"Does Owen know you're back?" he asks as I start the engine.
"Yes, Mr. Miller. He's my mom's doctor."
They must not talk much, and that hurts my heart. I had no idea. Mr. Miller was always an unemotional man, but he and Owen had a decent relationship.
"Call me Mike, Autumn. Feels weird to be called Mr. Miller." He coughs and adjusts his seat. "I'm sorry to hear your mom is sick."
"Yeah, me too. Thanks."
Mike reaches around behind himself, struggling, then his arm reappears with a silver flask. He unscrews the top and tips it to his lips, then offers it to me.
"No thank you," I tell him, trying to keep the surprise from my voice. I can't remember ever seeing him have more than a couple beers the entire time I was dating Owen. What happened?
"Do you still live on Liberation Lane?" I ask.
"Yep. I guess not much has changed since you left," he laughs as he says it.
I smile, aware of how wrong he is. "Guess not," I say.
By the time I turn onto his street, he is slumped against the passenger door, passed out. His head is tipped back, soft snores falling from his open mouth.
Well, shit…
How am I supposed to carry an unconscious grown man inside?
Chapter 9
Owen
My fingers curl around the cold beer bottle. For hours I've been looking forward to opening my new science fiction book, sitting back in my favorite chair, and drinking a cold beer. It's my preferred way to unwind from a long day at the hospital when I find it difficult to settle down my brain. Going into a fantasy world is my favorite form of escapism.
I sink into the chair and put my feet up on the matching ottoman. I paid an obscene amount of money for this chair, but it's already paid for itself in the amount of relaxation it brings me.
I'm one paragraph into my book and two sips into my beer when my phone rings. My gaze flicks across the room and I stare at the device on the coffee table. I'd love to ignore it, but I can't. It could be the hospital. Or my dad. In either scenario, my help may be needed.
With a deep, irritated sigh, I close my book and set it on the small table beside my chair. My beer comes with me and I can feel the frown on my face.
I have a sixth sense for bad news. Comes with being a cancer doctor. And this call feels like bad news.
Grabbing my phone, I see the name flashing across the front, and my frown deepens.
"Autumn?"
"Hey," she responds. Her voice is uncertain.
"Is everything okay?" Something must be wrong. She wouldn't call me for any other reason. The last time I saw her she stood at Faith's kitchen sink, her anger apparent.
"Um, no. Not really … I need your help." She sounds reluctant, but presses forward anyway. "Your dad is passed out in my car and I can't wake him up. And I certainly can't carry him into his house alone."
What. The. Fuck?
My eyes close slowly, my chin tipping up to the ceiling. My grip on the beer bottle tightens, the muscles in my fingers straining as embarrassment washes over me.
Dammit. What the hell did he do now? How did Autumn get roped into it?
"I'll be right there." I hang up without waiting for Autumn to answer.
My old man has a problem, and I've known for a while. But how do you help someone who doesn't want help? He’s sixty, retired, and not keen on taking advice from his young son.
I go to the kitchen, empty the rest of my beer into the sink, then toss the bottle into the recycling bin, staring at it for a full second and wondering if I could ever be like my dad and have a drinking problem.
Running into my bedroom, I change quickly from my ratty basketball shorts into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, then grab my keys and phone and head out.
I had no intention of telling Autumn about my dad. Guess that desire is out the window. I wonder what she thinks…
As I pull into the driveway beside Faith’s car, I kill my lights. From what I can tell in the dark, there is only one person in her car, and my guess is that it’s not Autumn. Something moves in the shadows on the side of the house and I recognize her petite frame.
Climbing from my car, I close the door, heading around the corner.
“Hey,” she says softly as I come near. She’s leaning against the house, blocked from the view of the street, hands tucked in the front pockets of her jeans. A swath of moonlight cuts across her face and I try not to think about how beautiful she is.
“Hi.” I come to a stop a few feet away. “Sorry about my dad.”
She waves me off. “It’s no biggie.”
It is a biggie to me. A huge fuckin’ biggie. Local doctor’s dad becomes the town drunk. It’s embarrassing.
We’re both silent for a full minute and I’m trying to figure out how to get him into the house without her helping when she speaks.
“How long has he had a problem?”
Her question rankles me. I feel defensive, even though I know he needs help. I hate what he’s turned into, and of all people to see it, it’s Autumn…
“You can leave now,” I say, looking out into the distance and avoiding her question. I know she doesn’t want to be here. “I can handle it from here."
"I can't leave, Owen. He's in my car."
Right.
"And I wouldn’t leave you with this alone. Why do you seem mad at me?" A guarded edge has crept into her voice and I hate that she looks hurt on my account. I’ve hurt her enough for ten lifetimes. I don’t intend to do any more of that.
I press the spot at the bridge of my nose and avoid her gaze. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at him. Where did you find him?”
"I met a friend at Orange Peel Brewing Company. Your dad was there … creating a scene. I stepped in because the manager was two seconds away from calling the police."
"What friend?" Of everything she just said, it's the entirely wrong place to focus. I can't help it though. "Have you met someone here already?" I’m completely shocked by the jealously lacing through my voice.
She balks. "What does it matter to you if I have?"
"It doesn't." The lie burns my teeth as I tell it.
"I didn't think so.” She crosses her arms and steps closer to me, bringing the heat of her body with her. “Besides, you're the one who went running the other night when your phone rang. Someone has you on a short leash."
I’ll be dammed. Autumn Cummings is jealous. This one shred of information does crazy things to my stomach. Could we pick up where we left off? Would it be that simple? No, but it was proof that everything wasn’t dead between us.
"What does it matter to you?" A sly grin pulls at my lips and her gaze sharpens like an eagle ready to hunt.
"It doesn't,” she says, just a little too harshly. A little too intense. The hallmark of a lie. I would know, seeing as how I just did the same.
I take a step forward, grazing my body against her, my gaze on her face, watching her reaction. Her expression is steady, and if it weren't for the slight widening of her eyes, I'd think my proximity had no effect on her.
One more step puts me fully flush against her, and I’m delighted when her breath hitches as she presses herself closer to me. Her chest rises and falls with a single, deep breath. The scent of her skin wafts over me, covering me like a blanket, bringing memories to the surface like sunken ships pulled from the depths by a hurricane. I cannot deny how much my body wants her. How much I want to make her moan the way I used to. I want to rediscover her.