Cavanagh - Serenity Series, Vol I (Seeking Serenity)

by Eden Butler

  Dear God. Declan Fraser is in my bed.

  A quick survey of my body brings instant relief. My shoes are missing, but I am still wearing my burgundy dress. A glance up at Declan, and the only article of clothing he’s missing is his shirt. He rolls on his back and I can’t help but look at him. He’s beautiful. His chest peaks with firm, abundant muscle. There is the scar below his navel he showed me and the faint patch of dark hair that runs in trail beneath his jeans. I swallow, my mouth already like a wad of cotton when I notice the deep depressions along his hips.

  When I shift away from him, he nudges closer and his arm curls across my stomach, pulling me down to spoon against his hard body. Still asleep, Declan makes an odd little noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a moan and a growl. He moves his hips up once against me and my eyes widen. I forgot what having something so male in my bed, especially in the morning, feels like. I need to move.

  The second my feet hit the rug, I dart toward the bathroom and jump in the shower. I hope the noise I make wakes him up. I hope he’s as mortified as I am and that we can establish a silent agreement to never, ever, talk about last night and our little snog fest against the wall.

  Or our bump and grind on the dance floor.

  In front of people I see every day on campus.

  My loud groan is muted by the thick spray when I soak under the showerhead. The hot water does little to dissipate the continuous thump and throb that racks against my skull. My routine is purposefully slow and I listen occasionally for any movement outside the door. The loud roar of the hair dryer doesn’t seem to wake him, nor does the faucet running as I brush my teeth or my frequent “ahem” of throat clearing as I do my make-up. Still not a peep from my bedroom.

  My thick terrycloth robe covers my shoulders and I make my way back into my room smiling, relieved, when I notice my empty bed. Thank God he’s gone. I put on my underwear and cool off from my shower, walking around my room with nothing on but my bra and panties. When I head for the kitchen, hoping I still have the ingredients to make a hangover remedy, a little scream issues from my throat at Declan, sitting shirtless on a barstool, inhaling one of my freshly made muffins.

  He notices me staring at him in nothing but my underwear and pauses with the muffin inches from his mouth. Without the slightest hint of shame, he scans up and down my body.

  “McShane,” he says in greeting. “These are delicious.”

  My hands instantly run over my leg, to cover the scars there, to my stomach, hiding the red incision line. Declan has the decency not to stare at my battered body too long. Besides, he hasn’t left, which I find annoying. His invasive presence is still very much in my apartment, so I release my embarrassment and I don’t bother to cover myself. If he’s not uncomfortable seeing me half naked, then why should I be? It’s my damn apartment.

  The sharp coolness of the fridge makes my skin pebble when I open it and I sigh when I move the contents of my refrigerator around and can’t find the tomato juice. Declan clears his throat and pushes a large glass of red liquid toward me.

  “Bloody Mary?”

  “God yes,” I say and lift the glass to my lips.

  The scent hits my stomach and when I sip from the glass, the drink lands in my insides like a brick. I down it anyway, eager for the pounding in my head to ease. “Thanks,” I say and he nods. I rest my elbow against the bar next to Declan and finish off the Bloody Mary. “I don’t just mean about this.”

  “Are we going to have that conversation now or can I have a piss first? You were in the bathroom for ages.”

  I shake my head and nod toward the bathroom before he jumps off the stool and disappears down the hall. So much for silent agreements. Deciding this particular chat might go a lot smoother if I was actually dressed, I head for my bedroom and pick out an outfit. I’m zipping my black slacks and pulling over my silver scoop neck sweater when Declan leaves the bathroom. He pulls his shirt over his head and sits next to me on the bed as I pull on my boots.

  Resting his elbows on his knees, he rubs his face and sighs. “I was drunk.”

  “So was I.”

  “Fine then, we were both pie-eyed, but just so you know, nothing happened.”

  I glance at him, lift one eyebrow, doubtful.

  “Nothing happened when we got back here, McShane.”

  “I figured as much. We were both somewhat dressed when I woke up.”

  He rests back on his hands and I can feel him watching me as I pace around the room, grabbing my jacket, my scarf, trying to find my bag.

  “You’re making me dizzy.” When I ignore him, Declan pulls me back to sit on the bed.

  “What?

  “Going to ignore the giant fecking elephant in the room, are you?”

  My body slouches and I lay back on my bed. “It was stupid. All of yesterday was stupid, Declan.”

  “And hot.”

  “Mostly stupid.”

  He lays next to me and grabs my hand. “It shouldn’t have been like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “The pair of us, grinding against each other, pissed out of our heads in front of loads of gossiping folk.”

  “True. It was a mistake.”

  He sits up and rests on his elbow. “Kissing you like that in the middle of a damn club was a mistake, McShane. Kissing you in general, was brilliant.”

  “Declan, you and I would be—”

  “Again, hot.”

  I can’t help but smile. “No, it would be irresponsible.”

  He sighs again and lays back down, letting his arm cover his eyes. “You always have to be so wound tight? Why can’t you let loose every once in a while?” The mattress dints and my body moves to the side as Declan bends down to stare at me again. “I’m not asking to marry you. I just said it was nice, the kissing and the other…things.”

  I’m not sure I like the direction of this conversation. I like Declan. I can at least admit that to myself, but I don’t want complications. Not with him. Not with anyone. “It was. I’m not saying it wasn’t, but I think I let loose a bit too much last night.” The vanity across my room is an antique, another find of my mother’s and I leave the bed, grab my brush off the top of it and watch Declan in the mirror. “That’s my one episode of drunken debauchery for a while.”

  “So what are you saying, then? A few snogs against a wall and that’s it?”

  “And the basement,” I mumble. His eyebrows disappear beneath his shaggy hair. “Declan, I told you last night, I’m not the girl you want. You’ve got this idea that I need a hero. I don’t. I’m not looking for anything from you or anyone else.”

  Before I can blink more than twice, Declan is in front of me, spinning me around. When I step back, away from him, I end up sitting on the vanity bench. “You’re full of shite.” He places his hands on either side of my hips. “We spark. The pair of us, we bleeding spark, McShane.”

  “So? We spark. I’ll admit it. But that doesn’t mean we can—”

  “What? Go steady? You think I want you to wear my class ring or something? Isn’t that what you Americans do?” He laughs. “I’m not saying that either. I’m not saying I love you or want to it to be just us. I’m just observing a very real fact. We. Spark.” Then he shows me how much we spark. His mouth is spectacular, soft, controlled and when he pulls away from me, I find breathing suddenly difficult.

  I need to snap out of this. He’s…too much, much too much. “Again, that means what, exactly?”

  “Why does it have to mean anything? Why can’t it be two people who get on, who like to snog and—”

  “It’s the and that concerns me.”

  “Ah, but the and would be…Well...”

  I can’t let him finish that sentence. I cover his mouth with my fingers, a slight touch to silence him. Despite the scrapes and bruises, his eyes are bright, and an easy smile softens his features. Why does he have to be so good looking? “I’m not interested in casual sex.”

  “Why the hell not?
”

  “Point of fact. You and I, we do it.”

  “Now?” Seeming excited, he stands and immediately reaches for the buttons on his shirt.

  “No, not now. I’m being hypothetical.” I shake my head at that disappointed expression on his face. “If we do it, get into this casual thing, then what? Then emotions get involved and it gets complicated.”

  “We can leave emotions out of it.”

  “Oh, really? So, what if you and I are involved in this whole casualness and then I start seeing someone? Or you meet someone? Then there’s not casualness anymore.”

  Declan lifts his fingers through his hair as though he’s thinking about that complication. “I…I wouldn’t have a problem with you seeing someone on the side.”

  “That’s not my style. I couldn’t have sex with you and see someone else and excuse me for reminding you, but you get all caveman anytime Tucker and I are mentioned.”

  “So?”

  “So you would be fine with me sleeping with you and—again hypothetical because this will never, ever happen, but what if I went out with him?”

  “You said you wouldn’t.”

  “Ah, so it’s just Tucker you don’t want me to date? What about someone else? How would that make you feel, me sharing my bed with you and then going off with another guy?”

  His grave expression returns and this time there is a slight sneer. “I probably wouldn’t like it.”

  “See? Emotions and we haven’t even slept together yet.” He smiles at my saying “yet.” “Figure of speech.” Declan drops to his knees in front of me, comes close so that I notice that the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose are brown. I can’t help but touch his face. “I don’t want to be in love and I don’t have time for emotions. Those things are for children.”

  Small lines run across his forehead. I try to smooth them out, running my fingers over his skin, but he pulls my hands away and the expression on his face is stern, perhaps a bit concerned.

  “What did he do to you, McShane?”

  “Who?”

  “Morrison. Your da. Whoever it was that made you so scared.”

  He’s attempting to ferret out secrets again, just like he did in the basement. I try to understand why he wants to know and for the first time, in a very long time, I don’t want to change the subject or refuse to discuss my past. He brings something out in me, something I thought long buried, and I’m not sure I like how that makes me feel. I’m not sure I mind it much either.

  “It’s partly them. It’s partly that I just don’t want the heartache.” He isn’t satisfied by that answer. I hear the joints in his knees pop when he stands and walks back to the bed to sit. For a moment, I stare at the floor, the rich color of the hardwood, trying to organize my thoughts. I lower my elbows on my knees and take a breath, figuring if I’m going to reject Declan, then I should at least explain why. “You ever feel something for someone, something so strong that it consumes you, takes over your life?”

  “I can’t say that I have, no.”

  “Well I have.” My long hair falls over my shoulder and I don’t brush it away. “To love someone so much that it feels like a virus, this heavy weight that infests every part of your body like a fever. It’s a sickness really and for a long time I thought that was what love was. When I doubted it, when Tucker walked away from me, I realized that’s not what love is supposed be. Love isn’t obsession. Love isn’t giving up everything you are, everything you want to be. It shouldn’t poison all aspects of your life. And it damn well should be equal. With Tucker, it was never that. Not even for a moment.”

  “You said you broke it off with him, but that’s not true, is it?”

  “I didn’t lie about that. But he left first. It wasn’t until he’d been gone a few weeks that I called him, told him I was done waiting for him. He wanted to try for Nationals. I understand that desire, but his decision was so abrupt. It didn’t make sense to me. One day my boyfriend of two years is talking about our plans for Christmas, for the future, and the next he shows up at my apartment already packed, telling me he’s going to Europe. Telling me I had to follow him. He didn’t ask me anything. He told me.” I take a breath, recalling the shock I’d felt, trying to figure out where all that pain had gone. At the time, Tucker’s leaving had devastated me, confused me. Now I can’t remember why. “I gave up a lot to make him happy. I lost part of myself just to please him and there I was crying, begging like an idiot for him not to leave and then suddenly, in that moment, I realized he never loved me. You can’t love someone and abandon them. You can’t really love someone and desert them like they never mattered. We fought. I slapped him and he left.” Declan’s eyes round. He is no doubt shocked that I’d let anyone treat me like that. Least of all Tucker.

  There is a loose thread on the bottom of my shirt and I pull at it as I speak. I can’t seem to face Declan when I tell him the rest of my pathetic little tale. “For months I didn’t do anything. I didn’t go out with the girls. Refused to eat or run or do anything but work on my thesis and attend my courses. Then, one day, I started to get angry. I kept getting angry. When Mom and I—when the wreck happened—” I close my eyes, try to slow the tremble in my hands. I need to get this out, to say what I can to exorcise the anxiety that builds in my chest. “Mom died and I was hurt. I was laid up for weeks afterward. If it wasn’t for Ava and my friends, I don’t think I would have survived.” Finally, I’m able to meet his eyes. “That anger only got bigger, then I started to depend on it. It fueled me, warmed me and I decided that I never wanted to be the girl Tucker claimed to love. I couldn’t. She was dead. I promised myself I wouldn’t let her come back, that I deserved better, that I’d never let anyone, not my father, not Tucker, ever make me feel like I was nothing, like I wasn’t important.”

  After a while, Declan’s wide eyes narrow and he exhales, rubs his palms down his legs and shakes his head as though all I’d confessed had been some great, unbelievable revelation. “I knew he was an idiot, but I never thought he was a dumbarse.”

  A loud chuckle leaves my mouth and I don’t fight back the smile that stretches across my face. “Why do you say that?”

  “McShane, please.” Declan leaves the bed and kneels again in front of me. “You’d have to be King of the Wankers to let a girl like you go.” I feel my face flush, know that my cheeks are likely blazing red, but Declan is, at least temporarily, a gentleman and doesn’t comment on the blush.

  “I told you I don’t want the heartache and I don’t,” I say. “But the truth is, it always ends. Relationships, love, at some point, it ends.” I take his hands, rub my fingertips over his knuckles. “My parents loved each other so much. God, they were crazy for each other and then one day, they weren’t. It took over a year for Tucker to talk me into one date.” My eyes lower, until they finally shut completely. “And what we had, it wasn’t healthy.” I glance back at Declan, erase any emotion from my face. “It was bad.”

  “He hit you?”

  “No. He didn’t need to. One look would have me shaking. One passive aggressive comment would send me over the edge. It took me a long time to understand how destructive our relationship was. My parents were happy, loved each other, loved me and I thought, even after my dad left, that I could find that, that I deserved that, but what I found was obsession, passion, sure, but that wasn’t love.”

  “So, are you still looking for it?”

  I want to tell him yes. I want to be hopeful and open, but that damn wall is secured by doubt and great mounting swells of fear. “No. I’m not.” The disappointment is clear on his face. There is a frown, slight but clearly there and a small fold creasing on his forehead. “That heartache? It’s always waiting for anyone who willingly jumps into the fire. I can’t…I don’t want that again. Tucker did a number on me and I have to blame myself for that as much as him. But it was also my parents, watching my mother spend year after year on her own, angry, frustrated. Dad ran off and until yesterday I hadn’t seen him sin
ce I was a kid.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Why would I?” He pulls away from me, begins to stand, but I grab him, let my forehead rest against his. “I’m not for you, Declan. I don’t think I’m for anyone. I don’t want to be in love with anyone, but I do like you. You’re insufferable and an utter alpha male, but I do like you.”

  It takes a few seconds, but finally Declan relaxes, releases a slow breath. “So what do we do? What happens next? You want to ignore what happened last night?”

  “Could we, please?”

  His stare is long, steady and I know he is thinking, considering his options. “There’s a problem with your theory, McShane.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t want the heartache, but it’s there already. Your friends, Winchell, you’re already in relationships and according you, they’re bound to end.” Declan plays with the ends of my hair, lets each strain slide over his fingers. “There’s the issue of the whole sparking thing, besides.”

  “Sparks can be extinguished.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Declan inches toward me, lets his mouth run along my jaw. I like the way his lips feel against my skin. “And I don’t give up so quick like.”

  He kisses me, a slow, small brush of his lips that lingers before I pull away, take a glance at the clock and stand. “I’ve got to go. Come on, get up and out of my place. And for the love of God take some muffins with you.”

  “I hate you. I hate you so much I hope you get a severe allergic reaction to chocolate and sex.”

  “You do not.” I give Layla a far too exaggerated smile. “I am your favorite ginger in the world.”

  “No…no… you’re not,” she says through pants. “Anne Shirley is.” Her head lowers as she struggles through the last sprint. Thick pools of sweat darken her fitted shirt and the back of her shorts. “God! How much longer?” she says, her head turning toward Declan.

  “Layla, if you don’t stop complaining, I’m going to push you down the mountain.” Sayo’s calm threat earns her a middle finger from Layla.