Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) (21 page)

"Nikki... Why are you here?"

"To say hello, I guess. Or goodbye. I'm finally ready to see what comes after this." Nikki jerks her head to her left. "To help her make a point."

Following Nikki's gesture, I bury my face in my hands when I see her. "No more lessons. No more points or arguments. None of this."

Louise's voice is gentle as she enters the room, her dress swishing about her ankles. "We're only trying to help you understand that there's nothing to fear. You've done all this before."

"Done what?" I snap. "Seen ghosts? Received their messages? We've already established that."

"You've also let them in. You know you have," Louise insists, gesturing to Nikki. "You keep denying the questions, the gaps in your memory, the ways things have never added up—"

"Stop," I plead. Begging. I can't handle any more of this. It was just a delusion. Just a panic attack distorting reality.

"Nikki did more than show you the way," Louise continues, undeterred. "She gave you her strength. She gave you her will to survive, amplified your own."

A searing pain shoots through my chest and I press my palm to my heart to steady its galloping pace. "I wanted to live!"

Nikki’s voice is soft and soothing. "No one's saying you didn't. But you were drugged, sick and dehydrated. Didn't you ever wonder how you fought off a man more than twice your size? How you outran him for just long enough to be rescued?"

"No, no, this is crazy..." Struggling to my feet, I lean against the desk at the foot of my bed. "This isn't real."

"I owed you," Nikki insists. "I owed all of us. He wasn't going to get to take another life. I asked and you let me help you."

"Just like you let Sophia in," Louise says. "It's how she was able to show you her home. You know you couldn't have possibly imagined it."

Everything is hazy, unfocused. I squint and will myself to concentrate, but it's futile. I crumple to my knees, at the mercy of the phantoms in my mind.

"Thank you, Autumn." Nikki is sincere and somewhat overwhelmed. "Be careful out there. You're in danger and this time, I can't help you."

The pain intensifies in my chest and I whimper, looking to Louise for answers. Wistfully, she reveals her cherry-stain blossom upon her dress.

"We all have our scars, our crosses to bear. Don't be foolish. Don't bear them alone..."

"She's waking up."

"Thank God!"

Autumn groaned as she tried to draw a deep breath, her hand absently pawing at her left ribcage.
What the hell happened to me?
Had she lost time?
I haven't done that in over a year
... A cool cloth pressed to her forehead and she gave up on opening her eyes.

Too bright. Too much.

"Baby, come on. Talk to me. Please..."

"Give her a minute, Andrew."
Veronica?

Somewhere, a light diminished to a pinpoint. Cautiously, Autumn opened one eye, gauging the potential for pain before the other followed suit. Cross-legged beside her was Veronica, dressed now in a black tank top and what seemed to be pajama shorts.

"V?"

"In the sleep-deprived flesh. How do you feel?"

"Like I got run over by a truck..."

"Chevy Cruze, actually," Evan chimed in from a shadowed corner.
"And technically,
you
ran into
it
."

It was reflex: Autumn shifted her arms to sit up and immediately yelped as a sharp pain cut across her chest. Gasping for air, she relented and sank deeper into the pillows.

"It could have been worse. You could have broken your ribs."

Andrew
. She tilted her head slightly, relieved to see him standing beside her.
He's still here.
The accident came back to her now, snatches of sound and sight.
A panic attack. A flashback
. She'd suffered these before, but one this severe...
Not since the hospital
, she decided.
Not the running kind
.

"Sorry," she managed to blurt out.

"You don't have to be sorry." His voice was soothing, honeyed warmth. "I'm just glad you're awake."

"We all are," Veronica echoed lovingly. "Now that you're up, it's time to get some rest. Fun paradox, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"What Veronica is trying to say is that it's four in the morning and she has a show at two, so we're going to go sleep in our own room down the hall." Evan leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I recommend you follow our lead."

"Down the hall?"

"Security decision," Andrew explained. "Ray's keeping the floor secure for the night. Two birds, one wall of muscles like stone?"

Autumn managed a weak smile, ignoring the increasing pain in her chest and a dull ache in her shoulder. "Always wordplay..."

"One word away from foreplay. How else am I supposed to keep your interest?" Andrew teased gently.

"Alright, Andy. Behave and give my wifey a night to recuperate." Veronica leaned over her, kissing her cheek before whispering in her ear. "He feels terrible. Make up, already."

"I'll take it under advisement," Autumn murmured, intentionally vague.
Message acknowledged
.

With a lingering glance, Andrew gestured to their friends. "Be right back."

Listening for the tell-tale sounds of the door, Autumn waited anxiously in the bed, desperately pulling at the taffy strands of memory to piece together the night.
A fight. I picked a fight.
Why had she done that?

Because the happiness didn't seem real. Because we were upset and it was pushed away for the courier incident and Amanda's injuries. Because I'm tired of us avoiding the core conflict of our entire relationship
.

As she heard the security latch swing into place, she swallowed hard.
Because if he's eventually going to be fed up and leave, it would be easier now.

A fight and then flight: how psychologically predictable. Somehow, the threat of loss and the mention of her ex had sent her spinning into a flashback, a world of loneliness and isolation. Autumn against the world. But what about the rest? What about the dream that lingered just beyond conscious reach?

"Did you want Tylenol?"

"Hmm?"

Andrew gestured to the dresser beneath the TV. "The doctor said you couldn't have anything stronger until after the first twelve hours, just in case a concussion set in. He was pretty sure your arms took the brunt of the fall, but..."

Autumn frowned. "I... I don't remember a doctor."

"House call. Or hotel call. This place really does anything you ask, for a price." Andrew gestured to the Tylenol again. "Pain?"

"Much," she admitted.

Two pills were placed in her shaking hand and she dry swallowed them, accepting the water he offered with quiet thanks. Shuffling back and forth upon his feet, Andrew seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move.

Easy part first. "What happened?"

"You bolted from the car when we got here, ran off around back before I could really process what was happening, that it wasn’t just you being mad... You were so fast and I... I tried to keep up."

"Andrew, it's not your fault."

"I tried," he continued hoarsely. "You cut into a parking garage, somehow. You collided with a car that was pulling out of a parking space and you just... fell..."

A sob ripped from her throat and with it, a yowl of pain. Andrew rushed to her side, frantic and wild-eyed.

"What? What can I do?"

"So sorry..."

There were no words, no clever puns, no remedy to undo the damage done. He was hurting because of her insecurity. His forehead rested against hers, his every breath a ragged struggle.

"I'm sorry too," he murmured. "I've been on edge, worried that...
this
would happen. Maybe it wouldn't have, if I'd... Well, if I’d controlled my temper, for starters."

"I was mean to you. Scared you would leave me," she confessed.

"I won't. I can't." One kiss, two.

"This... it won't end," she warned him. "The door is open, Andrew. I know it now. I believe."

"And I believe in you," he replied softly.

Moving around the foot of the bed, he peeled off his jeans and t-shirt, discarding them in a rumpled heap. With a great deal of care, he slid beneath the covers, mindful of any physical contact. Autumn couldn't decide which ache was worse: the misery in her chest, or her heart longing for his touch.

"I've had about two hours to seriously think about today," he began, propping himself up on an elbow. "To really think about why I got angry this morning, and how rational it was. In the end, I concluded that I'm a fucking hypocrite."

Gingerly, she turned her head to face him. "How?"

"Let me explain," he began, winking. "No. Let me sum up." As she giggled, he continued. "We're both going into a form of journalism, right? Documentary films, investigative stories—same core principle, right? We want the truth. We want to tell it."

"Yes..."

"So when I go out and make a film about, say, protests or civil unrest, I'll be in harm's way. I could get hurt." At her worried look, his hand reached out to squeeze hers. "I will always take every possible precaution, but you and I both know I can't promise that shit won't hit the fan."

"I know."

It was a fear she'd struggled with in therapy for several weeks, ultimately reaching no resolution save
I'll face it if it comes true
. An overseas project in a war-torn country, or a domestic terrorism story... A protest gone wrong...
But it's his passion
, she often reminded herself.
And I love how passionate he is about showing others the world—the ugliness and the beauty.

"When we were waiting for the doctor to examine you, Veronica mentioned how much you'd reminded her of one of those criminal investigation shows you got her hooked on. How you'd pulled information out of Zoe, somehow encouraged her to open up. And I knew that you were only doing what I've always done: trying to get at the truth. But more than that, you wanted to help people with that truth."

Autumn understood now what he was trying to say. Awash with emotions—relief, fear, admiration—she struggled against the urge to roll over, to burrow into him. To show him how immeasurable her gratitude and love for him were.

“I don’t like thinking of you in danger, but I don’t give you a choice about the danger I’m probably going to be in down the line. Conclusion: me getting protective and pissed all the time is hypocritical and selfish.”

“Possibly sexist,” she suggested, smiling weakly to ensure he knew it was a joke. “What’s a couple to do when they’re mutually terrified of their respective choices?”

“I can’t change who I am. You can’t change who you are. And I don’t want you to,” he added emphatically. "I don’t. So we'll both chase our versions of the truth, and we'll both be scared out of our damn minds when we're apart. I can live with this, on one condition."

"Anything," she breathed, lacing her fingers through his.

"You will
always
do everything in your power to come home to me..." His gaze met hers and a wave of heat swelled between them. "And I will move mountains to come home to you."

"Sealed with a kiss?"

Soft as it was, there was nothing chaste about the way their mouths met. Careful not to lean on her battered frame, Andrew burned away all reservation, all hesitations and uncertainty as they tasted each other. They were a unit, a partnership. Indivisible.

She was as much his constant as he'd always been hers.

By ten in the morning, the doctor had returned, concluding that no signs of a concussion were present and that Autumn's mild (
ha!
) bruising of her ribs would resolve itself within a couple weeks. Mild abrasions to her forearms and knees required no attention. Reluctantly, she accepted a prescription for Percocet, reasoning that comfortable sleep was important for her mental health.

By eleven, her phone had rung four times: one call from Courtney, concerned for her safety and health; and three calls from Jeremy, adamant they meet about her
publicity issues
. After talking Andrew out of unleashing several choice phrases, she'd agreed to have lunch with him in the hotel.

"I still don't know why this can't wait until tomorrow," Andrew grumbled in the elevator.

She flashed him an article from a local paper. "Because of this, I assume."

Veronica had shot her a quick email with a link, accompanied only by the word c
rap
. Right there for the world to see was a shot of Autumn and Veronica talking to the first responders. The headline:
Broadway Stalker Creates Own American Horror Story.

Andrew grimaced. "Okay, maybe he has a point. But you are in need of rest. The doctor said so."

"And I will—after we shut up Jeremy."

Jeremy, however, was not so easily reassured or dismissed. If anything, Autumn's visible limp and awkward posture in her chair only created further panic.

"My God! What happened to you?"

"I took a fall," Autumn replied evasively. "It's fine. The doctors assure me I'll feel much better in a few days." Scanning the menu, she settled quickly on grilled calamari and a Caesar salad. "Now, what was so urgent?"

"You have to ask?" Jeremy flipped through a series of pages in a file folder, tapping his forefinger viciously. "Oh, yes: young ingénue goes missing the day you tell the country you'd like a certain starlet to star in a film adaptation of your book. Next day, instead of networking with prospective stars for the movie adaptation, a chemical burn mishap scars a rival actress—similar to a certain event in your yet-to-be-released debut novel."

"Speaking of that, were we able to find anything about the bloggers on that list?" she asked Andrew.

"
Nada
. Everyone checks out. Most of them are well-established. Several aren't even in the country. Only three are in the New York area, and all three have alibis." Andrew scrolled through an email, reading on. "They're still working on fully verifying the whereabouts of two of them, but they're both from southern states."

Autumn frowned. "Could the stalker be a relative or friend of a blogger?"

"Needles, very large haystacks."

"Which means we can conclude that Veronica's ARC was indeed stolen, leaving us with no leads," Autumn grumbled.

Jeremy gulped his water, setting the glass down abruptly. "You're not actually trying to play detective, are you? This is a serious matter. Police are involved." Looking to Andrew, he flailed, to Autumn's amusement. "Some support here?"

Andrew smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I don't tell her what to do. My fiancée is her own woman."

Fiancée.
She really loved the sound of that.

Unimpressed, Jeremy flipped through a series of pages, presenting her with a copy of a press release. "Courtney and I are going to release this on your behalf in the next few hours. This should at least distance the connection between your book and the criminal behaviour."

Autumn perused the statement, unsure whether she even cared about the publicity. Hell, if she had her way, she'd be inclined to shelve it forever. Un-write it, if she could. While brief, the statement condemned the actions of Amanda Lafleur's assailant and asked for privacy as she and her loved ones "dealt with a difficult personal matter."

"Fine, do what you need to do." She passed the page to Andrew, disinterested. "Kill the book for all I care."

"Hey, don't say that," Andrew chided her. "You're just upset right now."

"Kill the book? After nearly a year of work? Forked Creek won't do it, I can tell you that much." Jeremy was clearly upset at her suggestion—downright indignant, really. "Delay? Quite possibly. But there are a lot of people who have given their time and passion to making
Dissected
a reality. If anything, the real life echo makes for a more riveting story."

"I'm not profiting off my best friend's misery!" Autumn snapped. "So if that's your great plan, you can turn right around and get the hell out of my sight."

Jeremy, caught off-guard, was a sputtering mess of apologies. Andrew leaned closer, squeezing her shoulder.

"Cut him a break," he urged quietly. "Poor guy's clearly terrified of blowing this job."

"I don't care." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, cursing the pain in her ribs. "Right now, I care about stopping this guy."

"Ms. Brody, I don't want to minimize what your friend is going through. I'm not heartless. Look, see... Here!" He pointed to a bullet point on a list in his folder. "This might help to stymie him. Shake up his plans."

Reaching gingerly for the paper, Autumn scanned the list. While some of the items on Jeremy's to-do list seemed more self-serving for her publisher, he did raise a clever option: have Veronica cut all ties with the
Dissected
project.

If she publicly announces she's no longer interested, maybe he'll lose interest in creating a real-life version of my book
, she mused.
And maybe then, he returns to letters and shoes.

Autumn handed back the list. "Some of these seem more directed at Veronica than me."

"Regardless of the fact you're our author, Veronica's situation is connected to the project now. Everything we do from here has to consider her safety and yours, as well as the future livelihood of
Dissected
. I know the book isn't your priority right now, but it's my job to market books. I can't help that."

"Well, I can't be arsed to promote a book that's become a how-to manual for murder," Autumn countered. "I'm not even in any physical shape to do so."

"I'm going to have to be firm on that one," Andrew interjected. "Autumn needs as much rest as possible for the next three days. Doctor's orders."

"And we can work with that." Jeremy ran a hand through his shaggy locks, kowtowed by Andrew’s glare. "Most of the PR is going to be handled by representatives like me. No interviews. No direct interaction. In fact, I'd prefer you stop speaking to the police. We've provided ample information for their investigation. The less you're seen with them right now, the lesser the association between your novel and the attacks."

As their server approached with their food, Autumn relented. "Fine. That makes sense. Frankly, I'm over staring at crime scene photos for the moment."

Between bites of food, Jeremy outlined the rest of his publicity plan. First on his list: statements released by Autumn and Veronica, severing the ties to the film and effectively requesting privacy as the police continued their investigation. Next: Jeremy wanted to coach Veronica explicitly on how to handle any inquiries about the book by paparazzi. Other items didn't concern Autumn—changes to approvals on ARC releases and delayed timelines—but the final to-do was a strategy for handling future publicity, once Autumn felt ready.

"When did you want to talk to Veronica?" Andrew asked.

"As soon as possible. Courtney's taking care of Canadian press outlets who may have caught wind of the story."

Autumn thought for a moment, struggling to estimate time. Everything, it seemed, was a little foggy today. It was irritating. Andrew had run interference with her parents, but they'd likely soon hear of her accident and demand to talk directly to her. One quick conversation and her father would
hear
how out of it she was.

"Veronica's show ends at... four?" At Andrew's nod, she continued. "So let's make it five. We'll bring food to Veronica's and discuss things there. Food always softens her up."

Andrew chuckled. "Seriously, I've never met a woman so easily swayed by a good pizza."

"Bribery by carbs: my favourite method for handling sticky situations with V."

Relieved, Jeremy closed up his folder. "I'll bring the carbs. There's an Italian eatery down the road from my place. Mom and Pop joint, authentic food. Pick you both up here?"

"Sounds good. Make it four-thirty. Veronica's not far from here, but with the traffic..."

Jeremy groaned. "Don't remind me. Driving in this city makes me nostalgic for the poorly maintained roads in Nowhere, Michigan."

With farewells exchanged, Autumn and Andrew remained at the table, picking over the last of their meals. Beside Andrew was a copy of Jeremy's master plan for saving her book, as if she cared. Sensing her frustration, Andrew reached across the table for her hand.

"I know this is a bad situation, but you worked so damn hard on your book. Don't let him take it from you."

Frowning, Autumn speared a forkful of romaine. "I would give it all up—the book deal, the advance, everything—for Veronica to be safe and those women to be alive and well."

"I know you would. And that heart of yours is why you deserve success. We have, what, six months before the release date? Let's worry about it later."

"I guess..."

Stealing a mouthful of her salad, Andrew added, "You can always consult with an advocacy group for domestic violence on how to turn this shitstorm into a positive influence for other survivors."

Moments like these, where Andrew seemed to understand her better than she understood herself—or anticipated her needs before she could articulate them clearly—were why she trusted him with her heart. Leaning over slightly, she was pleased he spared her the strain and met her in the middle for a kiss.

"Thank you."

"I aim to please. Now, may I propose a plan for our afternoon?"

Autumn shrugged. "I'm all ears."

"I wouldn't say that. You have an excellent pair of hips, soft lips, and perfectly round—"

"Andrew!"

"Eyes. God, why do you have to make everything about sex?" he teased.

"Your plans?" she prodded.

"Lazy Sunday: cupcakes from that stand over there," he said, pointing across the dining room. "TV, internet surfing... mindless amusements only. No heavy thinking."

"So we can watch UFC?"

With a feigned look of disgust, he flagged their server. "If we must. Dig through the archives online, perhaps search by awkward or amusing nicknames. I hear they have a fighter nicknamed Cuddly Bear."

"Cuddly Bear?" Autumn snickered quietly as Andrew requested two cupcakes for their room. "Oh, God. That might even beat out
Sexyama
. Bring it on."

"No cheerleader movies. Not even ones featuring Eliza Dushku," Andrew replied firmly, helping her to her feet.

"Too bad I took a tumble. I was so looking forward to showing you my spirit fingers," she demurred.

"We've got time for that."

Pausing before the elevator, she smiled. "Yes. Yes, we do..."

Neither of them noticed a flicker of light dancing along the mirrored walls behind them.

* * *

The key to Veronica's heart: gnocchi. Lesson of the day, as duly noted by Autumn.

As promised, Jeremy had come bearing gifts of pasta and tiramisu, waving off any offers to contribute to the costs. "Company card," he'd explained. "This is a business dinner, after all."

Seated in a sundry of sofas and chairs, the group of six dug into the proffered feast. All discussion of business was put aside, by mutual agreement, until dessert. Although it had taken some coaxing, even Kevin had relented and joined them. Judging from the way he was polishing off the lasagna on his plate, Autumn figured it had been some time since Veronica's chief protection guru had dined on decent fare.

"Mr. Dixon, you are my favourite person of the day!" Veronica enthused. "I could eat ten bowls of this gnocchi."

Evan smirked, nudging Andrew's arm. "Wait for it..."

"
Om nomm nomm!"
Veronica danced around the coffee table, in search of more pasta and another can of Coke.

"I've never known a woman so happy about food," Evan stated, twirling spaghetti on his fork. "It's so attractive."

"Grow up with my mother and you either dread eating or spitefully become a foodie. Anyone else need anything?"

"Tortellini!" Autumn called out. "And all of the Parmesan."

"On it."

Fidgeting with his empty plate, Jeremy reluctantly spoke up. "As much as I'm thrilled to see my great taste in Italian cuisine shared, we do have some business to attend to."

The four friends collectively groaned, resigned to the inevitable serious matters at hand, but hesitant to break the casual happiness of their meal. What was meant to be a vacation had become anything but relaxing. The last forty minutes were the closest thing they'd had in days to a friendly gathering.