I've never wanted more than just a roll in the hay with a girl. That night with Autumn was different. I didn't want to get the fuck out of her house as soon as I could. I wanted to stay there all night, buried as deeply inside her as I could be, touching her and looking at her and breathing her in.
I lay there awake after she'd finally fallen asleep, after we'd talked and talked, the way I'd never wanted to do with anyone, her warmth radiating against me. I lay there and listened to her breathe and felt calm for the first time that I can remember. That restless feeling, the itch that always sends me chasing something -- the next girl, the next adventure, the next high – was noticeably absent.
I was still.
Stillness isn't something I'm used to. My life has been the exact opposite of still since the day I was born into the total chaos of the Saint family. Hell, smoke jumping is as far away from still as you can get – it's pure adrenaline, your heart pounding, every muscle in your body tensed and on edge as you parachute from a plane into the path of a raging fire. It's loud, louder than the loudest thing you can imagine, like being in the middle of a heavy metal concert, but instead of music it's the deafening sound of fire -- crackling, snapping, the croaking of trees as they fall to the ground.
Lying there, holding Autumn, being still…I should have hated everything about that moment. I should have wanted to be out of her bed and on to the next conquest. Instead, it felt like that moment when you catch your breath, drink in big gulps of oxygen, after you finish sprinting, and you're glad to be no longer moving.
Right now, I sit here in front of Autumn's house, unmoving. And it's exactly the opposite feeling. I'm not glad to be still.
I'm sitting here because I'm torn between the right thing to do and the thing I want to do. The right thing to do is to keep my family bullshit way the hell away from Autumn, tell her I quit, walk away and let her believe I'm just an immature asshole who wanted a quick lay before moving on to another girl.
That's how this story should go.
That's the version of this story where Autumn isn't tainted by the Saint bullshit, by my family's legacy, by the darkness that follows me wherever I go.
But I don't do the right thing. I don't turn around and walk away. Instead, I open the door and walk toward the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Autumn
“Daisy,” I say, squatting down to show Olivia the flower. She takes it between her chubby little fingers, before putting it up to her nose and sniffing deeply. Overtaken by the need to sneeze, she wrinkles her nose and sneezes loudly.
“Daisy,” she repeats, throwing it on the ground with disgust and wiping her nose as she looks at me accusingly.
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” I say, laughing. “I didn’t make you sneeze. What an attitude. You're a toddler going on sixteen years old.”
Olivia recovers immediately, ignoring me as she darks forward, taking uneven, uneasy steps through the grass, off to discover something else. She’s been awake since five this morning, burning with incredible energy that I’m jealous of, so we’re on an early nature walk, which basically means we’re exploring the yard while I mainline caffeine and try to keep my bleary eyes open.
We make our way at a snail’s pace across the lawn, when I see Luke’s truck in the front. Lucy reaches us, bounding across the grass, her tail wagging excitedly. She paws at my leg in greeting, then makes her way over to Olivia, where she drops down in the grass in front of her, head over her paws, tail still swishing back and forth. Olivia squeals, then flops down on her belly in the grass, a mirror image of the dog.
“Lucy’s found her soul mate," Luke says.
I’m focused so intently on Olivia – more specifically, on making sure that Olivia doesn’t yank the ears off the poor dog – that I don’t even notice Luke walking up. But as soon as I hear his voice, my heart races, and the familiar heat I felt before in his presence immediately returns.
I’m not sure if the butterflies in my stomach are attraction or nerves.
He walks toward me, faded denim and a grey weathered t-shirt that looks so soft I immediately want to run my hands across the fabric. Across his chest.
But he looks tired, the same way he appeared when I saw him in the store. There’s a sadness in his eyes that makes me want to hug him, but instead, I stand there with my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “I didn’t think you’d be back,” I say.
Damn it. That’s what you lead with, Autumn? It sounds like you don’t want him here.
Shit. I keep telling myself I haven’t dated anyone in two years because I’ve been focused on being a mother. But hell, I’m just awful at dating. Of course, we’re not exactly dating, are we? All we had was a little fling that meant nothing. That’s what I tell myself as I stand here in front of him, my heart fluttering in my chest like I’m a teenage girl with a crush.
“Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment,” Luke says, one eyebrow raised. “But I can leave if you’d like.”