by Eden Butler
“How do you know what I want? You’re the one that made no promises. You’re the one that made certain I gave you none either and then, when I do something as simple as flirt with some bird you act like a jealous girlfriend. The bloody hell am I supposed to think?”
Heather is the last thing on my mind. Yes, I lost it when I saw her pawing at him, but this all goes deeper than that tart wanting in his pants. This was about Quinn telling half-truths and failing to acknowledge what’s his for the taking.
When my hand lifts, latches onto his wrist, Quinn’s shoulders tense, as though he suspects an attack. “Did you donate that money?”
His eyes are peering, hard, but he says nothing.
“Did you paint the mural because Rhea asked or because you wanted to?”
There is a shift in his expression, those piercing eyes shifting, but still Quinn remains silent.
“You loved her, didn’t you?”
Those thick lips move, press together until they are tight, as though he has to force himself not to speak.
“You…” I take the advantage, knowing he won’t reject me, knowing he won’t walk away from me; when I move my hand up his arm, Quinn watches my fingers, catching each touch as it crosses his arm. “You love me, don’t you Quinn?”
His jaw works and the tension in his face eases but Quinn doesn’t speak.
“I…”
“Sayo?” Someone calls, breaking us a part until Sam is at my side with a hand grazing my elbow. “Everything okay?”
“She’s fine,” Quinn says, stepping in front of me like a caveman.
“Sorry, man, but I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“Maybe you should be.” He folds his arms, head tilted in a challenge I know Sam won’t take. Living in Cavanagh and working at McKinney’s has taught him better than to cross an Irishman who’s been drinking. “Maybe you should stop bleeding talking to her altogether.”
“Who the hell do you think…”
“She is not for you.” He pokes Sam’s chest, eyes sharp. “Get that through your skull right bleeding now and bugger off.”
“The pair of you,” I say, glaring at them both, waving a hand to silence them when they both look eager to argue with me. “Stop with the chest thumping. It’s pointless.”
The pictures have been taken. My friends are pie eyed. So while the boys play their pissing match, I simply turn and walk out of McKinney’s, annoyed, irritated by Quinn and Sam’s pissing match and feeling less hopeful than I had after I left the warehouse this morning.
Quinn. God how I wish Declan would have left him in Ireland. My life would be a lot less complicated if he had.
And I’d be miserable.
“But I’m already miserable,” I say to myself.
“Why, love?” For a moment, I think I am imagining Quinn’s voice, but he’s real, and I haven’t gotten more than a block from the bar before he’s come for me.
“Because you’re here.” I expect him to frown, to drop his mask again, but he doesn’t. This time, he reaches for me, turns me to face him, and his touch is gentle, almost sweet. When I look into his eyes, they are unguarded, sincere.
“You… you don’t want me to be?”
“No.” There is a crumble of concrete next to the drain on the street and I kick the small bits, toeing them between the grate. “Yes. Hell, I don’t know. God you’re just so…”
“Sayo,” he says, holding my shoulders. “Just what is it that you want from me?”
I could say a lot things, each more ridiculous than the next. Finally I settle on what my heart tells me.
“I want real. I told you that. I want you to tell me the truth about the donation, about the mural about… about Rhea.”
“And about you?”
I look down, unable to take the tease in his eyes. “You can’t do that can you? You can’t be real.”
“Nobody is realer than me, love. Especially,” he says, stepping closer, “not wankers with blonde hair and dimples whose greatest achievement in life is managing a bar in the smallest bleeding town in America.”
I shake my head. “You’re jealous of Sam?”
“Hardly, but that doesn’t mean I like him sniffing around you, trying to chat you up.”
That smug amusement twitching his mouth drops altogether when I tilt my head, frowning at him. “Oh he did more than that.”
Quinn works his jaw, nostrils flaring as he moves a step toward me. “What did he do, Sayo and when did he fecking do it? Today? Last week?”
“The night I saw you with Declan. The night Layla had the baby.”
I can almost see him thinking. It was the same night I went to him, the night he told me he wanted nothing from me. He’d touched me then and I’d never mentioned Sam or what he’d offered me. “And what did he do then? After I left?”
“After you ran away?” The wall behind me of the closed bakery hits my back as I move from him, but Quinn follows.
“Tell me.”
“He kissed me.”
Quinn is livid, but his rage is calm, collected. A purse of his thick lips, the dip of his eyebrows, his jaw moving as he grinds his teeth—I expect him to turn quickly, jog back to McKinney’s and find Sam, maybe knock him around a bit. Instead, he retains his cool, stretching out one arm to rest his palm next to my head on the brick. When he speaks, that voice is lethal, low. “He kissed you.”
“He did.”
Quinn pops his neck, letting those nostrils flare once before he leans down, both hands now against the brick wall behind me. “And what did you do when that wanker kissed you?”
“Oh. Well, for a few seconds,” I start, trying not to grin when Quinn’s mouth thins out further, “I guess I kissed him back.”
“A few seconds?” I nod and Quinn grunts, passing off the frustrated sound by clearing his throat. “And after a few seconds?”
“I told him to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized I didn’t want to kiss Sam.” I grab Quinn’s collar, surprising him. He comes close with no resistance, leaning into me like he has no control. “Because as he was kissing me…” I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing, “as he let his tongue slip into my…”
“I get the bleeding picture, woman.”
“Anyway… as he kissed me I realized he shouldn’t be.”
Finger against my forehead, Quinn brushing back my hair, licking his lips as he watches me. “And why is that, Sayo?”
“Because I didn’t want him. I didn’t want to be with him. Because, Quinn, I realized I didn’t love him.” He lifts his eyebrows, waiting. “I knew I shouldn’t be kissing Sam because I was in love with you. God help me, that was when I realized how much I love you.”
His expression shifts. He’s fighting disbelief, mistrust, hope, but then his face transforms and he relaxes, releasing a sigh. “I… I don’t know how to do this a’tall. I’ve never… Sayo, I think.” Another exhale and Quinn rubs the back of his neck but doesn’t step out of my reach. “I might, but I don’t know how to…” He takes a breath. “It wasn’t just you and you… Jaysus, I wanted to forget too. It wasn’t just you. I needed you. I… I still do.” When Quinn blinks, leaning toward me, I catch his face between my hands, breathing in deep when he rests his forehead against mine. “I’ve been alone a long time and family hasn’t ever meant much to me but you… you and Rhea and shite, even Fraser, have given me pause. The only thing I know for sure, Sayo, is that you’re the only family I want. I might not be good at saying the words…”
“It’s okay.” I didn’t need to hear the words. I knew what was in his heart. That had been clear in his sketch of me. “I’ll teach you, Quinn.”
JUNIOR HIGH. MRS. ELTON’S third period History class. That was the day I met Autumn. Rory Callahan called me a filthy name, something to do with my oval eyes. I had never heard the slur before but knew from his tone it was meant to be an insult. Autumn decked him in the nose and got detention. When I asked her why she’d defended me, she answ
ered very simply: “Because no one should be picked on for being different.”
She was the boldest thing I’d ever seen and I’d spent the next twenty years watching my best friend grow bolder, get tougher, endure more sadness than most folks. And now, sitting on Joe’s front porch, I watch my best friend say goodbye to Mollie and Layla and kiss that beautiful baby, Evie, like she’ll never see her again.
“Oh, you have to send me videos and pictures, every day.” Layla nods and Autumn ignores her to plant yet another kiss on Evie’s round cheeks. “I mean it. Every single day, promise, Layla.”
“I will. I swear, sweetie.”
They’ve been saying goodbye for twenty minutes.
I can only watch, not willing to move from the swing, ignoring Declan and Quinn huddled near the hood of the car with Joe, muttering things that are probably complaints about how long it takes us to leave each other.
They’d never understand. What man would? There is a bond women have. There is a union that occurs when time, when circumstance binds you to another person. Who else but a woman could understand the heartache of a lost love? The wrenching pain caused by a failure or rejection because of who you are? Who else but another woman could understand the dull weight of frustration when others set limits our minds can’t accept? When the world tries to enforce those limits? No man understands our sisterhood. How in the world could they understand what it is to let that bond go?
My thoughts weigh me down just watching Mollie and Layla crying with Autumn, making promises for texts and chats, visits on holidays. And finally, when they have exhausted themselves with tears, Autumn looks up at me, her smile twitching.
If I stay put, she won’t be able to leave.
If I don’t move, she won’t be able to say goodbye.
It is a juvenile response—digging my feet into the metaphorical ground in some pathetic attempt to keep my best friend here with me. I can’t find it in myself to care how ridiculous it is. I can’t be bothered with how my reaction may seem to the others.
Quinn nods, encouraging me to leave the porch and though his mild smile is sweet, beautiful, it doesn’t make me move. I think maybe Autumn will give up, settle for a wave and then text me from the car, but that doesn’t happen either.
She makes her way up to the swing before I can tell her to stop. If she sits next to me, that will be it. She’ll say goodbye and I will be left without my best friend.
I shut my eyes, squeezing them tight, trying to tell myself that the pain will ease. Most pain does. I try to convince myself that this farewell is not permanent. But I don’t know that.
The swing moves and that familiar scent—the one that reminds me of sleep overs and braided hair, over long weekends in our PJs and drunken parties with faceless rugby players— swirls around me one more time.
“Sayo.” There is no judgement in her voice, no admonishment that tells me she thinks I’m being a brat. Her tone is gentle and kind, and I realize that of the two of us, Autumn has finally become the adult. I may be older. I may have finished my education and set out on a profession before her, but right now, in this moment, Autumn is the one who truly grew up.
“Breakfast, every Saturday morning. What will you do?”
“Get up when Declan does and have a bite with him.”
I flash her a glance, horrified by the prospect. “With a boy? Breakfast is for besties.” My gaze shoots to Declan, laughing with Quinn, listening to Donovan’s animated story that keeps them all smiling, and I shrug. “I guess he’ll be good company. But God, Autumn won’t you get lonely over there? He’ll be practicing and doing matches all over the place.”
“And I’ll follow, when I can and when I can’t, we’ll adjust.” She leans forward, crossing her ankles before she rests her elbow on her knees looking up at me. “I’ll have Joe to keep me company when Deco’s not there.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I wouldn’t either if it was you leaving me behind.” She exhales, looping her pinky to mine with her voice lowering, sounding a little sad. “Aren’t you… aren’t you happy for me?”
My best friend had endured so much loss—Joe leaving her, her mother’s death, Tucker abandoning her after two years. It wasn’t until Declan stepped into her life that her smile returned and it hasn’t left her in nearly three years. I glance back at Declan who now leans against the car, hands in his pockets next to Quinn. They both watch me and Autumn.
All I ever wanted for my friends is even the smallest hint of joy. Mollie got that with Vaughn, despite the obstacles thrown in their way. Layla and Donovan got that when they finally stop getting in their own way. And Autumn, my sweet friend, she was the first to take what she wanted. She took a risk, the chance that she might not be loved back due to her past and Declan’s being so intertwined, the risk that in loving him might have caused too much pain.
And yet, my friends found their happiness.
“Of course I am,” I tell Autumn, knocking my shoulder against hers. “It’s just, God, Autumn you’re leaving me with Quinn.”
“Ha, friend, stop acting like that’s a burden.”
One quick smile at him and Quinn stops speaking to Declan, eyebrows up, curious. He was a conundrum, something that I wasn’t sure I’d ever figure out. Gone was the self-centered asshole who thought the world owed him a favor. In his place was a self-centered asshole who was learning that he owed the world a favor for getting him through a sickened childhood and the heartache that loving and then losing someone always causes.
“He told me last night that he never wanted to feel what he does for me.”
Autumn’s gaze is sharp and worried, but I shake my head, and ease her fear with my quick laugh. “He’s never had to worry about loving someone before. Well, someone who doesn’t claim to love him for all the wrong reasons.”
“It’s a new world for him.”
“Yeah,” I say, moving the swing with my feet. “And it’s ours for the taking.” I look at her and our eyes meet. “All of ours.” My best friend’s chin shakes as she watches me and I think of a hundred different things I could say in this moment—promises that might make her wonder if leaving Cavanagh really was the right thing to do. Scenarios to test her loyalty, challenges that encourage her to stay. But in the end, if we love someone, we always do what’s best for them, even if it breaks our heart.
“It’s yours. Just make sure you do us proud.”
“I love you,” she says, hugging me in a rush that catches me off guard. Autumn kisses me, whispers a dozen promises I know she’s good for and then we both leave the porch, arm in arm, at least until we reach the driveway.
Another round of goodbyes, more hugs and kisses and my best friend, her husband and father are off in Vaughn’s car with Mollie, all heading for their new lives.
“Going to be a bit weird here,” Quinn says, nodding toward Joe’s house. “Me being the only one left behind, I mean.”
“Hmm, maybe you can throw a wild party. Get a bunch of girls over and…” he silences me with a kiss, one that has little Evie staring and Layla trying to cover her eyes as she and Donovan walk inside.
“I don’t want any other girls over here.” Quinn hugs me, kissing my forehead, the tip of my nose before he lands a soft kiss on my mouth. “You’re the only one I want.”
“And why is that?” I ask, knowing the answer but still loving the hearing of it.
“Will you ever tire of me saying it?” I shake my head, nudging him to repeat the same thing he told me two weeks ago when he admitted he loved me. Quinn sighs, shaking his head as he indulges me again. “You’re like a cigarette, Sayo. So bleeding bad for me and you get stuck, inside my chest. Everything inside me absorbs you and you fill me up.” He’s repeated it so often I could practically mouth the words before he speaks them, but I let Quinn continue, closing my eyes when he runs his fingers down my face. “You stay there, among the bits of me that are dying. The difference is, you heal it all. You clean away all that darkness.”
“And that’s why you want me? Because I keep you clean?”
“No, love. I want you because you made me catch peace. You made me realize how much I wanted it in the first place. I want you because I love you. Isn’t that enough?”
“More than enough.”
And it was, with him. I’d stay with Quinn because he drew pictures that brought life to Rhea’s hope, because he’d given a dying girl the last bit of happiness left to her. I’d stay because Quinn had drawn me in curves and lines without shadows, with nothing more than who I really was. I’d stay because the hope we held between us was caught up in memory, in love and loyalty.
He says I made him want it, that it was me that had him catching that serenity. Really, it was there for us both, wanting to be held, waiting for us to hold it in our hands.
The End
THE SERENITY SERIES first landed on the page after my father died of pancreatic cancer three years ago. I find it ironic that his death brought life to a lot of emotion that has evolved into plots and metaphors that all these characters feel at some point. In many ways, it is my father’s death, and later a dear friend and a brave young woman I did not know, their stories and inspiration, at least, that are woven throughout this series. That doesn’t mean this is a series of books that focuses on loss and death. I think the opposite can be said of Autumn, Mollie, Layla and Sayo and the loves they found in Cavanagh. This place, these people, this series is about love—all aspects of it: chasing it, finding it, claiming it, catching it, learning from it, suffering for it and embracing it.
As with all things I consider accomplishments, I have to thank several people mostly for enduring my complaints and excuses, for rattling me when I needed it and for cheering me on when I thought I could not write another word.
Thank you to my editor, Sharon Browning for your insight and brutal honesty. It helps me grow and thrive. I could publish nothing without you. Thank you to Judy Lovely for stepping in at the last minute to copy edit. You are a life saver, my Lovely. Thank you to Beth Bilbrey Simkanin and Teresa Matzek for the playlist suggestions and to all my girls (and Mike) at MBS, the Vixens Writers Group, Relentless Reviewers and, as always, my Sweet Team and betas: Trish Leger, Judy Lovely, Carla Castro, Naarah Scheffler, LK Westhaver, Lorain Domich, Melanie Brunsch, Michelle Horstman-Thompson, Allyson Lavigne Wilson, Chanpreet Singh, Emily Lamphear, Heather Weston-Confer, Betsy Gehring, Allison Coburn, Christopher Ledbetter, Heather McCorkle, Joy Chambers, Jazmine Ayala, Joanna Holland, Jessica D. Hollyfield, Tina Jaworski and Sammy Llewellyn.
