#1.5 Finding Autumn

by Heather Topham Wood

  “I only meant I would’ve seen you before if you had come by. You’re hard not to notice.” I slipped back into the persona I was most comfortable with. Blake Preston: the carefree guy who could flirt his way into any girl’s panties. I could smile and laugh while feeling absolutely nothing inside.

  She wasn’t buying what I was selling, and I didn’t try to stop her when she went to leave again. It was just as well. I needed time to wrap my head around the fact Autumn Dorey was going to my college, and that I had just had the strangest conversation with her.

  Meeting her made me want to drink until I was numb. Alcohol had been my way to cope after all the bad shit that went down with Thomas. I instantly resented her for making that craving return—to get fucked up to forget. I wanted to be stronger than that, but I was weak when it mattered.

  Chapter Two

  My head was pounding the next morning from a mixture of heavy drinking and sleeplessness. I had drunk myself into oblivion to help me forget all about Autumn and it only made the night a hundred times worse. The rest of the evening was muddled inside my head, but the hazy memories kicked off with me snagging a bottle of rum from the kitchen. I vaguely recalled a redhead dragging me off to one of the bathrooms upstairs and giving me a blow job. I think she tried to hop in the car with Darien to come home with us, but Darien left her at the curb while I slumped, half-comatose, in the passenger’s seat. Whoever she was, she’d be able to add another rumor to the hundreds that seemed to surround me. Not that I cared. It was a dick move to not get her name or number, and I probably deserved a lot worse than being called out on it.

  I groaned when I looked at the time. I was taking art history, and I’d be late if I didn’t get my ass out of bed that minute. Registering for an art history class that was held first thing in the morning was probably a fail on my part, since it sounded like a class I’d end up sleeping through. I had to fill an arts general education requirement for graduation, and I was running out of time to get it over with. Unfortunately, the early morning art history class was the only course that worked with my schedule. At least my headache began to weaken after I downed three aspirin and a full bottle of water.

  I stopped for a large, black coffee on the way to campus from my apartment and rallied a bit. I drained the cup in three large gulps and felt better after parking my car and heading to the arts building. I made it to class with five minutes to spare and snagged a seat in the far back of the classroom. Cook University was a well-populated school, so I wasn’t overly surprised when I didn’t recognize anyone in the class. I leaned back into my chair and scanned the doorway as more students trickled in.

  Laura Wilkens sauntered in and I groaned inwardly. We had hooked up briefly last semester and she turned clingy after only a couple of times together. My flings had given me a reputation around campus and I didn’t bother fighting the labels. It was better that way, because even if I wanted a relationship, I couldn’t have one. My family was a shit show. How could I possibly pull anyone with me into that mess?

  But, before Laura spotted me, my eyes locked like magnets on an attractive blonde hurrying through the doorway, and I couldn’t look away. I had no idea what came over me, but I found myself calling out, “Autumn, over here!”

  Her brown eyes met mine and recognition dawned in them. She looked cautious as she made her way to where I was sitting, and I didn’t blame her. I sounded crazy—maybe because I was crazy. The smart move would be to vacate the classroom immediately and try to switch courses. Being around Autumn Dorey was a disaster waiting to happen.

  My attention was entirely focused on her, and I hadn’t noticed Laura make a beeline for the seat next to mine. She looked pissed when I told her I was saving the seat for Autumn, but directed her dislike by giving Autumn a glare and storming off. For a second, I almost felt guilty before I remembered who was standing next to me.

  I couldn’t stop watching her as she removed her notebooks and pencils from a black backpack. She seemed flustered and her unease made me curious about her. She was attractive, but unlike most of the girls I knew, she didn’t seem to make a lot of effort when it came to her appearance. Her hair was thrown up in a clip, and she was swimming in her clothes. Whoever was sitting next to me was nothing like the Autumn Dorey I had heard about.

  She caught me staring at her. “So, art history, huh?”

  “Yeah, it was either this or Intro to Art, and I suck at drawing. Once I finish this and my philosophy class, I’ll have all the general ed classes I need for graduation.”

  “What’s your major?”

  “Economics. Once I’m done playing football, I’ll probably go for my MBA.”

  But football would never be over for me if it were up to my mom. She wanted me to go pro more than anything in the world. It could happen, but I played for a Division II school. I may have been the shit at Cook, but it didn’t mean crap when it came to the NFL draft. And, to be honest, I had no idea if football was what I wanted for my future. Two years ago, playing for the NFL was all I dreamed about. But playing football was directly tied to my stepfather, and if I wanted to disassociate myself from him, I’d have to consider giving it up.

  “Are you any good?” Autumn asked.

  I didn’t bother to conceal my surprise. Was she messing with me? She obviously hadn’t recognized me at the party, but I figured once she found out my name, she would have realized who I was. “What? At football?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m guessing you never went to a game then because you wouldn’t be asking that question otherwise.”

  Autumn looked taken aback by my answer. My words did sound a little cocksure, but I wasn’t sure how to handle the unique situation I found myself in. Autumn Dorey was the reason behind all my family’s struggles for the past two years. I felt like she was trying to play a game with me, but if she didn’t know I was Thomas Bridges’s stepson, what could be her endgame? She had been a popular cheerleader in high school with a sexual history that could make a porn star blush. Why was she acting like she had no interest in men and football? They were her two known weaknesses.

  I managed to clamp down on the dislike I felt toward her, and I shot her a charming smile. “I’m not trying to sound arrogant, but I’m a running back and I’ve scored the most touchdowns for the season. I was featured in the campus newspaper a bunch of times. I was also the MVP of the team. Ringing a bell yet?” I laughed, but it was forced. She didn’t seem to pick up on my playacting and only smiled. She had a beautiful smile, and it was distracting. Her eyes caught the overhead classroom lights, giving them an amber appearance, and her head tilted to the side as she listened to me. I added, a little subdued, “I guess I built myself up in my head. It’s refreshing to be brought down a notch.”

  Class started, but I didn’t hear a word the professor said. A syllabus was handed out, and I figured I’d go over it later to find out what I missed. I kept sneaking glances at Autumn and trying to devise a plan on how to handle sharing a class with her. Staying away from her was the smartest thing to do. She was trouble that I definitely didn’t need.

  But the temptation was too strong to try and get close to her. Autumn Dorey had the answers I desperately sought. Thomas told me what had happened between them, but she had spun a different story. Maybe she would learn to trust me and open up about what happened during high school—specifically her junior year. It was a long shot, but maybe I could catch her in a lie and exonerate Thomas.

  It was a lofty goal, but if I were able to prove her duplicity, things would change for the better. Delia would have her dad back, and my mom would have her husband again to rely on. And, most of all, I wouldn’t always have these small doubts getting in the way of my relationship with Thomas. The truth was I missed my stepdad; and if he were proven innocent, I’d have no qualms about letting him back into my life.

  I asked Autumn to breakfast after class and at that point I felt like there was no turning back. She was hesitant, but I could turn on the ch
arm when I wanted to. I was also confident with the way I looked and knew a lot of girls found me attractive. Taking after my late father, I had the same imposing height along with his light brown hair and green eyes. With a demanding training schedule for football, I also kept my body in the best shape possible.

  After a moment, she agreed to join me, and we walked together to the cafeteria. During the walk, I mapped out how I could get close to her and encourage her to tell me about her past. Maybe there was some arrogance behind my actions, but I was raised by two parents who taught me to exploit what gifts I had to the best of my abilities. If I wanted something—I should go after it. And I wanted Autumn’s truth.

  Chapter Three

  “Blake, you have to come home… now,” my sister said, her voice a broken whisper over the phone line. I came to a dead stop on the path that led out of my freshman composition class. I had called her back as soon as class ended. I had twenty missed calls on my phone—an obvious sign something was very wrong.

  “Del, what’s going on?”

  Instead of an answer, she was crying—loud, heartbreaking sobs—and her pain was slicing through me. My fingers tightened around the cell phone. Something awful had devastated my sister, and my first thought was someone had died. Because she sounded so lost, death was the only explanation that made any sense.

  “Del, please stop crying and tell me what’s wrong.”

  She hiccupped and the tears were still in her voice as she spoke. “It’s Dad. He’s been arrested.”

  Those three, simple words flung me into a tailspin I somehow knew I’d never get out of. I didn’t give her a chance to explain any further. I told her I was coming home and everything was going to be all right. I hung up and ran to my car.

  I made it to Clark in record time. My Chevy Impala was over ten years old, but still managed the high speeds of my frantic drive home from Cook. I raced through the front door with my heart thudding in my ears. Delia was crumpled on the couch while my mom stared blankly out of the bay windows of the living room. She made no sign to indicate she had seen me.

  “Blake!” Delia screamed and ran at me like her life depended on it.

  I gathered her up in my arms and held her securely. She had recently turned fourteen, but I swore she had grown at least six inches since the last time I saw her. I kept her close to my side once our embrace ended.

  “What the hell is going on?” I demanded of my mother. The house phone was ringing, but she didn’t move. I kept Delia at my side and stood in front of my mom. I was six foot one and two hundred pounds. Next to me, my mom had a much smaller build.

  Her lower lip trembled, and she began to rock back and forth in her seat. She had perfected the art of appearing helpless, and it was the reason the men in her life had such a drive to protect her. But I knew my mom wasn’t as frail as she liked everyone to believe. If she were truly this shaken up, the charges against Thomas must be grave.

  I had a million questions, and I needed answers. But making certain my family was okay had to be my first priority.

  Finally, my mother’s gaze focused on me. “Blake?”

  “Del called me, Mom. I came as fast as I could.” I released my hold on Delia and squatted down to get in my mom’s face. “Why was Thomas arrested?”

  Instead of answering, my mom’s eyes filled, and she bit down hard on her lower lip. I looked to Delia for guidance.

  “The cops are saying Daddy raped one of his students,” Delia said with rising hysteria.

  I stumbled backward as if her words physically wounded me. I had imagined dozens of different crimes as I sped home, but rape had never been one of them.

  My mother shook her head. “It’s not a rape charge. He’s been accused of sexual assault.”

  “Against a student? How old is the girl?” I demanded. Thomas taught math at Newpine High School and coached their football team. The school was about forty minutes from us and he had been working there for more than a decade.

  My mom didn’t react at first, and I wondered if it would take all day to get answers out of her. Finally, after a long minute, she seemed to dig into her reserves and straightened up in her seat.

  “I don’t know anything about this girl. But whoever she is, she’s a liar. You know your father,” my mom said, looking back and forth between Del and me. “He would never hurt anyone. He’s a good and decent man and he doesn’t deserve to be hauled off to jail like some kind of sick freak.”

  Her speech broke, and Delia and my mom clung to each other while releasing agonized sobs. I tried to comfort them both, although I wanted to fall apart right alongside them—because Thomas had been my dad since I was in kindergarten—and I loved him. My favorite memories were the times we would ditch the women of the house and spend hours at the park running practice drills. My mom had encouraged me to start calling him Dad, but he said to not worry about it. He understood my father would always be a part of me and honored the bond I shared with the man who died when I was two years old. How could anyone accuse Thomas Bridges of sexual assault?

  ***

  The bail hearing was set two days later and Thomas was released under a twenty-five thousand dollar bond. My mom put the house up to secure his bail, because she insisted her need for him to be home was more important than the money. My mother was falling apart, and I wasn’t strong enough to hold her together.

  The media had found out about the case and they descended upon our house and family like ravenous wolves. The scandal of a decorated educator being accused of molesting his teenage student was a reporter’s wet dream. Although Thomas was out on bail, he was a virtual prisoner inside the confines of our suburban bi-level home.

  New faces had drifted in and out of the house since his arrest: lawyers, cops, counselors. Finally, one evening, the house emptied out and our privacy temporarily returned. I had taken the week off from school to stay home but needed to return to finish out my spring semester. It was time to have a private discussion with Thomas and get his unfiltered version of events. I had heard the story he had told the cops and my mother, but I wanted him to look me in the face and tell me exactly how this could have happened.

  My mom and Delia were in the kitchen cooking dinner, trying to pretend our life hadn’t gone to hell overnight. Thomas had turned off the TV ten minutes earlier, after clicking over a local news report with him as one of the lead stories. His face was plastered everywhere accompanied by the headline: Well-Respected Teacher and Football Coach Assaults Teen Girl.

  I leaned forward on the beige couch with my elbows digging into my knees and stared at the man I considered my father. He was a large man, tall with a generous belly. He kept his brown hair trimmed short, and he and Delia shared the same intense blue eyes. Thomas turned to me, obviously gaining awareness of my stare.

  “What are you thinking, Blake?”

  “Did you do it?” I kept my voice low to prevent Mom and Delia from hearing. Mom would probably knock me upside the head if she heard me questioning my stepfather in any way. She wanted us all to accept the story Thomas had sold her on: he had made a mistake with a student, and she had retaliated by accusing him of sexual assault.

  “I told your mom—”

  I didn’t let him finish. “I know what you said to Mom, but this is me you’re talking to. Don’t bullshit me. Start from the beginning and lay out how we ended up here.”

  Thomas’s shoulders slumped, and it was the only time I had ever seen him truly broken down. He was strong and smart, and it had become natural for me to admire him. But the case against him was making me question his character. Was it possible to live under the same roof with someone and have no idea who the person really was?

  “Her name is Autumn… Autumn Dorey.” Thomas closed his eyes at the sound of her name, and I wished I could peek inside his head. Was he feeling disgust over saying her name, or remorse for his actions? “Autumn’s beautiful and she knows it. She’s seventeen, but her experience made her seem so much older.”

>   “What kind of experience? Like sexual stuff?” I was confused, and the more I spoke to him, the more perplexed I became over his motives. My aim was to see things from his perspective and understand where he was coming from.

  Thomas looked torn over how to answer, and I understood how hard it must be for him to talk to me—because, either way, he was in the wrong. In his scenario it was an affair gone wrong, and in Autumn’s version it was a sordid crime.

  “Autumn was provocative and not afraid to show that side of herself, even in the most inappropriate situations. I was tutoring her and tried to keep things professional, but I was weak… and I’m so truly sorry for that.” His voice broke and a deep flush colored his cheeks.

  I steeled myself. I wouldn’t feel remorse for asking him the hard questions no one else in my family was willing to. “But how? You’ve been a teacher for a decade and married to my mom for almost fifteen years. Why would you risk everything for one girl?”

  “She came onto me hard, Blake. We were alone in my classroom, and then in her car, and things just got carried away.” Thomas stared at the carpet and swallowed hard. “I kissed her and touched her a little, but it wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted more....”

  The visual he painted was enough to bring on the urge to throw up. “But why? You’re her married teacher and more than twice her age.”

  “She liked the forbidden aspect of it—it was a turn on for her. She was also struggling in my class, a few points away from failing. She said if we slept together, she was confident I’d take care of her grades.” Thomas leveled his eyes on me. “Autumn is a sick, mixed-up girl, and I wished I saw it sooner. I should’ve never laid a hand on her, but I swear to you, she wanted it. She went crazy in that car when I told her I couldn’t sleep with her. She tore off her clothes and ripped off her underwear, trying everything she could think of to seduce me. And because I finally came to my senses and stopped things, I’m paying the price.”