by Butler, Eden
Finally, Donovan catches the yapping beast and tucks her under his arms. “She’ll laugh. It’ll be fine.” He scratches the dog under its chin and the back leg starts shaking.
“If you say so.”
“Whatever. Besides we were talking about you and Autumn. Worry about that. Ow.” Donovan drops Honey to the floor when she nips at his finger. He doesn’t bother to chase her, lets her sniff and move under the bench and into open bottom lockers. “So? What are you going to do?”
It was a good question. Something I’ve wracked my brain over for days now. She wanted action and not the kind that had us sweaty and naked. Unfortunately. But I knew my angel. Knew that she didn’t expect me to wine and dine her. That isn’t who she is. Donovan’s face is worried, frown deep as he watches me.
“I’ve got no bleeding clue.”
“You better start thinking. Make it something that focuses on her. Girls love that shit. But it’s got to be something that proves that the only thing you care about is her forgiveness.” My best mate picks up his shoe and turns it upside down over the trash bin. “Autumn’s not the type to wait for things to happen. And trust me, you don’t want to have to live down the fact that she made up first. Girls are funny about that kind of shit and they have long fucking memories.”
“Says the man who kidnapped Layla’s dog.”
“I don’t think I can do this, mate.” The cold window outside of McKinney’s pub leaves moisture against my brow. I think if I hit my head enough something will break loose and I won’t care that I’m about to humiliate myself in front of the whole town.
Also, yeah, couldn’t really do the whole giving Autumn space bit.
“Dude, you gotta just suck it up and get on with it.” Donovan nudges me toward the door, but I don’t step through.
Inside, I can see Joe, Sayo, Mollie and Layla all wearing stupid blue and white birthday hats, singing to my stepdad who is seated at the center of a long, wooden table. His cake is a replica of Doctor Who’s TARDIS, and a ghost of a smile plays on Joe’s face. He looks at Autumn and tries to seem chipper, they both smirk, nod, but I get the feeling from those expressions that they are not altogether overjoyed with this party. There is a crowd, at least twenty people who have come to wish Joe a happy birthday.
Behind them is a stage with a spotlight, a single microphone on a stand and a large karaoke machine. I close my eyes and my stomach shoots a knot into my chest. I have no voice, am completely tone-deaf, a fact I tried to make Autumn understand a few months back when Sayo’s mad idea of us all entering a karaoke contest found me getting light headed on the stage and clamming up to the beat of Ray Charles’ “I Got a Woman” I woke up ten minutes later with Autumn hovering over me, fanning my face saying “Okay then, Declan and stage fright, not a good combo. Never do that again.”
When Sayo stands to make a toast, Donovan pushes me inside, leads me, unnoticed along the edge of the room and right up next to the stage. My hands are clammy and I can feel sweat dripping on the back of my neck. Sayo’s still talking, lifting her glass to my stepdad and just when the crowd calls “To Joe” Donovan hits the lights and the entire room goes dark.
There are a few murmurs, shocks and gasps, but then I hear my best mate next to me, flicking on the Play button to the machine, turning on the spindly, remote spotlight, and I take the stage.
I’m going to vomit.
“I know this is your night, Joe, but desperate times and all,” I say into the mic, swallowing thick when every eye in the room turns to me.
No, seriously, I’m about to vomit.
My rhythm is off and my voice cracks, I start before the music, my version of “Nothing Compares 2 U,” Prince, because Autumn prefers it to Sinead, and already I’m feeling light headed.
“It’s been a hundred-ninety-two hours and one day…since you took your love away.”
The room is silent save for the small laughter coming from Joe’s table. But it isn’t my step da laughing his arse off. Sayo and Layla’s smiles are too wide, their teeth seem too white so I look in front of them, see Autumn’s slow turn and then the exaggerated way her mouth hangs open. She knows I’d only do this for her. Part one of a monumental action: public humiliation.
“I stay in every night and haven’t slept a day…since you took your love away.”
My mouth feels thick, salvia and something fecking nasty-tasting shooting near the back of my throat has me swallowing repeatedly; I’m the Woody Allen of bad karaoke.
“Since you’ve been gone I can’t do anything I want, I don’t wanna see anyone but you…eat my dinner from a cardboard box, and nothing can take away these blues…”
The bridge starts and Autumn gets up, walking straight toward me with her hands covering her mouth and a worried look putting wrinkles between her eyebrows. I start to see stars, the sweat on the back of my neck slides down my spine and I have to lean on the mic stand to keep my balance. No, I tell myself. You can do this, mate.
She comes closer, stepping into the spot light that is beating down on me like a laser and I miss the next verse, miss the chorus again because now I have double vision. Two gorgeous Autumn’s stepping in front of the stage, two right hands reaching for me, two sympathetic frowns wrinkling double sets of lips.
“Declan, you’re turning green,” she says, grabbing hold of my moist hands and pulling me down to sit on the stage. “What were you thinking?”
I sway a bit, push a smirk onto my lips when she kneels in front of me. “Actions. You like actions, don’t you, love?”
“Karaoke? Sweetie, you chose to humiliate yourself in order to get me to forgive you?”
She comes to me easily, lands on my lap and her arms go around me like always, like they should. Suddenly, I don’t feel so sick. “I do that and more, McShane. Anything, I’d do anything.”
When she kisses me, the crowd around us explodes. There are cheers and claps, and people I don’t know slapping me on the back. Fuck ‘em. I don’t care. I have my angel wrapped around me, her tongue in my mouth, her arms gripping me like I’m a lifeline that will keep her grounded to the earth.
“Thank you,” she says.
Another kiss and I move my head back to look at her. “That pathetic song wasn’t my apology. I have my apology in my pocket.”
“Another first edition?”
“Hardly, McShane.” I pat her arse, moving her off of me and inhale deep. Really, what I’m about to do should have my skin green and my stomach rebuking everything I’ve eaten for the past two days. Right then. Part two. Before I chicken out, I drop to my knee, pull the box from my coat pocket and again, the pub goes deathly silent. More gasps, a few “oh shits!” and I clearly hear Joe’s low, happy laugh. But my eyes are only for Autumn, watching as her eyebrows lift, as she looks around the room, as she covers her mouth again, this time with trembling fingers.
“Declan…wait…”
“I love you, McShane. Will you have me?” Simple and to the point, and highlighted by the whine of the box opening and the split platinum band, one carat square diamond set in the center of black velvet.
The pub now is deathly silent, every eye turned toward us, every voice muted in anticipation of Autumn’s reaction. The longer she stares, the wider her eyes get and then they slip around the crowd, to her friends, to Joe before returning to me. One shake of her head and I think my heart sounds like a bass drum. Surely everyone else can hear it too.
“Answer him, sweetheart,” Joe calls and Autumn’s quick whip of her head and menacing glare wipes the easy smile from his face.
Knee aching, I stand, begin to say something, but she attacks me, throws her arms around my neck, kisses me like she is needy, desperate for my lips. We ignore the claps around us, the laughter and just take each other in, hands touching, lips meeting and the drum in my heart settles to a slow rhythm.
“Is that a yes, then?” I ask, expecting her nod, expecting her laugh not to be quite as loud as it is. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, sweetie, I
love you. You were made for me.”
Another kiss and I arch an eyebrow, growing confused when she still doesn’t answer my question. “McShane, will you marry me or not?”
“I will. Someday.”
“Someday?”
“Yeah, someday,” she takes the ring box from me, staring down at it. There is a smile pulling her face and her eyes have softened as though she’s thoroughly pleased with the ring I picked out. Finally, she looks back up at me, touches my face. “Someday. But it’s barely been four months since we started dating. It’s too soon, but someday will come and when it does, then I’ll wear this beautiful ring.”
I try to refuse her kiss but I’ve missed how good she feels. I couldn’t push her away if I wanted to. “Wait, are you telling me no?” I ask, needing clarification.
Autumn exhales, her arms in a lazy rest on my shoulder, but her cheeks are pink, her eyes fan over my face and I can tell she is happy, that she isn’t being cruel. “I’m telling you to ask me again sometime.”
“Sometime,” I say, and a slow smile breaks across my face, not sure if I’ve ever been happier being rejected. At least there’s the promise of tomorrow.
We are pulled apart, her friends coming up to her, hugging her, Donovan punching my shoulder, Joe’s poker buddies and pub regulars circle us, even though all I want is to touch Autumn again, to be alone with her. Maybe ask her if now is too soon for “sometime.”
Sayo, Mollie and Layla are drilling Autumn with questions, but she keeps looking over her shoulder to where I’m standing with Donovan. My best mate slips a beer in my hand, starts talking about how rubbish my voice is, but I ignore his insults. Can’t pay attention to much else but that gorgeous angel smiling at me. I stepped toward her when she bites her lip, giving me a look I am all too familiar with and fecking ecstatic to see. I know what that look means. That’s her “take me” look.
I’m about to grab her and throw her over my shoulder, tired already of the attention, desperate only for her mouth, her skin, but just then Joe slaps my back, nods toward my front pocket where I’ve stored the ring.
“You took the money?” he says and I want to roll my eyes at his smug grin.
“I took it. You were right. I need to be able to take care of her.” I wouldn’t tell Joe that the ring was bought with next semester’s tuition money. The DNA test didn’t take long and I’m definitely an O’Malley, but my inheritance would take time to get to me. I’ll put back what I used before my stepdad is any the wiser.
Joe’s hand comes to my neck and he leans down to speak into my ear. “I never doubted you could, son. You’re the best lad for the job.”
I can’t answer him, can’t believe he said that. I thought that’s why he was so keen for me to take the money. Otherwise, I was certain he didn’t think I could take care of Autumn. I hate that my eyes are welling, just a bit.
My stepdad’s expression isn’t ridiculous, he isn’t grinning like a fool or laughing. He seems determined, content and when I catch Autumn’s glance again, I know Joe’s happy because our family is restored.
Shaking off Joe’s words, I manage to weave around the crowd, the excitement of the drama finally settling, more drinks been poured, folks far more capable than me cranking up the karaoke machine again and letting loose, and then bleeding finally, my arms around Autumn’s waist again.
“Is it ‘sometime’ yet, love?”
Her head falls back against my shoulder and she kisses my cheek. “No. Not yet.”
A bit put out, slightly annoyed, I’m about to argue, but then Autumn takes her hand from my arm and slips it to the front of my trousers. Bugger.
“McShane…” I warn, eyes looking around us to make sure no one is paying attention to the movement of her fingers or the way my chest is rising and falling.
She turns around, slipping her arms onto my neck. “Almost two weeks, Declan. Two freaking weeks.”
“Whose fault is that then?” I can see the argument about to leave her mouth, so I kiss her, quick, to keep her quiet. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t leave Joe’s party.”
Our friends won’t miss us, have already downed shots, sang every annoying song in the playlist and Joe is leaning against the bar trying to fight the nap he clearly wants to take. Layla and Donovan are being civil to each other—that won’t last long, trust me. That civility will end just as soon as she discovers Donovan is responsible for her missing baby. The rest of the party is more concerned with heckling whatever drunken sod is trying to slur through Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”
“They’re all pie-eyed. Let’s just leave and—” she silences me with the shake of her head. So I try for another tactic. Seduction. She comes to me with very little effort, molding to me when I pull against her arse so she can feel the reason why I want to be gone. “Love, come on now, they won’t miss you. I need you.”
“Declan…” I don’t give her the chance to finish her fussing. I kiss her again right in the middle of the party, slip my tongue inside and feel her tremble against me. “Fine,” she says, pulling back, looking around the crowd until she stares down the corridor behind the bar.
I know what’s back there, have vivid, fecking memories of that place. But, she can’t be serious. “McShane? The bathroom?”
“It’s one of my favorite places.”
My mouth opens to protest, but then she drags me through the thinning crowd, past the tables littered with bottles and stale chips and down the hallway before she pushes my chest, throws me through the bathroom door.
She leans against the wall and I smile, remembering the last time we were here together. I’d caught her off guard, locked her in and she left me cold and panting after the want of her. When Autumn bites her lip, gives me that “take me” look again, I throw my jacket off and stalk toward her.
“Lock the door.”
Her hand slides behind her and the click of the lock sounds like a promise.
Karen Chapman is a big nag. She fusses at me daily. If I’m on Facebook or reading or doing anything other than writing (for her) then I get a fussing. I couldn’t be more grateful for that. Sometimes, we creative types really do need a swift kick in the butt. Karen does that daily. Thank you, friend. I so appreciate your love and support.
This novella would not have been written if it weren’t for the amazingly supportive readers who found their way to my Facebook page. Y’all are amazing and I am so thankful that you are taking this journey with me. I’d especially like to thank Sarah Leal, Allyson Lavigne Wilson, Sarah Theisen, Tracie Payne, Andrea Booker, Trish Finley Leger and Kelly Smith who were among the very first to support me. Your confidence in me is humbling. Your friendship is essential.
Thank you to Sharon Browning who edited this novella despite the personal hurdles she has had to jump over in the past few months. You really are inspiring and amazing and I hope there will always, always be a Sunday paper for you, my love. Thank you.
If it weren’t for Ing Cruz, Chasing Serenity would have likely been a standalone novel. She pushed me toward a series (and this novella). Thank you so much, Ing for believing in me (and Declan) so early on.
Thanks, Penelope Douglas for your support and friendship and for sending me all the emails and phone numbers I needed to get my stuff sorted. I’m pretty sure our husbands were separated at birth. God help us all, there are TWO of them roaming the planet. You’re my heroine, lady. Please keep rocking out those amazing novels and hitting the best seller’s list. You are an inspiration.
To Christopher Ledbetter, who slapped my hand when Declan wasn’t coming across manly enough; to Jessica Shamburger, who is still looking for her Declan (I have my eyes open for you, doll) and to Janette Meyers and Angie Dilmore for their speedy beta reads. If every writer had you guys critiquing their stuff, bookshelves would be loaded down with amazing fiction. Thank you so much.
Thanks to my buddy Steven Novack for another fabulous cover and to Angela McLaurin, of Fictional Formats for
making this book pretty. And to you wonderful, amazing, fabulous bloggers, especially Maryse’s Book Blog, Aestas, Janna Masburn and all the folks at Beauty Brains and Books, Alaina Keller of Jenee’s Book Blog, Marie Anderson-Simmons and Michelle Monkou for the USA Today nod.
As always, my daughters and husband keep me grounded, keep me smiling and completely understand when I need to disappear to Cavanagh. I love you all.
Eden Butler is an editor and writer of New Adult Romance, SciFi and Fantasy novels and the nine-time great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.
When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden writes, reads and spends too much time watching rugby, “Doctor Who” and New Orleans Saints football. Currently, she is imprisoned under teenage rule alongside her husband in Southeastern Louisiana.
Please send help.
Find Eden on Twitter , Facebook and her blog .
Also by Eden Butler:
Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity Book 1)
Behind the Pitch (Seeking Serenity 1.5)
Finding Serenity (Seeking Serenity Book 2) Spring, 2014
