Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 (15 page)

“And?”

Donovan stretches, runs his hand across his damp hair, but doesn’t answer me immediately, only gives me a sigh before he relaxes on the bench in front of the lockers. My best mate nods toward the bench and I join him. “When I was seven, my dad threw me this huge birthday party; fun house and balloons, clowns, magicians, even this big son of a bitch dressed as G.I. Joe.” He looks down at his feet, to his bag before he continues. “Now, I didn’t give a shit about the clowns or the magicians, but the girls there did, Autumn among them. A bunch of them in their stupid little bows and pink ribbons sat down in front of the magician, all wide eyed like pulling scarves knotted together out of his mouth was this huge, incredible thing. They were all oohing and ahhing and highly impressed.”

I smile to myself, having a good sense of where Donovan was going. “Not Autumn, though, yeah?”

“Exactly. Not Autumn.”

When something yelps through the room I stand up, thinking one of the freshman had stayed after practice for a long shower, maybe fallen. But I don’t see steam coming from the bathroom and otherwise don’t hear the sound again.

“Probably nothing,” I say to Donovan who again looks at his bag when I sit back down.

“Anyway,” he says, “my dad told me later, Autumn sat there watching this idiot flick his ‘magic wand’ around his hat, pull out a rabbit; watched him pour milk into a rolled up newspaper with her eyes were all narrowed and skeptical.” Donovan throws the towel in his hand across the room to the hamper and my smile only grows.

I could almost see Autumn at seven, ginger hair pulled up into piggy tails and that full little mouth pouting out in disapproval. “What did she do?”

Donovan laughs, shoulders moving at the memory. “Dad said she badgered that magician for two hours straight asking him question after question, trying to guess how he managed this trick and that one. The pour guy ended up telling my dad to keep his money. He just skipped out to get away from her. And all she would say to him when he finally began to let some of his secrets spill was ‘prove it. Show me.’” My best mate lowers to his bag, unzips it and I think I hear him whisper, say something to himself, but his back is too wide, his movements quick.

“So what are you saying?”

He only moves enough to look over his shoulder at me. “Just that Autumn is a stubborn woman. Always has been. You can’t just
tell
her you’re sorry. You can’t just make her think you mean whatever you say to her. She wants you to prove it. Show her.”

“But how the hell am I supposed to—” my whiney little question is cut short when I hear a distinctive, loud bark coming just from Donovan’s ankles. “What’s that?”

His shoulders lowering, he pulls his bag open and lets a tiny little lapdog run around the locker room floor. It is white with great, thick curls covering its entire body. There is a pink bow between its tiny ears and a rhinestone collar that spells out H-O-N-E-Y. I know this dog. Shite. Donovan has really stepped in it now.

“Mate, you didn’t.”

“What? It’s just a prank. It’ll be funny.”

“She’s going to kill you.” I laugh when Donovan’s eyes go wide as though he’s only just thought of how stupid it was to knick Layla’s baby.

The little white rat runs around the tile floor stopping only for a few seconds to mark her territory and then back again to squat into Donovan’s shoes. “Hey!” he cries as Ms. Honey darts away from him.

“That’s the least of your worries, mate. Layla will skin you alive.”

Finally, Donovan catches the yapping beast and tucks her under his arms. “She’ll laugh. It’ll be fine.” He scratches the dog under its chin and the back leg starts shaking.

“If you say so.”

“Whatever. Besides we were talking about you and Autumn. Worry about that. Ow.” Donovan drops Honey to the floor when she nips at his finger. He doesn’t bother to chase her, lets her sniff and move under the bench and into open bottom lockers. “So? What are you going to do?”

It was a good question. Something I’ve wracked my brain over for days now. She wanted action and not the kind that had us sweaty and naked.
Unfortunately.
But I knew my angel. Knew that she didn’t expect me to wine and dine her. That isn’t who she is. Donovan’s face is worried, frown deep as he watches me.

“I’ve got no bleeding clue.”

“You better start thinking. Make it something that focuses on her. Girls love that shit. But it’s got to be something that proves that the only thing you care about is her forgiveness.” My best mate picks up his shoe and turns it upside down over the trash bin. “Autumn’s not the type to wait for things to happen. And trust me, you don’t want to have to live down the fact that she made up first. Girls are funny about that kind of shit and they have long fucking memories.”

“Says the man who kidnapped Layla’s dog.”

“I don’t think I can do this, mate.” The cold window outside of McKinney’s pub leaves moisture against my brow. I think if I hit my head enough something will break loose and I won’t care that I’m about to humiliate myself in front of the whole town.

Also, yeah, couldn’t really do the whole giving Autumn space bit.

“Dude, you gotta just suck it up and get on with it.” Donovan nudges me toward the door, but I don’t step through.

Inside, I can see Joe, Sayo, Mollie and Layla all wearing stupid blue and white birthday hats, singing to my stepdad who is seated at the center of a long, wooden table. His cake is a replica of Doctor Who’s TARDIS, and a ghost of a smile plays on Joe’s face. He looks at Autumn and tries to seem chipper, they both smirk, nod, but I get the feeling from those expressions that they are not altogether overjoyed with this party. There is a crowd, at least twenty people who have come to wish Joe a happy birthday.

Behind them is a stage with a spotlight, a single microphone on a stand and a large karaoke machine. I close my eyes and my stomach shoots a knot into my chest. I have no voice, am completely tone-deaf, a fact I tried to make Autumn understand a few months back when Sayo’s mad idea of us all entering a karaoke contest found me getting light headed on the stage and clamming up to the beat of Ray Charles’ “I Got a Woman” I woke up ten minutes later with Autumn hovering over me, fanning my face saying “Okay then, Declan and stage fright, not a good combo. Never do that again.”

When Sayo stands to make a toast, Donovan pushes me inside, leads me, unnoticed along the edge of the room and right up next to the stage. My hands are clammy and I can feel sweat dripping on the back of my neck. Sayo’s still talking, lifting her glass to my stepdad and just when the crowd calls “To Joe” Donovan hits the lights and the entire room goes dark.

There are a few murmurs, shocks and gasps, but then I hear my best mate next to me, flicking on the Play button to the machine, turning on the spindly, remote spotlight, and I take the stage.

I’m going to vomit.

“I know this is your night, Joe, but desperate times and all,” I say into the mic, swallowing thick when every eye in the room turns to me.

No, seriously, I’m about to vomit.

My rhythm is off and my voice cracks, I start before the music, my version of “Nothing Compares 2 U,” Prince, because Autumn prefers it to Sinead, and already I’m feeling light headed.

“It’s been
a hundred-ninety-two hours
and
one
day…since you took your love away.”

The room is silent save for the small laughter coming from Joe’s table. But it isn’t my step da laughing his arse off. Sayo and Layla’s smiles are too wide, their teeth seem too white so I look in front of them, see Autumn’s slow turn and then the exaggerated way her mouth hangs open. She knows I’d only do this for her. Part one of a monumental action: public humiliation.

“I
stay in
every night and
haven’t slept a day
…since you took your love away.”

My mouth feels thick, salvia and something fecking nasty-tasting shooting near the back of my throat has me swallowing repeatedly; I’m the Woody Allen of bad karaoke.

“Since you’ve been gone
I can’t do anything
I want, I
don’t wanna see anyone but you
…eat my dinner
from a cardboard box, and
nothing can take away these blues…”

The bridge starts and Autumn gets up, walking straight toward me with her hands covering her mouth and a worried look putting wrinkles between her eyebrows. I start to see stars, the sweat on the back of my neck slides down my spine and I have to lean on the mic stand to keep my balance.
No,
I tell myself.
You can do this, mate.

She comes closer, stepping into the spot light that is beating down on me like a laser and I miss the next verse, miss the chorus again because now I have double vision. Two gorgeous Autumn’s stepping in front of the stage, two right hands reaching for me, two sympathetic frowns wrinkling double sets of lips.

“Declan, you’re turning green,” she says, grabbing hold of my moist hands and pulling me down to sit on the stage. “What were you thinking?”

I sway a bit, push a smirk onto my lips when she kneels in front of me. “Actions. You like actions, don’t you, love?”

“Karaoke? Sweetie, you chose to humiliate yourself in order to get me to forgive you?”

She comes to me easily, lands on my lap and her arms go around me like always, like they should. Suddenly, I don’t feel so sick. “I do that and more, McShane. Anything, I’d do anything.”

When she kisses me, the crowd around us explodes. There are cheers and claps, and people I don’t know slapping me on the back. Fuck ‘em. I don’t care. I have my angel wrapped around me, her tongue in my mouth, her arms gripping me like I’m a lifeline that will keep her grounded to the earth.

“Thank you,” she says.

Another kiss and I move my head back to look at her. “That pathetic song wasn’t my apology. I have my apology in my pocket.”

“Another first edition?”

“Hardly, McShane.” I pat her arse, moving her off of me and inhale deep. Really, what I’m about to do should have my skin green and my stomach rebuking everything I’ve eaten for the past two days.
Right then. Part two.
Before I chicken out, I drop to my knee, pull the box from my coat pocket and again, the pub goes deathly silent. More gasps, a few “oh shits!” and I clearly hear Joe’s low, happy laugh. But my eyes are only for Autumn, watching as her eyebrows lift, as she looks around the room, as she covers her mouth again, this time with trembling fingers.

“Declan…wait…”

“I love you, McShane. Will you have me?” Simple and to the point, and highlighted by the whine of the box opening and the split platinum band, one carat square diamond set in the center of black velvet.

The pub now is deathly silent, every eye turned toward us, every voice muted in anticipation of Autumn’s reaction. The longer she stares, the wider her eyes get and then they slip around the crowd, to her friends, to Joe before returning to me. One shake of her head and I think my heart sounds like a bass drum. Surely everyone else can hear it too.

“Answer him, sweetheart,” Joe calls and Autumn’s quick whip of her head and menacing glare wipes the easy smile from his face.

Knee aching, I stand, begin to say something, but she attacks me, throws her arms around my neck, kisses me like she is needy, desperate for my lips. We ignore the claps around us, the laughter and just take each other in, hands touching, lips meeting and the drum in my heart settles to a slow rhythm.

“Is that a yes, then?” I ask, expecting her nod, expecting her laugh not to be quite as loud as it is. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetie, I love you. You were made for me.”

Another kiss and I arch an eyebrow, growing confused when she still doesn’t answer my question. “McShane, will you marry me or not?”

“I will. Someday.”

“Someday?”

“Yeah, someday,” she takes the ring box from me, staring down at it. There is a smile pulling her face and her eyes have softened as though she’s thoroughly pleased with the ring I picked out. Finally, she looks back up at me, touches my face. “Someday. But it’s barely been four months since we started dating. It’s too soon, but someday will come and when it does, then I’ll wear this beautiful ring.”

I try to refuse her kiss but I’ve missed how good she feels. I couldn’t push her away if I wanted to. “Wait, are you telling me no?” I ask, needing clarification.

Autumn exhales, her arms in a lazy rest on my shoulder, but her cheeks are pink, her eyes fan over my face and I can tell she is happy, that she isn’t being cruel. “I’m telling you to ask me again sometime.”

“Sometime,” I say, and a slow smile breaks across my face, not sure if I’ve ever been happier being rejected. At least there’s the promise of tomorrow.

We are pulled apart, her friends coming up to her, hugging her, Donovan punching my shoulder, Joe’s poker buddies and pub regulars circle us, even though all I want is to touch Autumn again, to be alone with her. Maybe ask her if now is too soon for “sometime.”

Sayo, Mollie and Layla are drilling Autumn with questions, but she keeps looking over her shoulder to where I’m standing with Donovan. My best mate slips a beer in my hand, starts talking about how rubbish my voice is, but I ignore his insults. Can’t pay attention to much else but that gorgeous angel smiling at me. I stepped toward her when she bites her lip, giving me a look I am all too familiar with and fecking ecstatic to see. I know what that look means. That’s her “take me” look.