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“Hey,” I say. She looks up at me and has the biggest tears brimming the bottoms of her lids, and I want to get up and pitch my table across the room. “We’ll go.”
“No,” she mouths. “If I do that, they win. Everyone wins.”
I couldn’t be prouder of her. “Then we eat, and I’ll take you home, and we can have dessert at my house.” I don’t mean it like that, and the minute I hear the words, I want to kick myself, but then I see her eyes gloss over in lust, and I just smirk at her. “I didn’t mean it like that, but with the way your face just changed, you can take it however you want.”
She silently giggles, bringing her hand to her mouth as she looks at the menu. I order a plate of pasta and she does also. “Just focus on me,” I say when she looks like she’s about to crawl out of her skin. “Focus on me and nothing else.”
“Easier said than done.” She grabs a piece of fresh-baked bread when it arrives and puts butter on it. The whispers slowly die down like I knew they would. A couple of people even stop and say hello to us on their way to their table, which makes her feel a little bit more at ease.
I hurry through dinner, knowing this is probably killing her but also knowing she did nothing wrong. I pay the bill, and then I’m about to slide my hand in hers when we walk out. I head back to her car when she stops in her tracks. My eyes go from her face that had a soft smile on it to whatever she is looking at that made her stop.
The Cartwrights are walking down the street. Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright, heads held high, arm in arm as they walk, followed by their son, Winston, and his wife, Harmony. They look around, and the minute they set their eyes on Autumn, their faces twist into a sneer.
“Jesus Christ,” Winston hisses from behind his parents, “I thought she would be gone by now.”
“Winston,” Harmony chastises from beside him, avoiding looking at us.
“Well, what do we have here?” Mr. Cartwright says, looking at Autumn and then back at me. “Didn’t think we’d find you hanging around with scum.”
“I’d watch your mouth if I was you.” I step in front of her to block them from even looking at her. “Only scum I see standing on the street are the three people in front of me.” My arms cross over my chest. “The ones who live in glass houses.” I can feel her shaking behind me. “The ones who still think their shit doesn’t stink, but the minute they walk into the room, it reeks of shit.”
“Watch your fucking mouth.” Winston steps before his father to stand in front of me, and I have to look down at him.
“You think you scare me?” I stare into the eyes that are exactly like his father’s and his brother’s and laugh bitterly. “I was friends with a devil in sheep’s clothing and didn’t know.” He grinds his teeth. “But you guys knew”—I point at him—“knew that he was a no-good piece of—”
“Is that any way to speak of the dead?” Mrs. Cartwright holds a hand to her throat.
“Is the way you just spoke to Autumn any way to speak to a woman who was the victim of your son?” I hiss at them, wanting Winston to put his hands on me, secretly begging him to do it so I can beat the ever-loving shit out of him. I stare at Winston. “You guys are a joke.” I turn and look at Autumn, who is trying to breathe, but knowing she’s about to lose it and doesn’t want to do it in front of them. “Let’s go.” I grab her hand in mine as I shield her and walk away from them, stopping next to Mr. Cartwright. My voice goes very low so only he can hear me. “And if I find out that you pull any more shit on her, you’ll have to deal with me and my family.” I smile. “And between you and me, I would love nothing more than to drag your name through the mud.” He turns his eyes toward me. “Again.” I walk away with her hand in mine and her head looking down at the ground. “Don’t do it,” I say. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.” She looks at me, and I hold out my hand. “Keys.”
She lets go of my hand to reach into her purse and hands me the keys as she gets into the car. I pull out of the parking lot, going in the opposite direction of her house. She looks over at me. “Where are we going?”
I know I should take her home. I know she should go back to the place she feels safest, but there is somewhere else that I want her to feel safe in. “My house.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Autumn
“My house,” he says, and I turn my head forward, watching the street, holding on to my purse in my lap as if my life depends on it. My whole body feels like I’ve been run over. My day started out so fucking good, better than good. It had been such a long time since I had gone riding, and then doing it again with Goldilocks was therapeutic in a way. It was strange to describe, then I went from the best day to sitting down with Charlie at dinner. In. Front. Of. The. Whole. Town. I thought I was going to throw up the whole time. However, even though I didn’t want to crawl out of my skin by the end of the meal, I still wanted to get the fuck out of there.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for running face-to-face into the Cartwrights. I was also unprepared for Charlie to handle it the way he did. The last thing I wanted was for him to be swept up in this. I look over at him, seeing him gripping the steering wheel with both hands, so tight that his fingers are white. He keeps wringing the steering wheel, while his jaw is tight, as if he’s biting down on his teeth. “Are you okay?” I ask softly, and all he does is shake his head.
I don’t say anything as he pulls up to his house, a house that is bigger than I ever imagined him having but also fitting for him. The lights on in the front show you the four columns that hold up the porch covering in the front. A huge double-wide door with a window is set in the middle, with the same windows on each side. Two rocking chairs are on the left side and then on the right side is a little sitting area. Lights are on in the right-hand side of the house while the left-hand side is dark.
He turns off the car and gets out. My hand goes out to open my own door, and I step out. Charlie waits for me at the front of the car, which he parked right next to his truck. He reaches for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine as he walks up the two steps to the porch and to his front door. Placing his finger on the handle, the sound of the lock opening makes him turn the handle, and he steps in first. “Welcome to my home.”
I take a step into his home, and I turn to him. “Charlie,” I say his name, “I’m so sorry.”
He slams the door, and I jump at the sound. “What the fuck are you apologizing for?” He looks like he’s about to throw something.
“You shouldn’t have—”
“I shouldn’t have what?” He takes a step toward me. “I shouldn’t have protected you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer him. “I shouldn’t have put them in their place?” He grabs one of my hips as I swallow down a lump, but I can’t say anything. “I should have punched him in the fucking face is what I should have done.” His voice is low and tight. “That is what I should have done.”
“They aren’t worth it,” I whisper. “It’s not worth it.” I don’t want anyone else to be at the mercy of the Cartwrights, and even though Charlie and I have created a truce, it doesn’t mean I want him wrapped up in this.
“It’s not worth it,” he agrees, stepping even closer to me, “but you are worth it.” His hand squeezes my hip. “Do you want a tour?” he asks, and I look up at him, wanting to thank him for dinner and for what he did with the Cartwrights before getting the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see where he lives. I don’t want to see any of this because I fear that I’ll want to know more and shouldn’t want to. His eyes never leave mine. “This is the foyer, as my grandmother calls it.” He smiles, the tightness of a minute ago gone, his features relaxed. “That’s the dining room I never use.” He points over his shoulder, and I move to the side to look at the big, long table with dark chairs. “And that’s the office.” He motions in front of me with his chin. “Why I have an office in here I have no idea, but I wasn’t part of the floor plan process.”
I can’t help but laugh at him as he softly takes my purse out of my hand and places it right next to the door before resuming the tour. “That leads to upstairs, where there is a game room and three other bedrooms.” He points at the staircase against the wall next to the office before sliding his hand into mine again as he walks slowly past the staircase toward the archway that leads to a hallway that goes right and left. “This is butler something,” he says. “Again, I’ve never used it.” Then he steps into the living room with a vaulted ceiling. The room feels so big yet so cozy. The vast kitchen has cream-colored cabinets and a massive island with a light brown countertop and cream-colored stools, making it not stuffy. The stainless-steel appliances are top-notch, including the eight-burner stove and the double-wide industrial fridge. “This room is the one I use the most,” he admits. “Well, this and the bedroom.” I walk into the room and look over at the living room with the massive L-shaped couch. It’s so deep three people could lie down next to each other and be comfortable. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks. “I could make you a tea.”
