The Spark

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you back to school.”

***

I’d been the one to say Donovan and I needed to keep distance, yet I couldn’t leave things the way they’d ended today. After I dropped off Storm at school, I went back to my office to dig into a mountain of paperwork. But I couldn’t focus. I was worried about Bud and wanted to make sure he was okay. So I shot off a quick text to check in with Donovan.

Autumn: Is Bud okay?

Ten minutes later, my phone chimed with a return text.

Donovan: He was robbed last night. They stole his van. He tried to fight them off, so they beat the hell out of him.

Oh no!

I started to type back, but then decided to call. Donovan answered on the first ring.

“Is he okay?”

“He will be. He’s a tough old bastard. He’s got a bruised kidney from a boot kicking him in the back, a broken arm, and some stitches in his face. But the doc said he’ll make a full recovery, though they want to keep him a night or two for observation. When I got to the hospital, he was trying to take out the IVs himself and sign out against medical advice.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he didn’t have anyone to serve di

“Oh my God. That’s crazy.”

“He only agreed to stay because I promised I’d deal with di

“I can’t believe he worries about that more than his own health.”

“No shit.” Donovan sighed.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nah. I already recruited my buddies from the neighborhood to help me serve tonight. I’m just going to pick up twenty buckets of chicken from KFC and mashed potatoes.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.”

“I just hope he doesn’t try to escape again while I’m gone.”

“I could go sit with him, if you want. Keep my eye on him.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, really. I’d be happy to visit him, if you don’t think he’d mind me stopping by.”

“It would probably make his year. Not only are you beautiful, it will give him a chance to tell you more stories about me from when I was a kid that you have no interest in listening to.”

“Who says I have no interest in hearing some juicy stories about you?”

Donovan laughed. “Fine. He’s at Memorial Hospital. The neighborhood isn’t great, so park in the parking lot under a streetlight.”

I smiled. “Yes, Dad.”

“I’m serious. I don’t need the both of you being robbed in twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll park somewhere safe.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there any particular time you think I should stop by?”

“I’ll stick around until probably five. So anytime after that, he’ll be alone.”

“Okay. I’ll go by right after work.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I’m happy to do it. I like Bud a lot.”

“Alright. Just be careful.”

“You, too. If they’re willing to beat up an old man for a van, Lord knows what they’d do for your fancy car.”

After we hung up, I sat at my desk for a long time, feeling a rush of emotions I wasn’t sure what to do with. I felt terrible about what happened to Bud, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d feel if something had happened to Donovan. Some of the things rattling through my head I could deal with—that I’d feel sad, upset, angry, scared. But the one emotion I couldn’t seem to accept was regret.

I’d spent years regretting things I’d done, or the way I’d handled them, until I’d finally come to forgive myself and accept that what happened was not my fault. I’d used regret as a way to punish myself, and here I was doing it all over again.

So I did something before I changed my mind. I picked up my phone and dialed the therapist I hadn’t seen in two years.

“Hi. This is Autumn Wilde. I’d like to make an appointment...”