“Where is it?”
“Just down the stream and over a bank.”
“Hop in,” he says, already walking back to his truck. “You’ve got to be careful with your back.”
I feel like I’m being chastised as I follow him up the ditch. He slides into the front seat, leaving me to open my own door. Normally this wouldn’t bother me, but I know Colt. He might as well have thrown me in the truck bed. He’s always opened the door for me before.
“Thanks,” I say as I climb in. The cool air conditioning is heaven on my skin and it’s easier to breathe. There’s hardly a moment where my lungs don’t remind me of the smoke and flames. “Up there.” I point north.
The truck chokes to life and Colt slowly drives it down the ridge, back into the stream’s bed. Silence is our company for the drive. I almost get the guts to tell him I think he owes me an apology, but then he smiles. A faint chuckle escapes his lips as we approach the water truck ahead.
“Really?” he says. He slaps the wheel, then a laugh bubbles from his gut, growing louder and crazier with every breath. “If you,” he takes a gulp of air, “broke the axel,” he’s covering his mouth, “we’re all screwed.”
My gut drops into the floor. I don’t think I broke the axel. “It’s the tire. There was a rock in it, for sure.”
Still laughing like an unhinged lunatic, he brings the truck to a smooth stop. I climb out before he cuts the engine. I don’t need to hear his crap.
“What were you doing?” he says, now bending down to examine the tracks of my reenactment of an F150 commercial.
“Nothing,” I mutter. This is so humiliating.
“Hmm, doesn’t look like nothing. Looks like someone spun out.” He walks along the revealing tire tracks. “You’re a bit wilder than I thought,” he says with a smirk.
“Can you help me with the tire, or not?”
He shrugs, finally walking over to meet me at the truck. I point to the rock in the rubber but instead he gets down on the ground to check the axel. His shirt pulls up as he slides under the truck and the lower part of his abs are still absurdly chiseled, in hot guy calendar form. I force myself to look at the horizon, but I keep glancing at him. It’s not fair that he can still drive me crazy like this.
Come on hormones. Get a grip.
“It’s not the axel,” he says as he scoots out from under the truck.
“As I said, it’s the tire.” I point again to the dagger that landed me here.
“Are you sure it’s not the engine?” His smile curls sideways and my heart flip-flops. It’s like my body and I are on completely different teams right now.
“Colt, stop it. Just help me, okay?”
“Fine, calm down. You don’t have to beg.”
“Shape up, or I’ll shove you down the bank.”
“Oh?” he says, taking a step way too close. “Would you prefer I go?” The smell of his pine soap mixed with the fresh scent of Tide is like a tranquilizer. It’s the smell of late night conversations, curled up next to him on the porch and watching the stars. I react to him like a human touching the nose of a great white shark. Yeah, okay. I’ve been spending too much time watching The Discovery Channel.
Colt puffs out his cheeks. “Don’t worry, Autumn. I’ll help. But,” he reaches down and lifts my tank top strap, comparing the changing shade of my skin. “You’ve got to get back in my truck. That or wear an extra shirt.”
I roll my eyes on the way back to the truck. “Trust me, if I had an extra shirt, I’d already be wearing it.” I only make it a few steps before a balled up wad of cloth hits me in the back of my head.
“Did you really just throw that at me?” I bite the inside of my lip and take a deep breath. I’m totally livid, but I know when I turn around I’ll need every facial muscle to cooperate so a hormonal grin doesn’t overrule me.
“So what if I did?”
I manage a scowl as I turned around. He’s standing there with his chiseled abs and chest of steel, waiting for me to fight back. Fine, if that’s what he wants, that’s what he gets.
“Get over yourself.” I hurl the shirt back him. “Put that back on.”
“Naw,” he grabs a bunch of tools out of the truck bed and pulls out the spare tire. “I don’t burn. It feels pretty great without it actually.”
“Oh come on. You’re not that hot.”
He doesn’t say anything but his face twitches so I know he heard me. I climb back into his truck and turn on the radio and air conditioning. Remembering his code, I break into his phone to browse the Internet, but no matter how hard I try to stay focused on the screen, my eyes drifting over to where he works.
Damn. I force myself again to rip my eyes away. I don’t care if he’s the hottest guy on earth. He lied, and, really, he’s delusional if he thinks walking around without a shirt on will change anything.
Colt wipes the sweat off his face with his t-shirt, then he leans over, jacking up the truck. His eyes are stuck in a permanent squint. I rest my feet on the dashboard. There’s no way he can be comfortable out there. Is this his way of apologizing? There’s a buzz in my palm. I glance down, a test from some girl named Marie. I put the phone down, forcing myself to keep the message unseen.
Colt stretches his back, making sure his muscles pop. No, he’s not apologizing. He’s just doing this to shove himself in my face. What on earth am I doing waiting in this truck while he acts like this? He’s a guy. If I don’t confront him now, he’ll assume that we’re fine. Soon he’ll be showing up to watch games at Todd’s, or worse, talking to me about this Marie chick.
No. He’s got to know he’s an ass. I’m not letting him escape this.
A livid pulse drives me to throw open the door. My boots smack the ground, dust flying out around me. “Colt,” I yell out. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He stands up, brushing the dust off his hands. “Changing your tire. What are you doing?”
“I’m…” Oh god. What am I doing?
He walks toward me.
“Stop,” I say. “Just stop, okay?”
“Stop what?” He takes another step so within my reach and my heart spins like a top.
“Do you really think this is okay? Taking your shirt off?” I put out my hand, touching him to keep him at a distance. “You know what… It doesn’t matter what you think. I’m not comfortable with it, all right?”
“Okay. I’ll put on my shirt. Relax.” He grabs the end of his shirt out of his back pocket.
“No.” How does he not understand what I’m getting at?
“So you don’t want me to wear the shirt? What is it, girl?”
“This. THIS is it.” I throw my hands in the air. “You can’t pretend nothing happened between us. You lied, and you called me a slut. We are not okay. You got me?”
“Yeah.” He puts his shirt on. “Trust me. I got you.”
“Really? Because you certainly aren’t acting like it.”
His facial expression softens for a moment. His jaw unclenches. “Autumn,” he says without the edge he’s been using. “Come on. Let’s talk about it then, okay?”
“No. You had your chance behind the barn. You blew it.”
“It all had to be said.”
“So you’re not sorry?”
“I’m not sorry for what I said, but I am sorry for the way I said it.” He bends down and tightens the last bolt on the hubcap.
“That’s not good enough.”
“Well,” he rises. “It’s the best I’ve got.”
A sting bubbles in my throat. This isn’t supposed to happen. He should apologize and take every word back, not stand by it. My emotions betray me as tears sneak through.
“Listen,” he says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“No, I’m fine. Please just finish what you need to do.”
“Autumn,” he takes a step closer, his hand finds its place again on my mid back and, despite the situation, my muscles relax. A sob escapes me with his touch—one
I can’t allow myself to have.
“Leave.” I say between breaths. “I need to be alone, all right?”
“Are you sure?” His hand rubs my spine in a soft circle.
“Yes, go. Now.” I push him away as I wipe the tears from under my eyes. This is a complete disaster. I climb into the water truck, pressing my face into the steering wheel. I seriously just want to die. Why did I even try? This slicing pain hurts more than the night at the party. His engine clanks to life behind me, the red truck shrinking in my rear-view mirror before away.
“
Autumn,” Dad says from the other side of the wall. “Is that Gina?” He passes me a stone through a door as we try to repair the hearth. I glance through what will soon be a window and there’s her little red Chevy idling out front. The dread and guilt that’s been eating away at me takes another giant bite out of my heart.
Crap. I take a deep breath. Gina’s right. It’s time for us to get through this. We haven’t spoken for a month. “Do you mind if I take a break?”
“Naw, go ahead. In fact,” he pulls twenty dollars from his wallet, “Go have a birthday lunch.”
“Are you sure?” I feel bad taking it, but all my cash perished with the house.
“I’ll be fine.”
I force out a smile. Dad has no clue how painful this conversation with Gina will be, I never told him her involvement with the story or Colt.
“Thanks,” I step through the framed window hole into the blazing sun. My back doesn’t crawl with the sun’s attention anymore. I’m pretty much healed. Only my third degree burn and glass shredded shoulder scars remain.
The passenger seat window is already rolled down. I lean in. “Hey.”
Gina has flowers. “Do you want to go for a drive?”
“Sure.” I climb in and she hands me daisies. The card reads Happy Birthday, love your always there best friend, Gina.
“Thank you.”
She nods, putting the car in drive. We bob along the gravel road in silence. “Autumn,” she squeaks after a few minutes. “I’m so sorry. I should've told you about Colt right away. I’m messed up, you know?” She bursts into tears, covering her face. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Gina,” I take the wheel, focusing on staying between the lines while her foot’s still heavy on the accelerator. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to call you a slut.”
“But I am. I just… I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s like I’m never happy, needing the rush or something.”
“Gina, you aren’t a slut.”
“These guys aren’t even that good. For real.” She takes the wheel again and pulls the car off to the side of the road. “Honestly, each time I ask myself what the hell I’m doing. I'm seventeen! The sex isn’t even worth it. It’s like a power trip for me or something. And what these guys think of me...”
I pull her into a hug. “I don’t think of you that way, Gina. I just,” I kiss her head. “I want you to be safe and feel loved. Like really loved.”
“Do you think a guy will ever love me?” she says while she shakes. The wetness from her tears soaks through my tank.
“Yes. Of course.”
“I’m such an idiot,” she pulls out of the hug and gives an ugly snotty snort.
“No, you’re not.”
“I need to get out of here. Go away and start again. Every party I go to, guys look at me expecting something now. I hate it. It’s horrible.”
“Then stop going to the parties.”
“What else is there to do?”
“Well, you can help my Dad build his house if you want to.” I nudge her, desperate to make her smile.
“Me with a hammer?” She wiggles her fingers, showing off her jeweled purple nails.
“Hey, you never know. Look at me!” I hold out my nails with chipped red paint and dirt underneath.
She sits for a moment, playing with her purse latch.
“Autumn,” her voice is quiet. “Did I ruin you and Colt?”
“No.”
“You’re still together?”
I sigh. “Not even close, but you didn’t ruin us. The truth would've come out eventually. You just helped us get there quicker.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Really, it’s a good thing. A little heartbreak now is easier than a huge heartbreak later, ya know?”
“A little heartbreak?” she asks, putting her hand on mind.
“No.” My tears sting my sun-dried cheeks. “Pretty huge, actually.”
I can’t get the conversation we had behind the barn and at the water truck a few weeks ago out of my head. He really thinks I’m so shallow that I’d rather play a game with those I love? Those words carved a pit in my soul that won’t leave me alone. I hate it, and I’ve been desperately trying to fill it with keeping my head to the ground and working hard for Dad. It’s not helping though.
“Autumn, that sucks. I’m sorry.” She’s hugging me now.
“My God, we’re a mess.”
“But we’re a mess together, right?”
“Right.”
We spend another hour talking on the side of the road. She tells me about how she still likes Peter but how badly things ended. I tell her all about my parents’ custody agreement and my choice to stay or go.
“I wish you would stay,” she says with a smile. “Please?"
“I know you do. Part of me wants to.” It’s true. The only good thing about my fight with Colt is how it opened my eyes to all Dad’s done for me this summer. He makes a point to talk with me every day. If we’re not rebuilding the house together or I’m taking a day off from the ranch for healing, he stops in from the ranch to check on me a few times a day. A call would work, but he actually shows up at Todd’s, making me breakfast before I wake up and I make him lunch. It’s a nice cycle, so incredibly different from my relationship with Mom. Not that I don’t love what I have with her-- it works for us -- but life with Dad is a bit more balanced.
Unfortunately, with Colt still around and all the opportunities Paris provides for my education, my decision hasn’t changed. I still have to go.
“So you’ve already made your choice?”
“Yeah. I tell my dad tonight. As requested in the custody agreement, I choose when I’m seventeen.”
“Happy Birthday to you,” Gina offers with light sarcasm, pulling me into a hug so I can cry some more.
***
Dad and Todd sing Happy Birthday as Grace places a giant chocolate cake in front of me. “Happy Birthday, dear,” she says as she gives the top of my head a kiss.
Bless her. Grace never blamed me for anything to do with Colt. If anything, she’s been paying me more attention. It’s like she’s trying to make up for her son’s inability to be compassionate and humane.
“Happy Birthday to yoooou.” They finish with too much vigor. A few guys sitting at the bar turn around and stare. My face burns and Dad tosses me a goofy smile. Crazy. I never thought my seventeenth birthday would be spent with the forty-plus crowd. They’re not what I imagined: Todd—quiet and thoughtful, Grace— blunt and sweet, and Dad— happy and worried.
But they’re what I need.
“Thanks guys,” I say before blowing the candles out.
Dad shifts, shredding his napkin. Though he hasn’t dared to ask, I know he’s waiting for his answer. I haven’t been able to look him in the eye all afternoon. I hate how I’m going to break his heart, but I can’t stay here. Just knowing I’m this near Colt hurts too much.
So, I eat the cookie and pretend I’m content. I can’t tell Dad in front of Todd and Grace. Though, maybe that’s why he invited them. For support?
“Can we do gifts now?” Dad asks.
“Gifts? No, please. I don’t need anything. You’ve all given me enough.” Especially Dad. He shouldn’t spend a cent on me.
“Oh come on. Giving is fun. Let us old people have our fun, honey.” Grace hands me a little box wrapped in flowered wrapping paper. The waitress sto
ps by with refills on draft and slides another ice water in front of me.
“Go ahead.” Graces presses the box into my palm.
Carefully, I tug off the red paper. I lift the lid of a small box, finding a necklace with a sliver heart and wings resting inside.
“To represent the angels that protected you this summer.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to remain composed. She’s so great. Why can’t Colt be the same way? I can’t believe he thinks I’m so shallow that I play games with the people I love. He’s the one who's supposed to be fighting for me… my heart. That was built on a lie though. Nothing was real.
Todd reaches across the table and sets a purple gift bag in front of me.
“Thank you, Todd.” I peer inside. There’s a light blue box of stationary with golden fleur de lis. “This is beautiful. Fleur de lis are my favorite. How did you know?”
“I pick things up.” He gives me a quick wink.
The band switches tunes, something with an up-tempo beat. Grace tugs at Dad’s sleeve. Dad rolls his eyes, allowing her to pull him onto the floor. “One song,” he groans.
Todd and I watch them laugh. They swing one another around, but never stand too close. Friendship is written all over them. Todd’s eyes linger on Grace though. Hmm, is there something there that he’s too quiet to explore?
The tune shifts again. The bar patrons hoot and whoop as they pour onto the dance floor, making four long lines.
Todd smiles, still watching Grace.
“I know this one,” he says. His palms flinch like he’s about to stand and join, but he doesn’t. Dad and Grace are lined up, already stepping to the side. He’s always claimed to hate line dancing, but his smile speaks otherwise.
Todd glances at me, “Would you like to learn it?”
There’s an open space next to Grace. So I temporarily swallow my pride for him. “Sure, why not.”
He takes my hand and helps me weave between the lines to Grace’s side. I position Todd next to Grace, placing me on his right. There.
Todd’s surprisingly attentive. He teaches me three dances. Showing me each step, putting up with me crashing into him when I can’t catch on to the directional changes. A few times, I do it on purpose, forcing him to touch shoulders with Grace. Who would have thought I’d be playing cupid and line dancing on my seventieth birthday?
Bring the Rain Page 19
