Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Ezra
It isn’t difficult to shove Mav onto his butt. Once he’s down, he’s not getting up. The world is a carousel to him. He moans and groans and calls me every name in the book from his seat.
It’s jarring to see him just as he always was: loud and mean and undeservingly cruel. My cheek stings where it’s split open, where Mav hit my phone and my phone smashed into my face. But it’s Autumn I’m worried about. I’ve suffered worse at the hands of my father. And while it’s been a while, Dr. Appleby was right. I’ve worked past this. Seeing him does not turn me back into an unsure, scared kid. It doesn’t give me guilt for leaving him or not being able to change him. It makes me understand who he is and who I am not. I am not this man’s son. By choice. I am free of him.
But Autumn hasn’t had the same help as me. Silent tears pelt her cheeks and she’s completely shut down.
“I can meet you at the car,” I tell her, handing her my keys, but she doesn’t answer and she doesn’t reach for them. “Autumn—”
She stares ahead at Mav, on the ground, causing a scene.
Canelo gets there just in time to hear one more foul-mouthed complaint about me. My heart pounds with the words I’ve heard a hundred times before—words he’s thrown at me my whole life: worthless, good for nothing, useless, insignificant, and on and on. But they don’t penetrate. I don’t let them. I know my worth, and it does not come from this man.
“Come on, Mav,” Canelo says, yanking my dad to his feet.
Mav spits one more time in my direction and the mark lands one foot from Autumn’s brown boots.
“You ungrateful piece of—”
Canelo slams the cruiser door shut, and with it, Mav's rants go silent.
“You are a better man than me, Ezra. I would have shut him up with my fist.” Canelo’s brows bounce once. Did my lawful friend just give me permission for disorderly conduct as long as it’s warranted?
“Where are you taking him?”
“He can cool off behind bars tonight.”
I nod once—good.
I turn back for Autumn, but she’s already walking five steps ahead of me in the direction of the parking space we purposely took—a mile away from the festival so we could walk hand in hand this fall night.
Jogging three long steps, I catch up to her. I reach for her hand but she folds her arms into a tight fold.
“I’m sorry, Autumn. I know he caused a scene and—”
“Do you really think I care about a scene?” She swats at another tear on her face, growling in the process as if that tear has insulted her.
I’m not sure what the answer is here. No one loves a scene like that, right? “Okay. Still, you’re upset and I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d—”
She stops her trek, only feet from the car. “Of course you didn’t know. I’m not blaming you.” But her tone says she’s angry…
I scratch my head. Once upon a time, I felt responsible for Mav's actions. Somehow in my mind, his wrongs were my fault. Somehow I was supposed to control or change him.
I know better now.
I’m not responsible for his words or actions. And while I’m sorry that encounter happened, I won’t take credit for it. Autumn wouldn’t want me to. But she’s clearly upset. And I’m not sure how to help.
“I’m sorry,” she says through another bout of tears.
“You?” I shake my head. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“If I hadn’t brought you to the festival. If you hadn’t been here .”
“Autumn.” I wrap one hand around each of her shoulders, dipping my head to force eye contact. “No one is responsible for Mav but him. I’m not going to live in a box because Mav Bennett is still alive and ranting. So, what’s new? His behavior tonight isn’t my fault and it isn’t yours.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow and she nods, but no words escape her.
Leaning in, I press a soft kiss to her mouth. She lets me, but she doesn’t kiss me back.