Until Autumn Falls

by Elana Johnson

  She didn’t stop. Tears blinded the path she should take, and she wasn’t quite sure when the evening had gone so wrong.

  She came to a screeching halt. “When you told him you wanted to sleep with him on his boat.”

  “Hil!” He jogged toward her, slowing a healthy distance from her. “Come on back to the house.”

  She shook her head, pressing her lips together to keep the emotion inside. Her stomach started shaking. “I don’t eat when we go out because it makes me nervous.”

  He took cautious steps toward her. “Eating makes you nervous?”

  “No, eating in front of you makes me nervous.”

  Tripp frowned and extended one hand toward her as if she were a frightened animal he was trying not to scare away. “Just me?”

  “Anyone.” She took a steeling breath. “My last boyfriend, he wanted me to look…pretty, be quiet, and hold a drink. I wasn’t supposed to eat.”

  His warm fingers slid up her arm to her shoulder. “I don’t like your last boyfriend.”

  “Neither do I,” she whispered.

  He dropped his hand. “Come back,” he pleaded. “I’ll order pizza. You can keep your scarf on. We won’t go to the boat. I don’t even care about the boat. Just…please come back.”

  Somehow she got her feet moving in the right direction, and he slid his arm around her waist, further anchoring her. “You care about the boat,” she murmured.

  “I care about you.” He led her up the front steps, but she stopped.

  She stood one step above him, their faces almost even. “I want to take the scarf off, Tripp. I do.” Everything inside her quaked. “I just don’t know if I can.”

  “I’ll look past your imperfections,” he whispered.

  Her heart swelled with love for this gentle man. She couldn’t believe she’d led him on, hurt him.

  “Isn’t that what you want?” he asked. “I believe you said you wanted a man who would look past your imperfections.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m really bad at this. I haven’t dated in a long, long time.”

  He looked over her shoulder, a small smile riding his lips. “Bad at dating. Another imperfection I’ll have to figure out how to overlook.”

  Hilary didn’t deserve a man like Tripp, but she wanted to become a woman who did. He crowded her on the top step and drew her into his chest, into the soft safety of his arms. He swayed and she went with him, drawing in a noseful of his clean, fresh cologne.

  “What kind of pizza do you like?” he whispered, his hands loose on her waist. She missed the riskier Tripp, the one who kissed her when he had her in his arms like this.

  Can’t have him both ways, she told herself. And she needed more time to figure out how to take off her scarf. She wanted to rip it from her throat right now, toss it into the wind, and let him see the scars that ran from her breastbone to her collarbone.

  “Sausage and pepperoni, with green peppers,” she said. “You? Oh, wait.” She danced out of his arms and met the wood of his front door. “I remember. You told me that first night we went to the Summerfest. You’re an all-meat guy.”

  “I can stomach green peppers,” he said, reaching behind her and twisting the doorknob. “And black olives. Can we put those on too?”

  “Sure.” She pushed against his chest. “And Tripp, I will eat tonight.”

  “Can’t wait to see it.” He dipped his head as if he’d kiss her, but he slithered past her and reached for his cell phone.

  An hour later, fully satiated with cheese and meat and vegetables, she curled into Tripp’s side, content.

  “You still wanna go fishing in the morning?” he asked.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Then you better get on home. I need to get to bed.”

  She groaned but sat up. “All right. Hey.” She turned back to him. “There’s a dance on the Fourth of July, and it’s only two weeks away. You have a date yet?”

  “Sure don’t.”

  “Well, I wonder what you can do about that.” She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and glanced around like a beautiful woman would appear.

  “Are you asking me out?”

  “If that’s what it takes. I got to town only a few weeks before the Independence Day dance a couple of years ago, and I’ve never been.” She slid him a look out of narrowed eyes. “I think it’s time I branch out a little.”

  He grinned. “I’ve been. It’s not that good. Same band every year.”

  “So you don’t want to go with me?”

  A wicked grin graced his face. “How many fish will you gut tomorrow?”

  She pretended to think. “Five?”

  “You got yourself a date, sweetheart.”

  * * * *

  The hours, days, and weeks until the dance passed. Hilary went fishing with Tripp every morning, and her new habit of waking at two-fifteen in the morning became routine. So did kissing him on the pier before they boarded the boat.

  He was careful with her, never kissing as passionately as he used to. He let her dictate how fast and how often they were intimate. The problem was, Hilary wasn’t sure how fast she wanted to go.

  Sometimes, just seeing Tripp made her blood boil, and she wanted to stomp on the accelerator. In the next minute, his eyes would flutter to the scarf she wore, or the turtletank, or the massive piece of jewelry, and she’d remember what the price of being with him was.

  “He’s worth it,” she muttered to herself as she pulled the third scarf from her neck. Nothing went with the little black dress, but it was strapless, and the hideous scars jagged out of the top, almost pointing to her shoulder.

  She’d told him a little more about her life in Miami, but nothing about Dante yet. Nothing about the assault. She knew that conversation would have to happen when she revealed the scars, and a cold pit opened inside her.

  At the same time, Tripp had ruined her for another man. No one would ever hold her the way he did. No one could ever listen as intently to her as he did. No one would be able to kiss her as completely as he did.

  “Tonight,” she told herself, looking straight into her own eyes. “You’re going to tell him tonight, after the dance.”

  Her gaze fell to the scars and she opened the drawer where she kept her jewelry. Nothing fit. Nothing worked. She turned to her closet, thinking perhaps she should change her dress. A flash of white caught her eye—a shawl she’d forgotten about. She yanked it from the hanger and shrugged into it.

  It covered the scars, but her temperature rose five degrees in as many seconds. Could she really wear this all night long? While dancing?

  She took it off and carried it with her into the living room, no other solution coming to her. She could handle being stifling hot. She’d been wearing things she didn’t want to for years. She’d probably need to use the body glue to hold it in place, especially if she planned on doing any twirling at all. And Hilary wanted to twirl.

  She dropped the shawl on the back of the couch and went into the kitchen to get a drink and down some painkiller as a precaution.

  “Knock, knock.” Tripp’s voice sent horror cascading through her. So did the squeal of the door as he opened it and entered her house.

  A high-pitched squawk burst from her throat and she didn’t turn from her position at the kitchen sink. “I’m not dressed!” she called.

  “Sure you are,” he said. “I can see you standing there in the kitchen.”

  She kept her back to him, her heart pounding, pulsing, palpitating. “I need my shawl. It’s there on the back of the couch.”

  His footsteps came closer, closer. She pressed her eyes closed to keep the tears contained. She felt stupid, thinking she could show him her scars without any consequences. Stupid, thinking she was ready to show him that very night. If she was, why couldn’t she turn right now? Let him see right now? Explain everything right now?

  His warm hands slid up her left arm, the sleeve of the shawl coming with them. “There you go, sweeth
eart.”

  She took precious seconds to make sure the shawl lay exactly right, then she turned to face him. “Thank you.”

  He gazed at her with curiosity in his expression, along with a hint of frustration that evaporated the longer he looked at her.

  “I need—” She ducked past him. “Be right back.” She used her body glue to secure the flaps of the shawl against her skin and returned to the kitchen. “I’m ready.”

  “Sorry I was early,” he said. “I was ready, and I couldn’t stand pacing around my place any longer.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I should’ve called.”

  “Tripp, it’s fine.”

  He stared openly at her shawl, and her breathing turned shallow. “My last boyfriend—his name was Dante.”

  Tripp’s eyes flew to hers. He leaned against the counter behind him, silent and sexy.

  You want this, she told herself. Tell him.

  “He wasn’t nice,” Hilary said. “I thought he was, but I didn’t really know any better. He had a lot of money, and he bought me all kinds of expensive things.” Her lungs seemed coated in ice, unable to expand properly to take a decent breath. “I didn’t know he was a drug lord. Second-in-command in the Carmine drug cartel in Miami. We went to parties. I played my part even though I didn’t know it. When I figured things out, I broke up with him.”

  Tripp watched her, his dark eyes bright and unassuming. She drew strength from his steadiness, his non-judgmental air.

  “Well, no one breaks up with the drug cartel. Apparently, I’d seen too much. Heard too much. Dante said if I wasn’t going to be with him, I couldn’t be with anyone.”

  “I really don’t like him,” Tripp murmured, his eyes blazing now.

  “He thought he owned me,” Hilary continued, her voice turning hollow. She cleared her throat. She was done living behind a layer of wax paper. Done sleepwalking through her life. She wanted to live it.

  “He told me he owned me right before he—” Her throat closed.

  “He hurt you, didn’t he?” Tripp’s voice trembled with fury.

  She nodded. “He hit me. Sent me across the floor. Smeared my blood across my face.” She shivered though the shawl should’ve had her sweating. “I just knew he was going to kill me. I tried to fight back, but he’s a big man. I remember the flash of silver. The first swipe of the blade across my body. I remember screaming. After that….” She closed her eyes, searching for something she’d never had. “It’s all white. I woke up in the hospital two months later. The doctors said it was a miracle I’d survived the fall. I didn’t know what they were talking about.”

  His teeth ground together. He looked away. “I’m so sorry, Hilary. I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like.”

  “I found out later that he’d pushed my unconscious body down a flight of metal steps, hoping that would suggest an accident. That’s what put me in the coma. My mother said my head was the size of a watermelon.”

  Tripp’s fingers curled and uncurled. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s in prison,” she said. “I testified against him and several other cartel members. Then I disappeared.” She took a step toward him, needing him to hold her now, steady her now, accept her now. “That’s why my parents don’t know where I am. It’s why I don’t talk to them. It’s why I haven’t made many friends here.”

  He nodded to her shawl. “And you hide the scars he left behind.”

  She nodded. “I’ve never forgotten the kindness in your eyes the first time I met you.” A tear splashed onto her cheek. “I think I knew then what a great guy you were, and it’s just taken me two years to do something about it.” She stepped toward him again, and he received her into his arms. He held her close to his heart, and she believed nothing could harm her within the circle of Tripp’s protection.

  “I’m falling in love with you,” she whispered. “And it terrifies me.”

  “Sh,” he soothed. “It’s okay. I’m never going to hurt you.” He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

  “What if Dante comes here? I can’t….” Her voice faltered again. She peered up into his handsome face and ran her fingers along his bearded jaw. “I can’t lose you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I want you to see the imperfections.”

  “You don’t have any.”

  She smiled up at him with shaky lips. “You are so good. I don’t deserve you.”

  “If you don’t, no one does.” He laid his chin on the top of her head. “You’re good too, Hilary.”

  “I’ve never felt good enough.”

  “That’s because your boyfriend wouldn’t let you eat when you went out to dinner. He made you into someone and something you’re not. But he’s not here anymore.” He gripped her shoulders and stepped back to look at her. “Do you hear me? He’s not here anymore, and you can be yourself.”

  Her makeup would have to be redone, because she cried. Cried for the loss of her family. Cried for all the times she wished she could have broken down but hadn’t. Cried because for the first time ever, she believed she could be herself again.

  “My name’s not Hilary,” she whispered.

  Tripp sucked in a breath but didn’t speak.

  “I want to tell you what it is,” she said. “But I’m so, so scared.”

  He relaxed his fingers on her arms and tucked her back against his chest. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Or you won’t. It doesn’t matter to me. You’re Hilary Finnegan to me, and I like her a lot.”

  She basked in the vibrations of his voice as they moved through his chest. Hilary finally felt like she’d gotten her hero. The man who held her close and would do anything to keep her there.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time Tripp and Hilary arrived at the downtown park, the Fourth of July dance was in full swing. Hilary had insisted they still come, though Tripp had offered to simply stay at her place with her, turn the TV on low, and keep her company.

  Something had shifted inside him these past couple of weeks. He recognized the feeling of falling, of giving more of himself to Hilary, of finding his way toward loving her. Though he’d disliked most of what she’d told him that evening, he had picked up a new gem—she was falling in love with him too.

  He kept his fingers clasped on hers as they navigated through the crowd. Hilary had made it clear she wanted to dance, and that happened on the basketball courts on the north end of the park. The pavilion was loaded with pies and pastries, juices and sodas. People lingered in the shade, chatting and laughing. Families brought blankets and camp chairs and coolers. Children ran with each other; dogs joined in the fun.

  Later, fireworks would light the night sky. The National Anthem would play, and Neil Diamond, and Tripp had been praying for a solid hour that this dance would be everything Hilary wanted it to be.

  He wanted to fill her life with good memories to outweigh the bad. He didn’t want her to suffer anymore. He never wanted to let her out of his sight again, so he could protect her, ensure her happiness, give her a solid foundation.

  When they finally made it through the crowd to the basketball courts, Tripp found that large wood squares had been put down to simulate a dance floor. Beside him, Hilary squealed and spun toward him.

  “May I have this dance, Mister Thurgood?” She curtsied, and Tripp’s heart expanded two sizes.

  “It would be my pleasure.” He put one hand in hers and one on her waist and they joined the flow of people moving around the square. Tripp wasn’t much of a dancer—hadn’t done it in about fifteen years—but he caught on quick enough and managed not to step on Hilary’s feet.

  By the time the song ended, he was breathless and grinning, same as Hilary. She melted into his arms and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “That was amazing. I had no idea you were so agile on your feet.”

  He laughed with her and nodded back the way they’d come. “You want something to eat?”

  “Maybe just a drink.”<
br />
  As Tripp strolled back over to the pavilion, he realized why he’d never enjoyed the Fourth of July dance. It was for couples, families, people who had a group to belong to. Until very recently, he hadn’t had that in his life.

  He glanced around and confirmed that there weren’t people like him there. Polly hadn’t come. Neither had Sophie, and he’d never known either of them to be interested in coming. He wondered if he’d suggested that they all come together, bring a bucket of fried chicken and a card game, if they’d come.

  They would, he told himself. He entered the pavilion with a heavier heart. He should’ve invited his family to the town’s events, strengthened those bonds he’d been trying to rebuild since Jared came back into town.

  “Ooh, peach pie.” Hilary dropped his hand and stepped around the table. “My grandmother used to make the best peach pie in ten counties.” She dished herself a hefty slice and looked at him expectantly. “What are you going to have?”

  He reached for her plate and took it from her. “Peach pie.” He smirked at her protest and headed for the plastic silverware at the end of the table. He collected two forks and turned to find her balancing an even larger piece of pie on the tiny plate.

  He laughed as he stuck one of the forks in her piece of pie. “I thought we could share, but it’s obvious you want your own piece.”

  They found a patch of grass under a tree that wasn’t being used. Tripp leaned himself against the trunk and took a bite of his pie. Hilary joined him, spreading her skirt to make sure it covered her knees before digging into her pie.

  He finished his whole piece, but Hilary only managed to eat half of hers. She got up to throw away their trash, and when she returned, she sat on his lap, one arm slung around his shoulders.

  He held her and all the noise in the park faded into silence. It might as well have been only the two of them there, enjoying the summer night with its gold and pink sunset, the whisper of the breeze as it tousled Hilary’s hair, the moon as it hung in the midnight sky.