Page 58 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

AUTUMN

MISERY BUSINESS

T he ocean was in a mood today, but so was I. The steady crash of waves matched the pounding in my head. I didn’t know if the headache was from three days of cross-country driving, dehydration, crying, or all of the above.

I wish it was from a killer hangover. I wanted to raid Wander’s kitchen and down a bottle of whatever she had on hand that was the strongest.

But she didn’t let me drink from the bottle that I really wanted. Instead, I was given a fluorescent sports drink packed full with vitamins and electrolytes and unceremoniously shoved into the shower.

That’s what friends were for.

I wanted to get drunk off my ass, but she knew that I would regret it and refused to let me no matter how much I begged.

When Whitney arrived with her adorable baby bump on display, she shared the news that it was a boy and that she was terrified of being a parent to mini Miles. The three of us sat on the beach while I dug my toes into the cool late-September sand and unloaded everything that had happened.

Everything .

When night fell, Wander and Whitney shared the bed in Wander’s room since Jack was on duty at the fire station, giving me privacy to cry myself to sleep in the guest room.

I had set the envelopes Ryan insisted I have on the nightstand, but I couldn’t sleep with them so close.

His ghost appeared everywhere. It haunted me in the worn paperback I kept for myself after our bookstore haul, in the handwritten chocolate chip cookie recipe from Penelope’s Bakehouse, and in every picture of us that lived on my phone.

I was a masochist, scrolling through the photo gallery to see if I could find the deceit in his eyes. The coldness that would have clued me in that this was nothing but a farce.

But it wasn’t there.

The spark in his dark eyes held nothing but adoration and that made it hurt all the more. He had made me believe it was real. Maybe he had lied to himself too.

When dawn broke, I grabbed my phone and the stack of envelopes and slipped out the back door to head down to the beach.

The whip of autumn wind made me shiver, but it hid the way that crying made my body tremble.

I had to get it out. I had to purge the poison and hurt so I could move on.

But there was too much to be wounded by.

Shep never told me he was my father, when I had wanted him to be my dad so badly.

My mom had lied to me my entire life, making my sister hate me.

Lisa—someone I had confided in about everything—withheld the same information.

Greg probably hated me . . .

Ryan knew how much I loved Shep, and didn’t tell me. Just like my mother. Just like Lisa. Just like Shep.

I loved my family, but it hadn’t been reciprocated. Love and respect required tough conversations. Something they hadn’t been willing to walk through.

Amber could have had her dad.

I could have had mine.

She could have had a relationship with her stepdad instead of one where she resented him.

I could have had a positive relationship with Greg instead of always being ignored.

Mom and Lisa probably would have gotten along.

And I could have had Ryan Ford.

Lies are a spiderweb, and a life built on one—no matter how big and complex—will always collapse.

My tears stained the envelopes as I began the purge and opened and read every single card. It hurt a million times worse than I thought it would.

Shep had been my dad in every sense of the word. He showed it in his actions, words, and intentions.

But I never got to call him dad. I never got to see him smile when I did. I would never get to. And maybe that’s what hurt the worst.

One by one, I unblocked them all from my phone.

Mom.

Lisa.

Greg.

Amber.

But not Ryan.

It had been four days since I spoke to them. Even though, for all intents and purposes, I could stay hidden, it would just delay the inevitable. I waited until it was a respectable time to call someone in Kansas, and started with the easiest person on the list.

“Hello?” Amber’s sleep-filled voice was barely audible over the waves.

I pressed the phone closer to my ear and took a deep breath of salt air.

“Autumn?” she said again, a little clearer this time. It wasn’t her usual snarky tone. She sounded . . . concerned.

“Hey,” I said.

Amber sighed. “Well, at least we know you’re not dead. Mom’s flipping out.”

“That’s fucking rich,” I muttered.

“Have you talked to her?”

“No,” I clipped.

There was a long pause. “I guess I can’t blame you . . .”

Tense silence hung between us even though we were 1,500 miles away from each other.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get Greg as much as I got Shep,” I said finally. It still felt foreign to call the man I had always thought of as “dad” by his first name, but I had to make the distinction.

Amber’s silence held out just a little longer. “I’m sorry I held it over your head when I knew and you didn’t. Are we good?”

“No,” I admitted. And it felt good to say that. “We’re not.”

“I figured.”

“But maybe someday.”

Ryan had been right since our first day together when I insisted I hated him. It felt better to know exactly where you stood with someone than pretending like everything was fine.

I hung up and went to the next name on my list. The call rang on and on. Just when I thought it would go to voicemail, a deep voice picked up. “Hello?”

“Hi. It’s me. Do you have a second?”

“Of course,” Greg said. “Your mother called me and said that you . . . found out.”

Of course he had time to talk now.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Your mom said you left Manhattan with your boyfriend.”

“We broke up. I’m staying with a friend.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Autumn.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “I just . . . I wanted to tell you that I appreciated you being good to me when I’d come stay with you on the weekends. It wasn’t fair to you.”

There was a long sigh on his end. “It wasn’t fair to you either. I was just trying to do what was best for everyone.”

“I really wanted you to be my dad, too,” I croaked. “I hope you know that.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry you lost Shep. And your boyfriend.”

“Thanks.”

The logical thing would have been to tell him I hoped we could have some kind of neutral or positive relationship, even though we weren’t related, but that felt like too much for one day.

“Your marketing campaigns for your books are looking real sharp,” he said out of the blue. “You’re doing good work.”

I blinked in surprise. “You . . . Follow my books?”

“Yes.” The answer was simple and healing. “Give me a call if you ever want to talk shop. I can help you take a look at your numbers and see what we can come up with to boost your sales.” His voice softened. “That might be a good place for us to start if you’d like.”

My heart cracked. “I’d like that.”

“Good luck, Autumn.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

The back door creaked open, and I whipped around. Jack crept out of the house, still in his station gear. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his navy pants and plodded down the boardwalk to where I was sitting.

The tall grass that covered the sand dunes whispered with the wind, gossiping about what it had overheard.

“Morning,” Jack said as he neared.

I offered a pitiful smile. “Hi. Sorry I kind of crashed your house.”

He chuckled as he sat down beside me. “That’s all right. It’s why we put the addition on. You’re welcome anytime.”

“Whitney can sleep with me tonight so you and Wander can have your bed back.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “I’m not even gonna pretend to argue with that.” Jack cocked his head to the side. “How ya doing?”

“Shitty,” I admitted.

“Yeah. I figured. Auror— Wander told me what happened.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed me the screen. It was littered with texts from Ryan asking Jack and Miles if I was with Whitney and Wander, and if they would check on me.

“So the question is, are you here right now?”

“No,” I said, knowing that, as soon as Ryan got confirmation, he’d show up. I wasn’t ready to see him, and I didn’t know if I would ever be.

Jack nodded as he opened their chat and typed out a very succinct, “Get fucked.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I mumbled.

He chuckled. “Miles will take care of him.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned. “Is he going to kill him?”

“He probably will if you ask nicely.”

“I don’t want him dead,” I said as I dug my foot into the sand. “I just want him to hurt as much as I am.”

Jack nodded in understanding.

“And I’m fully aware that’s not the mature thing to want,” I blurted out.

“I’m probably supposed to say I want him to be happy, but I don’t.

I hope his tires are always flat. I hope his pillow is always warm.

I hope he can never find a parking spot and that the subway is always running late.

I hope that it rains whenever he’s wearing flip-flops.

I hope he hits every red light. I hope his socks are always wet.

I hope he stubs his toe every time he turns a corner.

I hope his coffee is always lukewarm. Not hot.

Not iced. Just tepid and gross.” I huffed as ire fueled me into my pettiest self.

“I hope he always tries to plug in a USB wire upside down. I hope his belt loops always get caught on a doorknob. I hope his showers are always cold. I hope he burns his tongue on the first bite of his favorite food. I hope he has to change insurance plans every single freaking year, and I hope he’s miserable trying to find new doctors that are covered.

I hope there’s a cricket in his house that he can never find.

I hope his smoke alarm batteries die in the middle of the night and he’s out of fresh batteries.

I hope he goes to start a load of laundry and realizes he left a load in the washing machine and everything smells like mildew.

Speaking of washing machines, I hope he washes his bedding, forgets about it until he’s ready to go to sleep, and then finds out he left it in the washing machine.

I hope someone signs him up for Scientology emails and gives his name and phone number to every annoying realtor in New York.

I hope he runs out of toilet paper while he’s using the bathroom and he’s the only one home.

I hope his favorite toothpaste is discontinued. I hope?—”

“All right, killer,” Jack said with a chuckle as he gently patted me on the back.

I dropped my head into my hands. “Am I a terrible person?”

“Terrible people don’t wonder if they’re terrible people,” Jack said. “You’re just hurt and angry.” Jack picked up my phone and tapped the screen, bringing up hundreds of missed calls and unread texts from my mom and Lisa. “Seems like a lot of people are trying to get in touch with you.”

“I’ll get to them eventually.”

“It’s okay to make ‘em sweat a little,” Jack said with a grunt as he pushed up to his feet. “I’m gonna hit the hay. I think Wander and Whitney are up and moving. You need anything?”

I shook my head. “I’ll be all right. Thanks, Jack.”

I stared at the surf as Jack moseyed back inside as thoughts of Ryan washed in like a flood. “I hope you’re happy, and I hope I never have to know about it.”