Fourth Down (Portland Pioneers 1)

“Yes, sir,” Reggie says. He takes his stuff from Meghan’s hand and then heads to his bedroom. Once his door closes, I peer down at Roxy with her jutted lip. It’s hard for me to punish her because she’s three and only doing what her mother tells her. Reggie knows better.

“Miss Meghan can only carry your stuff if she offers, okay?”

She nods. “Okay, Daddy.”

“Take your backpack to your room, please.” Roxy turns, hugs Meghan, and then runs to her room with her bag dragging on the ground. “I’m sorry about Elena. Don’t let her bully you.”

“I won’t. I’ll stand my ground next time.”

“How was everything?”

“It was fine. The kids mostly watched television.”

“Where was Elena?”

“On her phone.”

The earlier irritation has increased to a boiling point. I can’t tell Elena how to parent, but her lack of interest proves that I’m a much better fit for custody than she is.

After the kids have their bath and shower, I snuggle with Roxy in bed and read Rugby and Rosie to her. “Daddy, can we has a doggie?”

“I’d love to, but we live in an apartment. Dogs need a place to run.”

“Can we moob to a house?”

A house would be ideal. I haven’t thought about leaving the apartment life and getting a home with a yard. Everything is so convenient where we live now, but having a yard and some pets would be nice. “Maybe,” I tell her. I kiss her nose. “I’ll think about it.” We finish the story, and I tuck her in. When I get to Reggie’s room, he’s already asleep. I make sure he’s tucked in and tell him I love him.

I walk back into the living room and hear Autumn’s voice. I know I’m hearing things because it’s not time for her segment. I grab the remote and turn the volume up on the T.V. There’s a woman who looks identical to Autumn, standing in the rain.

“What the hell?” I listen as she tells viewers about a hurricane bearing down on Houston, Texas. She’s standing next to another reporter. The man comes into the camera, and by the way, he looks at her, I just know. He places his arm around her and then speaks to the camera.

“Autumn, what do you think about your first storm coverage?”

“It’s amazing, Camden. I’m so happy to be back in my home state. I’m praying Hurricane Wanda doesn’t do any severe damage when it makes landfall.”

“I think everyone is praying for that right now. Skip, back to you.”

“Thank you, Camden and Autumn. We’re praying for you.”

My eyes deceive me. There is no way this segment is live. I saw Autumn two days ago. I know a lot can happen in forty-eight hours, but I’d like to think she would tell me if she planned to leave.

Did she move away and not tell me?

I reach for my phone and call Noah, who picks up on the second ring. “Hey, did Autumn move?” My question is blunt. There is just no way to sugarcoat this.

“I’ll let you talk to Peyton.”

“Hi, Julius.”

“Hey,” I say. “What’s going on?”

Peyton sighs. “The Weather Channel is interested in Autumn. She’s in Texas covering the storm for them.”

“And the guy she’s with—that’s her ex, right?”

Peyton is quiet for a moment. “Yeah, Camden Porter. He got her the gig.”

“Fuck,” I mutter and then apologize to Peyton for cursing. “This is all my fault. If I had—”

“Nothing’s your fault, Julius. An opportunity came up, and she took it. You should really talk to her about it though.”

“I won’t tell her you told me.”

“It’s okay if you do. Leon knows she’s there. It’s not a big secret.”

It may not be a secret to everyone else, but she kept it from me. “Thanks, Peyton.” We hang up, and I start to pace. There are two ways to approach this, guns blazing with the woe-is-me- factor, or I can be the not-your-boyfriend-but-wants-to-be-supportive-guy. The latter because I need Autumn to know I fully support her, even if it means she’s leaving town.

“Fuck,” I say aloud. “Why did I wait so long to move things forward?” There isn’t anything I can do about my actions; I can only make better decisions moving forward.

Instead of texting Autumn, I decide to call her. Chances are, she won’t answer, but whatever. It’s worth a shot. By the fifth ring, I’m ready to hang up.

“Hello?” she’s breathless, and my heart sinks because all the wrong thoughts are going through my mind right now.

“Hey, Weather Girl. I just saw you on television.”

“Oh my, I’m a mess. Did I look okay?”

“You’re beautiful, Autumn. When are you coming back?”

“Miss me already?” she asks.

“I do.” As much as I want to ask her why she didn’t tell me she was leaving, I don’t say anything. I’m going to play it cool. There could be several reasons why and each one is likely valid to her. Hell, maybe she forgot or thought she did or figured I’m too stuck in my head to pay attention.