by Eden Butler
“They back already?”
She nods. “Declan said he wanted to stop to talk to Coach Mullens before he and Quinn went home.”
“Awesome.” But it wasn’t, not to me. I had managed to keep out of Quinn’s line of sight since that night after McKinney’s. It was fine with me. Our little Hey Now was over. Good riddance, I thought.
We were ridiculous. Hot and cold, the pair of us, a fact I kept reminding myself of since I’d last seen him. But I hadn’t expected to miss him. I hadn’t expected that my mind would grow too full of thoughts of things that Quinn kept from me. Like when the chaos erupted around us, from our friends, my family, or the activity in Cavanagh when rugby matches ran over or ended with a win that combusted the entire town with laughter and happiness, none of which we felt at home in anymore. It was then that Quinn would come to me or I to him. We’d take each other to end the noise, to block out everything but sensation.
I missed how drunk he could make me feel. Like an addict.
“Gah, there he is,” Autumn squeals, running faster as Declan leaves the athletic building and catches her the moment she jumps into his arms.
“Oh, baby… love,” Declan mutters, then kisses her, holding her tight, giving back every hug, every touch she offers.
After a moment, Declan clears his throat, noticing me over Autumn’s shoulder. “Sayo…” he starts but I wave him off.
“No worries. I’m used to the public groping by now.”
“Sorry, sweetie,” Autumn says, dropping her legs from their spot around Declan’s waist.
“Miss me, did you, love?” Declan asks laughing when Autumn kisses his neck. “Ah, well, is it ‘sometime’ yet?” He asks even though he knows the response will be the same. But his smile falters when she only stands there, staring at him “What?”
“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip. “It is.”
There is a pause, a moment where Declan’s mouth drops open, where he looks as though all the blood in his body flooded to his face. A pleased, shocked smile stretches across his mouth while he just stands there, staring at Autumn, utterly at a loss. And then, slowly, he recovers. “Are you… you’re serious?” Declan says, pulling her by the waist so there isn’t an inch of space between them.
“Yeah, I am.”
It’s the moment, the one he’d pestered her about for two years, and he picks her up and swings her in an exuberant circle, laughing as he puts her down again. But Autumn being Autumn doesn’t let the shock settle. She simply accepts the way Declan kisses her, laughing at his excitement, and then she pats his chest, calming him as though she hadn’t just made him the happiest man alive. “Hey, what did you do with Quinn?”
Declan shakes his head, gives Autumn a “we’ll speak later,” look and then frowns, looking around the parking lot. “No idea. I told him to wait in the car.”
He looks around the building, moving his head, calling his brother’s name with Autumn mimicking him and me itching to just walk away. And I almost do it, even take a few steps back thinking that Autumn and Declan are too caught up in each other, in the curiosity of where Quinn had disappeared to that they’d not think to ask after me. But then Declan and Autumn freeze, and both stare over my head just as I catch the high-pitched laughter of a girl coming from behind me. I know that laugh. Dammit all to hell, I know that vapid laugh.
I’ve hated Heather Matthews for years, even before she’d decided Declan was her target of choice and tried to take him from Autumn. She was a fake little poser, like most of the girls, the Cockies, that were always loitering on the pitch, hoping for a glance, even a half smile from any of the rugby players. She wanted to attach herself to someone with clout and in Cavanagh that meant rugby players. Or, it would seem, a player’s half-brother.
I don’t acknowledge Autumn at my side or Declan behind her as I turn and see Heather flirting with Quinn. I only know that the piercing ache in my stomach is too much, that the raw fury that pumps in my veins comes from absolutely nowhere and everywhere.
“Mother. Fucker,” I hiss, jerking off Autumn’s hand when she tries to restrain me.
“Sayo?” Quinn asks, taking a step away from Heather, from those fake nails rubbing against his scalp, from those oversized, store-bought tits that she rubs against his arm.
“Shit,” I hear her say almost under her breath, and she retreats, backing away like she’s just discovered Quinn is a risk she’s not willing to take. She should run. She’d never gotten any retaliation from Autumn for trying to get between her and Declan. She’d never gotten so much as a tongue lashing from me for picking up Sam when I left him. She damn well deserved one now, but doesn’t wait long enough for me to glare at her, let alone run her off. She quickly turned tail and walked off without a backwards glance.
“Mind yourself with that one,” Declan tells Quinn as they both watch Heather cross the parking lot and head for a group of players hanging out near the pitch.
“Fast and loose?” Quinn asks, smirking. His tone is light and when he glances back at a shrugging Declan, adding, “Just how I like them,” it takes more than Autumn’s hand to hold me back. Hapless sod doesn’t pick up on it until I am inches from his face. He takes a step back, his eyes wide as he looks at my face. “What the bleeding hell?”
“Do not mess with her.” He retreats when I walk toward him, expression shocked.
“What…”
“You stay the hell away from her, O’Malley.”
“Yeah?” he answers, seeming to acquire a little of his old attitude, probably more to save face than for any other reason. “And why should I not play with her a bit? You and me,” he licks his lips, like the words have stuck in his mouth, “we made no bloody promises.”
“She cannot have you, asshole.” I’ve completely lost my mind. It’s the only logical explanation for how high my voice has risen, how my hands shake and for the thick knot that clots my throat. “Not today. Not any fucking day.”
“Sayo…” Autumn starts, but one quick wave of my hand and my best friend quiets. I can hear the low arguing between her and Declan, but don’t catch more than him quietly telling her to let me be.
“Why are you making demands, then? Telling me my business.”
“Calm down, the pair of you,” Declan says, but Quinn shakes his head, giving him a warning glare.
“No, this makes no sense. She wouldn’t…” he looks from his brother back to me. “The whole bleeding time it was ‘don’t talk to me, O’Malley,’ and ‘no emotion O’Malley, no attachments.’ For feck’s sake, you covered my gob when I’d compliment you and now what? Some bird gives me attention and you’re not having it? Jaysus, woman, I’m dizzy from your back and forth moods.”
“Wasn’t just me, was it?” I step closer and this time Quinn doesn’t retreat. “How many times did you just show up at my place? How many times did you act like you needed me?”
“And you welcomed me every sodding time. Don’t play the martyr here. No one is innocent.”
“Listen, both of you…” Autumn starts, seems shocked when Quinn and I both shout “Quiet!” at the same time.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Sayo, and you know, I don’t much care.” Quinn grabs my arm, voice low, lethal. “But you’ve no say in what I do or who I do it with.”
And just like that the truth hits me, makes my chest constrict. He isn’t wrong. I am behaving like a jealous idiot when I really, I have no rights. He gave me exactly what I asked for, when I wanted it and then I walked away. I was the one who made sure there was no connection. At least, I thought I did. So why the hell am I raving mad? Why am I making it clear to him that he couldn’t have Heather?”
“God,” I say, pulling away from Quinn. “I…”
“When did this happen?” Quinn asks, voice carrying less bite, but I can’t answer, and I become the one to walk away, turning a deaf ear to their voices becoming faint and indistinguishable as I beat a hasty retreat.
WHY DO WE revert? Every single time?
Why do we keep repeating past mistakes, conveniently forgetting that our choices led us down a road that we swore we’d never revisit?
I sit in the booth furthest away from the front door, far away from the bar to avoid the light crowd that McKinney’s typically draws on a Sunday night. There is a group of sorority sisters near the front, downing dollar margaritas while some of the first year rugby players sing bad karaoke, trying to impress them. Declan had done that a couple years back when he wanted Autumn’s forgiveness and he thought humiliation was the way to earn it. Maybe he was on to something. Maybe if I embarrassed myself in front of the town then Quinn would forget me acting like a jealous asshole.
“They’ll be gone in half an hour,” Sam says, sitting next to me in the booth. “But I can kick them out now if you want some quiet.”
He smells like lemons and limes with a hint of sugar. I used to love it when Sam would come to my place after a shift, smelling of the fruit he’d cut to garnish whatever drinks were on special. That scent hasn’t changed much. But I have.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” The question is out of my mouth before I even decided to ask it. It was something I’d wondered the last time I was here drinking his Baileys laced tea. It had been a long time since Sam and I had been an item. Why should it matter to him how I felt?
“I thought I was always nice,” he says, brushing my hand before he leans on the table. “I gave you free tea the last time you were here.”
“Yeah, I know.” I turn, resting against the wall at my back so I can look at him. “You’ve never done that before and I’ve seen you plenty here since we broke up. It wasn’t… wasn’t until Rhea…”
“This isn’t pity, if that’s what you think, Sayo.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
Sam’s eyes narrow as he thinks of what to say. He doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable when he leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth, moving his lips like he was trying to gather his thoughts.
Finally, he exhales, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling, then back down at me. “I should have never let you slip away.”
“What?”
He straightens, leaning on his side to face me. “Two weeks after we broke up, Tucker shows up at my place shitty as hell. He starts blabbing about Autumn, about what a whore she was, how she’d been sleeping with Fraser after meeting him once.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Yeah, I know.” Sam shrugs, scrubbing his face. “Fraser and Donley, they hung out in here a lot. They’d come in for lunch, or after practice just to relax. You get to see all sides of people when you work behind that bar, and that semester when Fraser was running after Autumn, I saw plenty. But I didn’t think about any of that when you told me what a shithead Tucker was.” He shrugged again, shaking his head. “You know how it is, being friends with someone for so long, you sort of overlook their flaws. I did that with Tucker. But when he came to my place bashing Fraser and Autumn I realized you’d been right. Then, a few months later when Heather came around, well…”
“She distracted you.”
He has the decency to look sheepish, shaking his head at his own stupidity. “I’m a guy and I’d gone a few months without…” Sam stops his explanation when I squint at him. “Fine. No excuses, but a few weeks with her and I knew you’d been right about both of them. But by then you’d moved on, and I had convinced myself that I didn’t deserve you.”
He reaches toward me, taking my hand. “I probably still don’t, but I’d like to try.” Sam has long fingers. There are several callouses on his knuckles, but the palms are smooth. “I know you’re still hurting from losing Rhea. She was a sweet girl. I remember that from your sister’s birthday dinner we spent with your family.”
Around us the karaoke has grown drunker and louder, and the wait staff busies themselves with orders for pitchers, but Sam seems to see nothing but me.
“Sayo, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He inches closer, takes a hold of my hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that at all. Maybe I can, I don’t know, help a little.” He takes my chin, lifting it as though he wants to pull me to him. “Maybe I can ease some of the ache for you.”
“Sam,” I say again, remembering that I had tried to take the ache away before. That hadn’t worked out so well for me. That’s what I think, where my thoughts are when Sam pulls me in, kissing me soft and slow.
That brush of his lips, the tenderness in his touch… he could ease my grief. He could, very easily make me forget…
And then another flash comes to my mind—the intensity of my clothes being pulled from me, the pulsing vibration of stronger hands, fiercer grabs. A mouth that possesses, controls, makes me crave that demand, eyes that are blue, not gentle, touches that are eager and sure. Quinn is everything Sam is not. He is more, so much more and as I let Sam kiss me, stealing some of my breath, a bit of my burdens, I feel… absolutely nothing.
“Oh God,” I say, retreating, leaning back. Not letting him ask the question I know is threatening to leave his mouth. “Oh… shit. Shit!”
“What is it? What’s wrong, Sayo?”
“I can’t…” I make my lungs expand, keep enough air inside that I can think and reason. It’s there—that knowledge, that sudden realization. “Son of bitch, Sam, I can’t kiss you.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because,” I tell him, pushing him out of the booth and grabbing my purse and jacket as I stand to leave. “I… I’m pretty damn sure I’m in love with someone else.”
MY LIFE IS not a Nora Ephraim-penned movie. Realizing I love Quinn is one thing. Seeing him, or God forbid, telling him? That’s an entirely different matter. I wasn’t about to go running through the sleepy streets of Cavanagh in a mad, dizzying rush to get to my man and profess my undying love. This isn’t a John Hughes movie either.
One minute Sam was kissing me. The next I knew he shouldn’t be, and then I did what any rational, red-blooded woman my age would do. I went home and hid under my blankets. Minutes went by. Hours. Before I knew it, two days had passed, and I was smelling mildly like the tub of roasted garlic hummus I’d eaten, (family size because I’m a pig) and still utterly unwilling to venture out.
Autumn’s incessant calling, not leaving messages, texting and then calling again, finally got me out from under those blankets.
“Next Sunday at eleven. Don’t make any plans.”
“What have you signed me up for, friend?” I should have known there was some sneaky missive that Autumn kept to herself.
“Um, maid of honor duties.”
My jaw literally dropped. I hadn’t planned on that. I hadn’t even expected it.
“No sense in waiting,” Autumn explained. “Declan is due in New Zealand in a month. We may as well get married first.” I was speechless, but she didn’t waste any time leveling on the surprises. “Will you do it? Stand up for me?”
“Duh! Of course I will.”
“Um, well, before you agree, I should tell you. Quinn is standing up for Declan.”
“Quinn? Why not Donovan?”
“Donovan can’t do it.” She sounded annoyed, but I heard the half-truth in her tone. That woman had schemes afoot. “He and Layla are taking the baby to New Orleans to visit his family.”
Autumn’s breath went still, as though she was holding it. But dang, she had been my best friend since we were kids. There was no way I’d let Quinn O’Malley stop me from being there on the most important day of her life. “Sure,” I finally said, ignoring the slow rumble that started in my stomach when I thought of looking at Quinn across the aisle. “Of course I’ll do it.”
I just didn’t realize what a challenge that day would be.
AUTUMN WAS TYPICALLY calm. Always. Aside from panic attacks when her anxiety got out of hand, especially when things are out of her control, she never had an issue retaining her calm.
Her wedding day was the exception.
She looks beautiful. Her th
ick ginger hair is pinned up at the sides, and a simple gardenia accented with baby’s breath nestles around the crown of her head. The dress she wears is simple, knee length with a classic pin up silhouette in white satin with a pleated skirt. She looks like a paler, taller, much more Irish Marilyn Monroe.
“Declan is going to lose his shit,” Mollie says approvingly, zipping up Autumn’s dress as I steam the hem. Autumn’s reply is a non-committal grunt and I exchange glances with Mollie, shaking my head at our friend’s distracted, edging-toward-flustered state.
There seems to be a lot weighing on her—the move to a new country, finishing her graduate work, closing up the house, finding a job in New Zealand… getting married. Added to that is the quickness of this wedding. It doesn’t seem right that Layla isn’t here, but family visits with the first grandchild outweigh impromptu weddings, apparently. Fortunately she and Donovan would be back before the New Zealand departure.
The church Autumn managed to rent for the ceremony is very old, at least one hundred and fifty years, with nothing but the framework to serve as a venue for small, intimate weddings. The structure is made up of a white washed brick frame and a half-roof that lets in the sunlight and casts beautiful light against the alter and the stained-glass behind it. The tiny building outside of the church houses the office and all around both buildings is a lush, well-maintained English garden.
Autumn fidgets, shaking her foot as she leans against the bathroom counter in the church office. We’d blocked the entrance, using the bathroom as a make-shift dressing room. I notice the way Autumn keeps glancing at her phone, how she mumbles under her breath.
“Sweetie, what’s the problem?” I ask, touching her shoulder.
Finally, she exhales, rubbing her neck. “Declan wasn’t worried before now, but we only have twenty minutes and Quinn’s still not here.”
