taking off toward my ball. “It doesn’t. I’m trying to find something you’re not good at.”

  Noah laughs, which sort of makes things worse because he’s leading me to believe he’s some genius who probably could’ve gone to MIT or something. “My grades were decent, and I’m not good at everything.”

  I scoff.

  “I’m not,” he adds. “You have to remember I chose football over baseball and didn’t have a scholarship when I went to Notre Dame. I was a walk-on.”

  “Yeah, why did you do that?”