CHAPTER THREE  ╱  I Bet On Losing Dogs

My mama always said I had a knack for betting on losing dogs. Not just in the romantic sense, of course. Though that's where it seems to scar the most.

            When I was seven, I tried to nurse a wounded baby coyote back to health. Left abandoned and maimed on the outskirts of my parents property. There was just something about the canine, maybe it's the unguarded plea it avowed with its sparkling, hazel gleam.

            Maybe it was my own desire to find a kindredness with someone other than June and her friends. As a child, I was a bit timid. Shy. Quiet. I bled into my twin sister's shadow. She was everything I was not. Nothing about us had been parallel, not even our looks. She favored our mom, while I favored our dad. Sawyer, our eldest brother, was the perfect mixture of the two.

              She was loud, always attracting an adoring crowd wherever she roved with her bright, inviting smile, and sunkissed hair. I was her quiet counterpart that leaked into the background. I was safe there, away from leering eyes. Lanky, hesitant with a straight line for a mouth and thick-rimmed frames drawing attention to my narrow nose. Even amongst the bustle, she'd always grab my hand behind her back and give it a squeeze. A wordless solidarity we'd formed as children at the many functions our family held.

            June never said a word about me dovetailing my way through our respective, yet adjoined lives. She never made me feel like a leech, though I'd definitely began to mimic one by the time we were out of diapers, toddling around, me at her heel. I still do that sometimes. A leopard can't change its spots.

            That's not to say I didn't escape the cruelty of children, even as I stood on my cherished sister's coattail. Kids in our small town could be rather cruel. The ruthless little past tense shits.

            Jeremy Ricker had been one of them. He created a tape my freshman year featuring almost every single girl out of the two hundred and something student body rating me on a scale of one to ten. My ranking was quite low to say the least. He broadcasted the recording during a student assembly. He was expelled, but the humiliation was enough to send me into a full-fledged panic attack that lasted until my senior year. That was when I'd bulked up from working a tireless summer at the Sterling family ranch, Heritage Springs.

           It's also where my crush on Lucy began to fester. I'd always admired the girl from afar, but that summer, I got a taste of what it was like being close to her. Having conversations and laughing with her. We shared inside jokes. She chose to willingly spend time with me, not just on June's behalf. It felt nice. To be seen. Especially by the likes of Lucienne Evans.

            When I returned back to school after that summer, the girls in the video ate their hearts out. That's not to say they didn't suffer before my transformation. June, Lucy, and their friend, Ruthanne (Ruthie) made sure of that.

            Lilliana Gibbons' eyebrows are still oddly shaped after the trio gathered around her while she was sleeping at a slumber party and shaved them clear off her alabaster skin.

It always brings a smirk to my lips, even now. It's the most my tender heart can manage. A villain arch will never been in the cards for me, no matter how many scars are dealt my way.

I didn't tell anyone about that baby coyote, just settled the poor thing into the corner of the Sterling's dormant, old barn.

News flash, coyotes cannot be tamed. No matter how insistent I was that we'd formed a personal connection, the fucker still tried to tear away at my skin. I gave him a name for God's sakes, I didn't expect him to try to tear my finger off. Sue me. (It's merely a figure of speech, so please don't. I'm still trying to pay off my flight school loans.)

I had a series of those kind of occurrences. Sheltering the wounded even if they had a knife tucked snug behind their back, intent on stabbing me with it. It seems I also had a knack for self-induced masochism as well.

Atticus Eaton is another losing dog of mine. Or mutt, rather. I guess I'll never learn.

"Did you catch sight of the flight attendants?" he asks, a toothpick spiraling between his lips as we walk side by side out of the airline's briefing room. He's adorning his signature aviator shades even though we're indoors and the sun is tucked behind a thick sheet of clouds outside.

"No, but I'm assuming you did . . ." I utter impassively, my grip on my duffle tightening. My eyes flick over the airport's window walls as we breeze by them, side by side. Neither of our frames towering over the other since we're both so close in height. Atticus stands at a solid 6'3", while I ease in just an inch above.

            It's in that moment that feeling sinks in, the one that always comes even if I'm bursting at the seems with joy.

            I miss home.

            I'd always wanted to be a pilot, just like my dad. It was the only thing that ever made sense. The sky had always spoken to me, I think. That's what I battle with often. If this—the long hours, the pressure, the days, sometimes weeks away from home—was meant for me like I'd always just  assumed. Or if I was just doing it to please Dad, to set myself apart. What else did I have to offer otherwise? It's a loaded thought. I try not to ponder it much. (Except you do it all of the time!)

"Uh-huh, they'd make for mighty fine course for a future layover. There's a snowstorm brewing. Weatherman says to expect flight delays." Atticus' voice drifts back into the forefront of my focus.

"You're a dog." I scoff. He only smiles in return, all toothy and wide. A bit smug too. Atticus Eaton is always so smug. I love him despite it all. He's a favorite dog of mine, I guess. No matter how much he tears away at the furniture, picking it apart with vicious tugs, I just don't have the heart to get rid of him.

"Come on, Goose!" Atticus insists on the nickname. He's a big Top Gun fan. It doesn't matter that we're just regular commercial pilots and not fighter pilots. Or that Goose dies in the end, "You always leave a brother solo. Never in the mood for a quick lay. I'm starting to think . . . well, you know I'm totally an ally if you're—"

He begins to raise his arm in solidarity with a closed fist. My brows scrunch in disbelief. My nose does a little dance similar, forming wrinkles along the bridge of my nose.

"For God's sakes, I'm not gay!" Just abstinent. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm right there with you," Now I'm holding up a goddamned fist in solidarity. "I'm just—I-I just . . ."

"You're still hung up on the hottie back home?" I want to carve the smirk from his lips and shove it up his ass. He'd probably enjoy it. He wriggles his brows and I shove him. Stumbling dramatically, he releases a thick, hearty bit of laughter. I'm smiling now, amused. Maybe it's Atticus' childish tomfoolery or maybe it's the mere mention of Lucy. My mind can't discern between the difference.

When he's at my side again, he asks, "What was her name? Shit . . . Lillian, right?"

"Lucienne."

"Lucienne!" Atticus shrugs, "It's different. I can dig it. With the times and all."

"She goes by Lucy."

He hums, "Old school. I can dig it just the same." He says it as if his name isn't Atticus.

"Right . . ." I thrum. The two of us fall into a comfortable silence after that, apart from the clinking of wood against Atticus' teeth. When we step through the loading bridge and meander toward the plane, I'm greeted by a mouth full of teeth and smooth, caramel skin.

Fitted in a tight, navy blue that flares around her mid-thighs, brown eyes lock me in place, "Evening, Captain." Her name tag reads: Autumn. It's a real good name, I can't lie. Lucy's face flashes through my mind. Captain.

I'm straining against my suit pants all of a sudden. Frozen in place, I can only manage to bob my head in her direction. An embarrassed expression consumes her features. Her eyes hit the floor, and I watch that bright smile of hers melt away. I'm eager to see it again so I clear my throat and speak softly, a tad bit hoarse, "Heard there was a storm comin'."

I can make out Atticus' shit-eating grin in my peripheral. I scoot a smidge closer to him and pinch the base of his elbow. He swallows a whimper, but he's still smiling like an idiot.

Her eyes find mine again, all hopeful and honest to God the prettiest shade of brown I have ever seen. (Lucy's eyes are brown, too, don't you remember, August?) Like whisky or melted chocolate. She nods her head, a politeness overtaking her lips. They're glossy. She folds them inward for a moment, "They're projecting delays. They're saying we're lucky if we make it to Toronto-Pearson."

I'm not even entirely sure what she said. Mesmerized like a proper idiot, I just nod with a lopsided smile. Someone clears their throat. The noise belongs to the throat of the woman at Autumn's side. I hadn't even noticed her. The woman's eyes ping pong between us, appearing gladden at the interaction. Her name tag displays her name as well. Danielle.

"I hear the Holiday Inn is quite close to Toronto-Pearson. Good reviews, plenty of room." Danielle says.

It's suggestive, her tone. Atticus is pleased, his eyes coasting the blonde's figure. My eyes carry back to Autumn. Hers are occupied by her tiny, black heels. Her toes are a mint-green shade. I make a mental note of it. A new favorite color of mine. My mind evokes the color red. It's a force of habit. A subtle flicker. A harsh reminder. A gut punch. Guilt seeps into my pores. Unrightfully so. A small voice echoes, Lucy! Lucy! Lucy! But all I see presently is Autumn.

I swallow back that uneasiness, "I'm August, by the way. August Driscoll."

Her eyes find mine. Finally.

"Autumn," she extends her hand outward for me to take, so I do. I give it a little squeeze. A smirk descends on my lips. I give them a quick lick. She follows the movement and a grin cracks my face into two halves, "Uh . . . Edison,"

She gives her head a little shake, visibly flustered. She laughs, all light and sweet, "My name . . . it's Autumn Edison."

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Edison."

Very nice indeed.

            (Are you sure about that?)

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APRIL SPEAKS!

i already wrote the last few chapters
of this book. y'all are so not ready for
this one. (sorry in advance!) 🤍