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“Didn’t do it for you,” I retort to her. “Brady’s been busting his ass to get people in here for the last couple of years. It would suck that it would be all for nothing.”
She nods at me. “Well then, thank you for Brady.” She turns around.
“Who is he?” I want to kick myself for asking her. It’s none of my business. I need to get the fuck up and get the fuck out of here. I had a plan for tonight, and that plan had nothing to do with fucking Autumn.
“His name is Darren.” She walks back over to where I’m sitting, I start turning the glass in my hand. “He’s a reporter for a New York magazine calledThe Future and The Past.” My hand stops moving and so does the glass. “They are doing some special on the accident involving Waylon Cartwright.” Her voice trails off. “He came in a couple of days ago, and Brady kicked him out.” My eyes focus on the glass in front of me as I try to get a handle on the anger roaring inside me. “Then he sent me his business card.”
“What did you tell him?” I hiss out the words.
“Nothing.” I can see the tears well in her eyes. I push the stool away from me, and the noise makes everyone stop talking and look over at me. “I didn’t tell him anything.” She takes one more step toward the top of the bar.
I don’t say a word to her. Instead, I turn on my heel and march out of here. My hands ball into fists by my sides as I walk down the street and head to where I should have just gone to begin with. The echo of my heart beating fills my ears, and it’s the only thing I hear as I make my way to the crash site. The last time I was here was when Autumn first rode into town, stopping by the tree where another wreath sits. Sitting down and closing my eyes, I remember the days after the crash.
I sat in my closet, my back against the wall because it was the only place where I could still smell her, as if she was still here with me. The shirt she wore the night before was in my hands, soaked with the tears that fell onto it while I held it to my face. The light turned into darkness in a blink of an eye. “Honey.” My mother came into the closet. It felt like she left me alone for five minutes, but it was two days later. “Jennifer’s parents are here.” I looked at her, confused, not sure why she was telling me this, as she came to kneel in front of me. “We have to choose something for her to wear.”
“I should have married her.” The words left my mouth as I stared at my mother, my eyes itching from the dryness, or maybe it was because I hadn’t slept since I got home. Not a wink. The minute my eyes would close, I would be right back where my heart stopped. I would be right back where my hell started. I would be right back there, and without her by my side this time. “I wanted to marry her, Mom.” The dryness in my eyes was no more as the tears slowly started to roll down my face. “I love her, Mom.” My mother shed her own tears. Not saying a word, or maybe she did, it didn’t matter because nothing anyone had to say to me during that time I wanted to hear. There was nothing I wanted to hear except for Jennifer calling my name. Mom sat beside me with her arm around my shoulders as she kissed my head, and I wept for the only woman I would ever love.
My father came in not long after, helped me get dressed, and led me out for the first time in a week. Sunglasses on as I stood there in my black suit, watching her coffin, begging for her to come back to me. Begging for her to just kiss me one more time. Begging at one point to be with her. If she wasn’t with me, I didn’t want to be here. I was so angry at the whole fucking world. Angry with my grandfather for telling me she was gone. Angry with myself for not protecting her when she needed me to. Angry with myself for going out that night. Angry at the world.
I sit by the tree in a daze. “I’m sorry.” I put my hand on the tree like I always do before I get up and walk back home. Seeing that it’s almost two o’clock in the morning, I walk through the trees and expect to see Jennifer’s face. I always see her face when I walk back home as if she’s walking home with me.
My head down, focusing on seeing her face so much, I don’t even notice I’m walking toward the back ofherhouse. She’s sitting on the swing, one leg up, one leg on the porch as she pushes it back and forth.
I wait until I’m at the bottom of her steps before I speak. “You keep my name out of this.” I walk up the steps and see that she’s wearing the same shirt she was tonight, but her jeans are gone. “You keep Jennifer’s name out of this,” I hiss as I stand by the swing. “You don’t bring up anybody else but you.”
“Okay.” Her voice is defeated. “Whatever you say, Charlie.” I walk to the side of the swing and sit down. “For the record…” She looks at me. “I was never going to talk to him to begin with. I don’t want any of this.” I stare at her for a second, willing her to look at me, wanting to see her face, but all she does is stare straight ahead.
“Look at me,” I tell her, and all she does is shake her head. My stomach dips, my hands shake to touch her, my body fighting it all. “Autumn,” I snap, and she gets up.
“Go home, Charlie.” My hand flies up to grab hers, and I pull her to me. “I won’t say anything.”
My hand lets hers go so I can grip her hips and turn her to face me. Opening my legs for her to stand between them, I look up at her, and she looks down at me. “It’s a shame,” she says softly, “how you can be so beautiful on the outside but then so ugly inside.” The words get lodged in my throat, and I pull her down on me. She puts one knee beside my hip and then, with the other, straddles me. She plays with my hair. “Such a shame,” she repeats, as if I’m not here, as if she’s talking to herself. Before she bends her head and kisses my lips softly, she closes her eyes like she doesn’t see me.
“Open your eyes,” I tell her as I grip her hips on top of me.
“No,” she retorts, leaning forward and sliding her tongue out on my lower lip before she slips it into my mouth. My eyes close as I let her kiss me, my hand moving from her hips up her back. Her hips move up and down over my covered cock. My hand slides over her shirt to the front, to the buttons, as I open one and then another until it’s hanging open. My hand comes up to push her bra down, and my mouth leaves hers as I bend to take her nipple into my mouth. She moves up to her knees, her hand going to the button of my jeans. I sit up to help her, and when she wraps her fist around my cock, I let go of her nipple. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lift her at the same time as I get up. I push one side down and then the other before sitting down. She moves her panties to the side, her eyes watching me hold my cock for her to slide onto it.
Her head goes back when she sinks down onto it. One hand goes to her neck, gripping it in my palm, forcing her head to come back and for her to look at me. The other goes around her waist as I help her ride me. “Autumn,” I say her name, watching her face the whole time, seeing her close her eyes and never once open them. No matter how much I ask her to open them, she doesn’t. I lean down, biting her nipple as she arches her back, pressing her tits into me. My hand roams up her spine to the back of her head, pushing it forward toward my mouth as it comes down to devour hers. The kiss is brutal and rough, and I can’t get enough of it as she comes all over my cock. I’m not too far behind her, thrusting my hips up and planting myself in her as I come. My head goes back as she buries her face in my neck and collapses on my chest. I close my eyes, thinking that again, for another night, nothing has gone according to my plan.
Chapter Sixteen
Autumn
I bury my face in his neck, which is the wrong thing to do because all I can do is smell him all around me. The musk reminds me of a time I didn’t hate him. The first time I met him and thought to myself that he might be the hottest man I’d ever seen. With a megawatt smile and dark-blue eyes, you would be lucky if he smiled your way. I’m reminded of this right before I remember this Charlie isn’t that one. This Charlie is a man who hates me. Is a man who I hate. Is a man who no matter how many times I tell myself I can resist him, I don’t. He is the perfect example of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
He wraps his arms around me, one around my waist and the other around the tops of my shoulders, as he buries his own face in my neck. I need to move away from him, and I will in a minute, when his body's heat warms my bones' coldness. I’m about to disengage myself from him when he gets up, and my legs wrap around his hips instead of getting down. His cock still buried in me, still hard, making me feel a fullness I’ve never felt before. A fullness, even if I don’t want to remember it, I will.
He carries me into the house, making his way to my bedroom. “I have to put the sheets back on the bed,” I say softly from his neck.
“Where are they?” he asks me, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard.
“In the dryer,” I tell him. He pulls me off him, putting me on my feet, the cool hitting me as soon as he steps away from me.
“I’ll go get them,” he says, turning, not waiting for me to say anything. Then I wrap my linen shirt closed in the front to warm myself. I hear him open the dryer as I sit on the bed, hooking my feet on the side of the bed frame, wrapping my arms around them, and my chest pressing into them. He walks back in and stops when he sees me.
He dumps the covers on the bed, and I get up. The two of us make the bed in the darkness, the light from the moon guiding us. I don’t know if he’s going to stay or not. I also don’t care. The whole day catches up with me. He walks back out of the room toward the laundry room as I put the pillows in their place and comes back with the quilt. I pull the covers back as I shrug off the linen shirt, slipping into bed with just my panties on. Facing the other side of the bed, I curl into a ball as my head sinks into the pillow.
I don’t know what he’s going to do, if he’s going to stay or not. My eyes stay open but not looking for him. I hear his boots hitting the floor, followed by the clashing of his belt buckle before he walks to the other side of the bed and slides in. My heart speeds up as I watch him lie on his back, looking up at the ceiling, one hand on his chest, the other folded under his head.
