Page 43 of All Autumn
And the drama queen strikes again. I bet I wasn’t backed out of the driveway before she was on the phone with him. You’d think he could at least ask me how I was before jumping right in on me. I should have gone with my first instinct and not answered the phone.
“So you’re going to take her side without even hearing mine?” I sat on the sofa and propped my feet on the edge of the coffee table. Even though he mostly couldn’t live with her, he always had her back, which was one reason I believed he loved her in his own warped way. It would be nice once in a while to have him at my back, but that had never happened.
“You said some mean things to her, Autumn. That was uncalled for.”
“What about me, Dad? Don’t I get to have a life without being dragged into the middle of my parents’ mess every time I turn around? It’s sad and depressing, and I just can’t do it anymore.”
“Your mother is fragile. You know that, which is why I don’t understand why you’d want to upset her.”
He hadn’t heard a word I said. Either that or he really didn’t care what their fights and their messed-up parenting skills did to me. “If she’s so fragile, then why do you treat her the way you do? This isn’t on me, Dad, and I’m not going to let you blame me for her misery. That’s all on you.”
There was a long silence, and then he said, “What’s gotten into you, Autumn?”
What indeed? I lowered my feet to the floor, put my phone on speaker before setting it on the coffee table, then leaned forward and rested elbows on my knees. I was hurting, and my father didn’t care.
“Why is it my responsibility to be Mom’s caretaker?” I whispered. If she was sick, actually ill, I’d be there for her around the clock, but I couldn’t play their games anymore.
“Speak up. You’re mumbling.”
I sat up, straightening my spine. “I said if you’re so worried about her, then act like her husband for a change.” Not wanting to hear how he’d respond to that, I disconnected.
For a good hour I sat with only the dim light of the lamp I’d turned on when I’d come home, staring at the wall in front of me. I’d thought my parents loved me, but I wasn’t even sure about that anymore. Some of my earliest memories were of a happy home, a loving mother and father. But around the first or second grade things changed. The fights started, and neither of my parents tried to shield me from their anger at each other. Even at a young age I had been put in the middle, both of them expecting me to choose sides. That was one reason I’d spent so much time at Jenn’s house, and I’d always love her parents for treating me like another daughter.
A sob escaped, and I angrily brushed away the tears. I couldn’t change the past, and my tears were meaningless. Beau nudged his nose between my legs, his worried eyes focused on me.
“Am I a bad daughter, Beau?” It felt like I was. A part of me ached to call my dad and tell him I hadn’t meant anything I’d said. Another part wanted to call my mother and take back all the spiteful words I’d spouted. Then there was the angry child in me that stomped her feet, crossed her arms, and refused to do either of those things.
I did call Connor, though.
24
~ Connor ~
I’d just turnedinto my driveway, a three-minute drive from Adam’s, when my Bluetooth came on, Autumn’s name coming up.
“Hey, beautiful.” I hoped she was calling to ask me to come over, even if it was late.
“Hey.”
That wasn’t her happy voice. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“I’m on the way over.”
“You don’t have to. It’s late.”
“See you in twenty.” I cut off our connection before she could protest. After I went into my house to retrieve something, I headed to her place, making one stop at an all-night convenience store.
Autumn opened her door, and I could tell right away that she wasn’t okay. Her smile seemed forced, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Since I knew she’d been to visit her mother, I added another black mark against Melinda Archer for making my girl cry.
“Brought you something.” I held out the bottle of wine in one hand that I’d taken from home, and in the other was the gallon of chocolate fudge ice cream I’d bought on the way over.
“Pity-party food and drink. Awesome.”
“So what are we pitying?” As I followed her into the kitchen, my gaze strayed to her ass. The girl wore jeans very well.
“Me.” She glanced over her shoulder, catching me. “Stop checking out my butt.”
