Page 24 of Yours Truly, Fall

“I . . .” This doesn’t sound like someone who’s healing. It sounds like the opposite, in fact. But I don’t want to worry her, so I shift, grab the remote, and say, “I just wanted to add how much I hate sardines or any canned fish or meat for that matter.”

Her eyes peer into mine as if she sees the lie, which makes me shifty. I turn on the TV. Just as Guy Fieri’s voice blasts through the speakers, she pats my knee, which I like a little too much, and stands. “No tinned fish or canned meat then.” Walking away, she says, “That gives me an idea for dinner, though. I can make homemade sloppy joes like a pro.”

I like watching her walk into the kitchen like it’s hers, and maneuver around as if she lives here. We got off to a rocky start yesterday, but so far today, things are much smoother. Having a clear understanding of our roles—me as the patient, her as the caretaker—has me tucking my hands behind my head and kicking my feet up on the arm of the couch. Maybe it won’t be so bad with her hanging around.

“I didn’t know you were a Food Network fan?”

“The guys have it on sometimes at the station. It helped me fall asleep yesterday.”

She returns to the living room with a glass of water in her hand. Standing in front of the TV, she sips and then says, “My nighttime comfort show is The Golden Girls, but since I work a lot of night shifts, I watch the Food Network to help me fall asleep when I get home in the mornings.”

“You don’t watch it for the recipes?”

Her eyes dart back to me. “Do you?”

“No, but if I’m ever in Orlando, Florida, I know the right sandwich shop to hit up.” The air is lighter between us, and her smile soothes some of the annoyance I’ve been feeling while being trapped at home.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Orlando.”

“How do you feel about sandwiches?” I give her a wink that doesn’t cause any pain. Is my face finally healing? An effortless smile sparkles on her face, bringing a shine to her eyes. I lower my hands back to the couch, enjoying this side of her. A lot. “It’s a date then.”

A cold breeze of emotions sweeps her smile away so fast I don’t have time to save it. Striding across the room, she says, “It’s not a date, Mr. Culver. We will never go on a date.” The sound of her bedroom door closing leaves me wondering how the hell I just fucked that up. We were getting along. At least, I thought we were.

I get her professionalism, but I thought the joke about a date was obvious. Not sure what just happened, but I apparently crossed a line I didn’t see drawn in the sand.

Do I get up and attempt to salvage this error in judgment or let her have time to herself? Clueless what to do, I start to get up but stop and lean forward to rest my arms on my legs. I can always blame the concussion for acting a fool. But the extra we’ll never date she tacked on at the end burns. It wasn’t really necessary, yet it still rolled off her tongue like she’d been waiting for the opportunity to say it.

It’s going to be a long week.

CHAPTER 11

AUTUMN

Ithought I’d thrown out the old emotions that had bogged me down for so many years, but boy, did they come barreling back with the mere mention of a date.

Shoving my hand in my pocket, I rub the pad of my thumb over the token and take a few sobering breaths to pull myself together and remember who I am. I’m a Season. We don’t run away from our problems. We face them head-on.

Sometimes I think I can still hear my dad’s voice, the little pep-talk phrases he’d toss out when he knew we needed to hear them. A talented former football player given four girls to coach through life . . . or at least that’s how it should have been. He and my mom should still be here. They were good and caring, their hearts wide open to help anyone in need, and us.

I stare out the window, spotting leaves determined to change early, intermingling with evergreens, reminding me that seasons of life change just as the trees do. How long has it been? Twelve years since I heard their voices, since I last saw them, and was wrapped up in a warm hug that enveloped me in my mother’s scent. I was fourteen and “too big for hugs,” pulling away too soon. If only I could go back for one more of her hugs. I miss my parents so much that the hole in my heart only grows bigger instead of healing.

Healing . . . Brandon. I’m here for him. Either I can do this job or I can’t, but this in-between isn’t going to cut it.

Releasing a breath, I drop the offense that tensed my shoulders and go to check on him. I don’t know why I suddenly feel nervous, but I bite my lip and enter the living room. “Brandon?”

The couch is empty and the kitchen vacant. I look at the front door and find it still bolted. The wind whistles, pulling my attention to the glass door that’s cracked open. I walk with care, not wanting to bother him if he needs a break from me, which would be understandable from my earlier reaction. Embarrassment bites into my stomach. So unprofessional.

Reminding myself he’s only a patient is turning out harder than expected. We have history, and it’s frustrating that he can’t remember it. If he did, we could talk through things, lay everything out, and deal with it. Instead, I’m bottling up old feelings like it’s my job. It’s not. Taking care of him is.

I find him on the large deck out back, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his spine nice and straight, putting him at his full height. Broad shoulders span wider than I remember from high school, but it’s the way his muscles flex from the minutest of movements that keeps my eyes glued to them. I was always a sucker for a great body, and his isn’t just great. It’s incredible, easily rivaling the landscape beyond him as the more spectacular view.

I crack the door open. The screech of the hinges draws his eyes over his shoulder to me. He turns away again before I have a chance to step outside. When I do, I take another breath to brace myself for the affront I deserve and come to stand next to him. Keeping my eyes ahead, I try to give him the room he needs without fully invading it with my feelings.

Leaning forward, he rests his forearms on the wide wood railing and looks over at me. “This isn’t going to work.” I open my mouth to protest but shut it to allow him to say what he needs. It doesn’t stop the bitter swallow that makes this feel like a breakup. “I’m an easygoing guy, and usually I get along with everyone. But you . . .” He looks out toward the ocean with the gradient layer of clouds hovering over it. I love seeing it from this new perspective. I just wish it was under better circumstances. His gaze shoots my way. “I can’t get a read on you. Sometimes you smile like this isn’t the worst job you’ve ever been on, and other times, it’s like you’ve been sentenced to the guillotine. But sandwiched among those extremes, you seem to fluctuate between aggravation, anger, and a comfort that only comes from knowing someone. We don’t know each other, so you see why it’s a mindfuck for me to figure out what’s going on.”

I take in the words, but it’s his eyes that tell me what I needed to hear. A sincerity I didn’t expect shines bright. “I can see why that’s confusing. That’s a lot of emotions.” I don’t turn away despite the urge to do so. My gut tells me to fight through my needs and keep eye contact with him. “I’m sorry. I’ve not made this easy. There’s stuff in my life that I carried onto this job and have taken out on you.” Was it a long time coming? Maybe, but that wasn’t the time to lose my cool. “You didn’t deserve me taking it out on you earlier.”

“Listen, Autumn, you said it’s your first time doing this kind of work, so I don’t mind you learning on the job. I’m learning not only to be a good patient so I heal properly but also to be patient with myself. All that while giving up some of the control I’m so used to having and handing it to you.” He stands to face me, dropping his arms to his sides. “I appreciate the apology, but you sharing what’s on your mind helps me get a better understanding of what’s going on. We all have shit to overcome, so don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s a journey.”