Cavanagh - Serenity Series, Vol I (Seeking Serenity)

by Eden Butler

  “Channel your anger,” I say. “Hate Tucker.” A loud grunt and scowl in my direction and Layla speeds up to continue her sprints.

  Declan missed his calling. He would have been perfectly suited for SEAL training. He also misrepresented himself with his offer to train us. I thought we’d run, do some simple drills on the trail, maybe on the pitch. I never anticipated a labored dash up Fanning Falls, fifty pushups followed by sprints to the river and back and then thirty rapid crunches.

  “How many more?” Mollie says, her white t-shirt tied in a knot at the hem, drenched in sweat.

  “Ten,” Declan says and Layla’s high whine and flailing kick at the ground makes the Irishman’s face crinkle.

  “Ten? We’ve already done fifty.”

  “Have it your way then. Twenty more.”

  “Fuck you, Fraser.”

  “Layla, shut up,” Sayo says, sprinting next to our friend. “You…you’ll only... make it... worse.”

  Layla runs away, then back, but her curses don’t stop. “Hate…” she says, next to Declan, then she runs back to the river, “you” back and away again “asshole!”

  Declan watches us, smirks at how winded we are. “Five more.” He glances down at the stop watch in his hands but then lowers it when my leg cramps and I don’t cover the wince on my face. As I near him, he jogs next to me. “You can have a break, McShane.”

  “Don’t do me any favors. I got this.”

  “Pushing yourself before you’re ready will—”

  “Shut up. I’m…fine.” He stops running after me and I join my friends to finish the last set of crunches.

  My stomach burns during the last three movements, then Declan’s stopwatch buzzes loudly. “Have a break,” he says and I crash against the ground next to Sayo.

  “What’d he say?” she asks.

  “He wants me to take it easy.”

  “He’s not wrong.”

  Grunting, my elbows come to my knees and I take the bottle of water Sayo offers me. “Thanks, Brutus, but I’m fine. Barely notice the searing pain.”

  “Autumn—”

  I’m not in the mood for her nagging. Sayo’s phone chirps with a text message, but she ignores it, seeming too exhausted to do much more than lay back on the ground. “What’s going on with you and Thor?”

  “He has a name.”

  “Sandy, right?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Sam, smartass.” Sayo takes the bottle from my hands. “Guess who he’s friends with?”

  “Who?”

  “Tucker.”

  “What? And you’re still seeing him?” I’m shocked that she’d want anything to do with a guy who considers Tucker a friend. I would have thought the very idea of them being buddies labeled Sam as a miscreant.

  “Gathering intel.”

  “Friend! I’m so proud of you.”

  Layla isn’t moving on the ground and Declan hovers over her, brushing his foot next to her leg. “You alive?” he asks her.

  “Leave her alone, Fraser,” I say, earning a pout.

  “He’s grumpy today. What’s his problem?” Sayo asks.

  “He got suspended from the squad because of that fight. He’s out for three games.”

  “Did Tucker?”

  “No, of course not. Mullens said they need Tucker. Jackass.”

  Sayo wipes sweat from her upper lip and then returns the water to me. “Don’t let Layla hear you say that about her dad.

  “I’m not worried. Her pet name for her dad was far more vulgar.”

  “Enough slacking, come along,” Declan shouts. We gather around him and he bounces on his feet, seeming far too happy to be bossing us around. “One last exercise.”

  “What? No way.” Layla says.

  Declan glares at her. “I’m not fussed if you lose. Of course your da might have something to say if you enter that auction.”

  She pouts, starts to say something else, but Mollie covers her mouth. “What’s next?” she asks Declan.

  “The path next to the river is stupid with rocky terrain and it’s a perfect practice run for the Dash course. Get down it quick as you can without damaging yourself and you’ll have a pint on me.”

  “Doesn’t that break your ridiculous ‘energy-dense, low-volume foods’ rule?” Sayo says.

  “American beer, or water as we call it back home.”

  My friends release a collective groan, but otherwise don’t comment, though Layla opens her mouth to argue, even lets out a small “Irish prick,” before Mollie jabs her in the ribs.

  They seem to have caught on to how Declan reacts to their complaints. He holds the stop watch up. “Ready? Go.”

  I don’t want to admit how badly my leg hurts, but the pain is less today than it has been all week running through Declan’s sadistic training. Layla disappears down the trail with Mollie just steps behind her. Sayo’s winded breath comes out in pants and when we come to a bend, she runs in front of me. I take the moment to fall back, needing a rest. “I’m good. Go ahead.”

  I close my eyes against the pain and stretch out my leg. I like the soft burn that eases the cramp. Declan’s approach is announced by the broken twigs under his feet. He’s behind me in seconds, his hand on my back. “Alright then, McShane?”

  “Yeah. Just needed a stretch.” We walk down the trail side by side. “This is good. You definitely know what you’re doing.”

  “Are you complimenting me?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head. You could make a killing doing boot camp training for co-eds.”

  It takes me a while to straighten out the cramp in my leg, but slow strides navigating the mountain’s decline make the task easier. Declan is silent next to me, but he watches every move I make, his expression wary. We haven’t spoken much since that embarrassing morning-after discussion a week ago. Other than a few curt texts to arrange the start of our training, our communication has been mostly professional. This weekend the squad will be at an away match and Declan’s supposed to help out again at the library, but thankfully I can’t make it. I’ve neglected my thesis for far too long. Still, the way he watches me, the way he steadies me by my elbow when we come to a particularly cumbersome stretch in the trail, has me thinking he hasn’t forgotten his threat of not giving up so easily on me. I’m not sure if I should be nervous about that or pleased.

  When I stumble over a root, Declan catches me, stands too close, looks too long at my face. His head tips to the side and his mouth lowers, but I push away from him and take off down the trail again. My head down, I kick my legs faster, hoping the exertion will clear my thoughts. I am deep into the woods now, the scent of the pine trees and the sound of the waterfall above me fuels my adrenaline, urges me forward. But Declan is faster, not encumbered by an injured leg.

  There are a few blissful moments of silence, where the only sound I hear is that of my own breath and the crunch of Declan’s feet behind me, but then the moment passes and he is at my side. I glance at him once, taking in the loose Cavanagh Athletics t-shirt and long, black shorts that hug his thick thighs. One blink, two, and I try to think about other things…less distracting things.

  “You know, you aren’t such a shitty runner,” he says

  “Yeah, I’ve had practice.” We match pace and he runs so close to me that his thick arm brushes against mine. I speed up, but he matches me step for step.

  “Are you trying to outrun me, McShane?”

  “Yes, jackass, I am.”

  “Why? Don’t you want to speak to me?”

  “No. I want to run.”

  He can’t seem to help himself. Three whole seconds pass as we follow the trail to the left and spot the clearing ahead before Declan opens his mouth again. I don’t give him a chance to speak.

  I stop. My chest heaves and I lower myself self in a bend to stretch out my back. He jogs in place, silent until I look up at him. “What do you want?”

  His smile lowers, a twinge of concern on his face. “Just talking to you.” I shake m
y head, turn away from him. He slows his stationary jog into a stop and crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you have to be such an arse?”

  “Yes, because clearly you’re not getting that you’re being a pest.”

  He considers me for a moment, his eyes squint until the small smirk returns to his face. That’s an entirely too mischievous little leer. “Okay, McShane, how about a wager?”

  “I’m kind of full up on wagers.” At his pout, I sigh. “Fine. What kind of wager?”

  He steps closer and I freeze when he pulls my bangs off my forehead. I don’t like how close he stands to me or that devious gleam in his eyes. “I bet you I can beat you to the end of the trail.”

  I mimic his smirk, enjoy the thought that, despite my injured leg, I’m about to embarrass him severely. “Go on.”

  “If you win, I promise not to bug you outside of this training.”

  “Ever again?”

  “Training only, mind.”

  “Ha. And if you win?”

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and I tense. “If I win, you have to let me take you out.”

  “What? You don’t want to do that.”

  “Says who? And I mean a proper date.”

  “How proper?”

  “Kiss good night proper.”

  I consider this, thinking about his kisses, all those wonderful, previous kisses.

  “Fine, but just a kiss, no funny stuff.”

  “Oh, love, I promise you, there wouldn’t be anything funny about that kiss.”

  I don’t like how cocky he is, but I love how much he doubts me. Silly, stupid man. I intentionally bite my bottom lip, give it a quick swipe of my tongue and Declan’s green eyes lower.

  “Okay. Fine,” I say, rising up on my tip toes to put my arms around his neck. He stares at my mouth. “But there’s something you should know.”

  “What…what’s that?”

  “My undergrad years?” He nods. “I was All Conference in track.” I jerk away from him and take off, stare back to see his delayed reaction. Declan is just feet behind me and I’m certain I’ve already won when I glimpse the line of benches at the trail’s end. I am nearly there, pumping my arms, enjoying the burn in my legs as they move faster and faster, but then Declan catches up to me, tugs on the hem of my t-shirt. He pulls me back by my elbow and running against the pressure of his hand gripping me is like running against a hurricane. He inches ahead, then jerks me back to head forward, hitting the end of the trail first by mere inches.

  He beat me. That ass beat me.

  “That is cheating, you jackass.”

  “Yeah and trying to get a head start isn’t cheating, Miss ‘I Am Woman?’”

  “Fine then, it’s a draw. You didn’t beat me.”

  “In fact, I did, McShane, and now you have to go on a proper date with me.”

  His ego really needs deflating. “Not going to happen.”

  “You backing out, love? That doesn’t seem like your style. How very disappointing you are. Not even a woman of your word, are you?”

  My chin comes up in an inflated jerk. “Don’t besmirch my honor, Declan.”

  “Then you have to say yes. A bet is a bet, isn’t it?” Over Declan’s shoulder I see my girls laying on the benches, gasping for breath, but their eyes are focused sharp on our little exchange.

  “You’re a cheater.”

  “As are you.”

  That annoying, smirk pulls his lips and my elbow comes up in a soft jab against his gut when he walks next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

  “That was a dirty race.”

  “Indeed. How’s next week?”

  “Whatever.”

  “You’re quite good, actually, McShane. For a minute there I thought you had me.”

  “I did have you, cheater.”

  He laughs and pulls me to his side. I don’t jab him again. “You know, if this was Hogwarts, you’d be a Quidditch star.”

  “Yeah, and you’d be a freakin’ Slytherin.”

  TEN

  “Did you get the corset?” The phone rests on my shoulder as I listen to Sayo’s naggy little voice. My fingers tap through the page on the screen, Cavanagh U’s logo a bright red crest with swirling loops of white and silver.

  She’s going to bitch at me. “I ordered it Tuesday.”

  “Autumn! Halloween is next week and we still have to do a dry run.”

  “Friend, you are a perfectionist.”

  “Because of you we didn’t get to compete in the costume contest last year. Do you really want to ruin our chance at winning?”

  Man, has my best friend got the Catholic guilt thing down to an art form. I suspect she’s also somewhat grumpy from our training early this morning. When I tell her that, she accuses me of being the grumpy one since Declan had to miss it in favor of his forced rugby practices. Mullens wanted him training despite his suspension. He’s been so tired he even pushed back our date until after Halloween. But I was not grumpy.

  “No one in this town reads great fiction, Sayo, unless it’s got something to do with Ireland or rugby. They won’t get our theme.” I’m not particularly eager to get on with Halloween. I love the series we’re basing our costumes off of—the steampunk “Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences” and their core characters, Agents Wellington Books and Eliza Braun—but my breasts are large, much larger than my friends’ are. A corset will make me look like some exaggerated comic book pin up.

  “It’s not just the Ministry. We’re steampunked. It’ll be cool, you’ll see.”

  The fitting at the costumers had been embarrassing. The old man at the shop had to tug and pull and bend me in between the brown leather and sharp steel boning and I felt like a sausage busting out of its casing. “But a Braun without a Books? Makes no sense. Unless you’re going as Wellington.”

  “Sophia del Morte, dahlink.”

  “She’s Italian, not Hungarian.”

  “Whatever. Besides, um, Books is handled.” Oh God. She’s up to something. Her voice always gets clipped and shrill when she’s hiding something from me. That was definitely shrillish.

  “By whom?”

  “Oh, sweetie I’ve got to go. There’s a Library Science class coming in. I’ll call you later.”

  “Sayo, I smell a lie.”

  “Huh? Of course not, sweetie. See ya.”

  Then line goes dead and I replace my office phone on the receiver. Those sneaky little tarts. They are clearly up to something, but then the college’s Admin screen on my computer opens and I forget about what my friends are planning behind my back. I type “Fraser, Declan” in the search box feeling somewhat like a creepy stalker. My door is shut; still, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder to double check. Nope, it’s closed, but just to make myself feel better I stretch over the ancient radiator and pull my wood blinds closed.

  I hear the small beep from my computer as the file uploads and Declan’s transcripts immediately fill the screen. That smug jackass has been holding out on me. His GPA is nearly perfect. Other than one semester at his last university, Declan has had a near flawless academic standing.

  I click over to his admissions form and see his SAT scores. Wow. 1800s. Then I scroll through his current classes. Huh. He’s a computer science major. When I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, I exit the database and minimize the screen. If Declan can’t control his temper then he’ll be booted off the squad. It gives me some comfort to know that he could likely swing an academic scholarship. Just as the thought enters my mind, I curse myself for being nosy. It’s not my place to worry about Declan. I’m not his mom. Or his girlfriend, so why do I care what happens to him?

  Two sharp taps on my door shake against the paper thin frame and I slide my chair over my tiny office to open it, the door swinging out. Tucker stands in my doorway with a bundle of flowers in his hands. Instantly my temper flares. “What do you want, Tucker?”

  He walks inside, then steps back when I stand, clearly noticing that there isn’t ro
om for his tall frame in my office. “Okay, I know I deserve the attitude.”

  “You think?”

  He extends the flowers out to me and I grab them, only to chunk them in the trash. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. Autumn, I am, but you can’t stay pissed at me forever.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Come on, babe.” My eye twitches at the endearment. He knows I hate being called “babe” by anyone. I’m not a talking pig.

  My worn leather chair pinches my thigh when I sit back down. I grab a stack of empty manila folders and sit on them. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t call me that.”

  “Sorry. I forgot.” Tucker kneels in front of me, lays his hand on my leg, but I push my chair back, hitting the radiator. His face hardens. “Fine. I won’t touch you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to check on you. Your father was…”

  “Tucker, that was a week ago.” I don’t tell Tucker all the things Joe had to say about him during our visit. Warning me away from Tucker is something he’s continued to do in the brief phone conversations we’ve had since that day at my apartment.

  “We had away matches, remember, and I didn’t think you’d pick up if I called you.” He scoots closer and despite my anger, I can’t help but enjoy the sandalwood smell he gives off. My knee bumps against the metal desk when I turn away from him to click onto my email. When I wince, Tucker tries to rub my knee. “Careful.”

  “I’m clumsy.”

  His hand goes to his pocket when I slap it away. “You’ve never been clumsy, Autumn.”

  “People change.”

  “I see that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask

  He grabs my hand and I get an odd sense of déjà vu. I’m reminded instantly of why I want to avoid him. To put him off further, I grab a pen from the holder and drum it against my desk.

  “When I saw you in your classroom and your face got all flustered and you were spitting mad, well, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone more beautiful.” His face inches dangerously close to mine.

  “Are you crazy?” I say, jumping up. I suppose Tucker didn’t expect my quick reaction, because he jerks back and lands on his butt, knocking his head against the metal trashcan.