Cavanagh - Serenity Series, Vol I (Seeking Serenity)

by Eden Butler

  I am almost to the end of the lane, nearly through the obstacle of rubber when I hear Tucker slip and fall, with his face slamming into the ground. I stop, torn between helping him and eager to put the Dash behind me. There are three runners coming up to the tire lane, one is Declan. Behind him, I see Sayo climbing from the railcar. When I glance at Tucker, to his outstretched hand, his pleading eyes, I almost run back for him. Almost. But then Declan’s eyes flash and I catch Sayo’s hard expression and I know that Tucker is on his own. It is a moment of choice. My victory, and my friends, or giving Tucker the help he expects.

  Tucker’s face is bloody, his nose swollen as though he has been beaten and I know what he wants. Me. He expects His Autumn to help. But then, he blinks and that soft, pathetic expression changes into an angry, full of rage frown.

  Here is my closure.

  In that moment, I am free of him. Done with all that he presumes is his to take from me. I hope that he can see in my face all that I want to say to him. I never believed “I love you” can be said too often. There is power in that phrase. It isn’t flippant. It isn’t trite. It can transform lives. It can break hearts. It can halt the strongest man until he is a puddled mess. So I only say it when I mean it. I don’t mean it now, not with Tucker, but I did at one time. I look at him, struggling to get up, stumbling behind the weight of his injury and despite his cruelty, his ego, I whisper a goodbye.

  I say this now because it’s who I am. I love you, yesterday. You gave me moments of joy. You gave me a purpose, you gave me lessons to learn that I will never forget.

  And then, I leave Tucker behind and race toward the finish line.

  Less than half a mile left and I can’t feel my legs. My feet are burning, aching, my lungs squeeze me tighter and tighter like my Eliza corset, with each slap of my shoes against the ground. Ahead I see the tape fluttering in the wind. There are crowds lining the trail, their screams of encouragement lifting me, pulling me forward as though their excitement bounces between us, an invisible sling propelling me, forcing the pain, my exhaustion from my body.

  Then, I sense someone behind me, inching up, panting out wild, angry curses - Tucker - and then, another set of feet and the rough brogue of “Go, McShane, you’ve got it. Go!”

  Declan’s words are like a thrust, making my arms swing faster, forcing my legs to pump harder and harder until I gain more than ten feet in front of Tucker. I am winning. My Lord, I am winning the Dash and nothing will give me pause. I feel the fire of triumph in my belly, the wild plunge of endorphins flowing in my brain, through my blood and I block out the crowd, the muffled curses of Tucker’s anger behind me.

  Five feet from the finish line, three.... Suddenly, I scream at the slap against my leg, I tumble, begin to fall and land on my face.

  “What happened?” I say, searching the shocked faces of the crowd, the officials, but they do not see me. Their eyes focus behind me at some loud disturbance. Then Joe stands on the other side of the finish line. His skin is blotched red, heavy lines pulling down his mouth. He catches my eyes, nods once and I jump up, wobble against the pain and break through the tape. There is a blast from a confetti canon and I am in my father’s large arms. He picks me up, wraps a thick blanket around me.

  Joe says something, but I cannot hear him. The crowd’s attention has returned to the finish line. There are many pumping slaps to my back, unfamiliar hugs launched over me and then my father’s rumpling chest, moving with his laughter.

  “Autumn, my love, my brilliant, strong girl! I’m so fecking proud of you!”

  My father’s chest is warm and I feel safe, whole, accomplished as he squeezes me close to his body. A quick burn of tears form in my eyes and I’m not sure if it’s from the rush of adrenaline, the sweet burst of triumph or that my father is here, holding me, making me warm.

  Whatever the reason, my comfort is interrupted by the loud shouts behind me, just in behind of the finish line.

  “You! Disqualified!” I hear an official shout and let Joe walk me toward the disturbance.

  “That’s bullshit! I didn’t do anything.” Tucker is drunk with rage, screaming at a man at least a foot taller than him, inching closer toward the large man’s face.

  The official crosses his arms over his massive chest and doesn’t even blink or move the slightest when Tucker pushes him. Before he can react, the blonde marine edges next to Tucker, his height and width dwarfing my ex. I see Layla and Mollie behind him and I catch their eyes, notice their huge, congratulatory grins. Mollie seems sated, happy, enveloped in the marine’s too large hoodie. I nudge my head as if to say “what’s the deal with that?” but only receive a cursory twitch of her shoulder and smile that stretches her mouth wide.

  “You can take it up with the official’s board after all the runners have completed the Dash,” the marine tells Tucker. Then he slaps his palm against Tucker’s neck, the action not friendly in the least. “But there are at least fifty witnesses here that saw you trip that girl.”

  My head whips up to Joe. “He tripped me?”

  His body instantly stiffens and his hold across my arms grows tighter. “He’s lucky, is Tucker, that Declan sorted him out before I did.”

  I had been so in the moment, so close to my triumph that I didn’t notice Tucker close enough to me to attack. When I push away from Joe, move through the crowd, Tucker immediately darts toward me.

  “Autumn, you know better,” Tucker says. He tries to stand in front of me, even reaches out to touch my arm, but then retreats when Declan blocks me from his view. But, my ex is stubborn, shifts around the wide, looming shoulders to look at me. “You know I would never hurt you, sweetness.”

  “Back away, arsehole,” Declan says, pushing on Tucker’s chest.

  “Fuck off. Autumn knows me, she knows me better than she knows you, right Declan?” His smile holds no humor and I can see by the glint in his eyes that this is the moment. He’s going to spill Declan’s secrets.

  I’m not going to give him the chance.

  I move around Declan and the official, the marine, even Joe moves forward as though I require guards. “Why?” I ask Tucker, honestly confused by his attack. “Why would you do that to me, Tucker?”

  “I didn’t—” but there are witnesses all around him, complete strangers that saw what he did, that make maintaining his lie impossible. When he rubs his neck, and refuses to meet my eyes, the confirmation is real. I’m not surprised. I’m not even hurt. “I couldn’t lose,” he says, as though the competitive streak he’s always had is remotely excusable; an innate defect that excuses his failings. “I—you left me down there on the ground, injured. You just walked away from me.”

  “Tucker,” I start, making sure my voice doesn’t waver, isn’t hitched, “I walked away from you a year ago. I’ve tried telling you for months, I am not your girl anymore. She’s dead. She died with my mom.” He stares at me for a moment, looking lost, frozen by realization; a reality I thought he’d understood, accepted months ago. “Today wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about the bet. It was about me pushing myself, seeing if I could be an athlete again.” I lift my pant leg, uncaring that there are low murmurs when my long, rough scar becomes visible. “This didn’t kill me and I wasn’t going to let anyone stop me. Especially not you.”

  His anger is expected. Tucker hates being rejected. Worse than that, he hates not even being a consideration to anyone. “Fuck you, it wasn’t about the bet. That’s complete shit, Autumn and the only reason you won is because Declan and his asshole friends helped you.”

  “We didn’t do anything for Autumn,” Donovan says, over Tucker’s shoulder. “Declan told us not to help her, that she had to do it on her own.”

  In this moment, I don’t care about Declan’s secrets, why he rejected me. He knew me, knew what I needed. He’s known me for a handful of months and he gets me more than Tucker did in two years.

  “Oh, yes, the mighty Irish jackass. Let me tell you about your precious fucking Declan, Autumn, why
he walked away from you—” Tucker’s voice is immediately silenced with the loud crunch of Tucker’s face jerking back in a punch and then, he is on the ground, knocked out completely.

  “Well done, lad,” Joe says, slapping Declan on the back. The air instantly settles, clears of tension as the crowd disperses, moving away from the trail as more of the runners cross the finish line.

  I am pulled in a thousand directions. The officials drag me toward a platform. My friends huddle around Joe, each other, and the soft patter of rain cracks into a downpour. No one seems to care. Tucker is moved off the trail and I lose track of him. He isn’t my problem.

  But amid the chaos of cheers and congratulations, the flurry of ribbons laid over my neck, the confetti showering all around, Declan is still, standing away from the crowd, focused on me. The sky darkens further, flashes bright by the loud whip of lightening and then, Declan is gone.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Joe wanted my medal. I suspect he will have it framed. He asked Sayo about a hobby shop and then whispered low so that I couldn’t hear him and then their conversation was a flurry of cautious glances directed at me and low mumbled words against each other’s ears. I didn’t mind. It’s not like my body or brain would let me give any consideration to their plans. And giving Joe my medal made getting him to leave my apartment an easier task with that little trinket in his hands. The medal doesn’t matter to me.

  This whole experience had only ever been about pushing myself. That I was able to reach beyond my limits; that my muscles and joints remembered exertion, recalled the strain of forward momentum, is win enough for me.

  My friends and I won’t be anywhere near the Biddy Auction when it happens. If it happens at all. When Ava called to congratulate me on my win this afternoon, she mentioned a conversation she had with Mullens, telling him about our bet with Tucker. He hadn’t been pleased, but I think the idea of his daughter at the auction may have changed his opinion on the whole thing. There is hope yet that my Godmother will be rid of that disgusting display.

  I came home and immediately showered, scrubbed the debris and muck out of my hair, scalded my skin until it hummed pink and went back into my living room to find my friends gushing over the marine Mollie met.

  “His name is Vaughn Winchester. He’s not in active service anymore but he organizes the Dash and owns a Crossfit studio over in Maryville.”

  “Married?” Sayo asks.

  “Divorced. Twenty-six and so freakin’ sweet.”

  “I notice you didn’t give him back his hoodie,” Layla said, a smile twitching on her lips.

  “Duh. He has to come back for it once I’ve cleaned it.”

  Smelly and aching, my friends left me to nap. I managed two hours before the rain settled in hard and woke me from a sweet dream where Tucker was kicked off the squad and Declan kissed me while we sat on a golden throne.

  Ridiculous, stupid. Very hot.

  The thunder claps above and I see a spark of swift light strike against the large oak across the street from my building. It scares the hell out of me and I duck down from my window. Twenty minutes later, the winds slow and cop cars and fire trucks converge on my street. The muted television interrupts whatever bad, campy B-movie is playing and I stand in front of my set, read the ticker on the bottom of the screen announcing the impending storm headed straight for Cavanagh’s town center. When I hear the fire trucks rev up, I return to the window. A large limb hangs from the oak, rustles against the rain. The cops and firemen scramble out of the way as the limb falls to the ground. Pulling the collar of my robe tight against my neck, I almost miss the figure standing below my awning. He is tall and broad and his head is obscured by the hood of his raincoat.

  Instantly, I worry that it’s Tucker, waiting for night to fall fully before he pounds on my door, but then, I realize this guy’s legs are thicker, his shoulders wider. He turns his head, scanning down the street, neck stretching and I catch a glimpse of green and red on his wrist when he checks his watch.

  What the hell is Declan doing?

  When I push back the lobby door, rain floods against the jam, pouring across my bare toes. He turns, straightening at my raised eyebrows.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Go inside, McShane. I’m just keeping watch.”

  “Declan, come inside. You’ll drown out there.” He ignores me, turns back toward the street and sinks his hands into his pockets. “Seriously? I don’t think Tucker is stupid enough to show up here. Besides, I wouldn’t let him in.”

  “Didn’t stop you before, did it now? You went out with him.” He turns again, a mild twist arching his top lip. “You kissed him.”

  He can’t be serious. Why the hell is he trying to pick a fight with me in the middle of a thunderstorm? “Declan,” I start, but then the lobby lights flicker, screech once until I hear a pop from the side of the building. “Shit.” I run into my apartment, instantly shrouded in complete darkness. I try my level best to keep my hands from shaking, to keep the faint panic from running up my chest. To distract myself, I fish through my linen closet next to the hall, hoping that there are still candles tucked behind the sheets and pillowcases. I find two and breathe a bit easier, but when I return to my living room and see the shadow of a figure in my open doorway, I release a yelp.

  Declan walks in, hands raised in supplication. He starts to shut the door, then pauses. “Do you want this open? There’s still some light left in the lobby from the backup battery.”

  “No. It’s fine.” I bustle around the living room, leave the candles on the coffee table and stretch for the hurricane lamps on top of the entertainment center. I manage to grab one, but then Declan is behind me, reaching over me to secure the final two. The water from his coat dampens my robe. The kerosene in the glass bottoms of the lamps is low and I hope that the super will hurry to get the lights back on quickly. I light all three lamps, leave two on the table and move the largest one to my kitchen counter.

  In all my activity, I have forgotten my panic, forgotten that Declan was with me during the last power outage, that he probably came into my apartment thinking I’d have another panic attack.

  The tasks of finding light sources keeps me busy and, I imagine, his presence here also adds to my calm. Now that calm fades as Declan’s gaze follows me around the room as I grab the candles and flick the lighter against their wicks.

  “You’re not upset,” he says. The heavy drip from his coat encircles his feet and I shoot into the bathroom to grab a towel.

  “I had a good day,” I say, throwing him the towel. “Take off that coat before you damage my hardwoods, please.”

  He hesitates, looks around the room, for what, I don’t know, but then slides his jacket off his shoulders and drops the towels to the floor. Moving the white cloth with his feet, he sops up the rainwater with a glide of his large leg while I grab his coat from him.

  “I’ll hang this up in the laundry room,” I offer as I disappear for a moment.

  When I return, he is in front of the window, arms crossed as he stares out onto the street. His shirt is wet around the collar and I drape another towel over his neck. We both watch the rain as it floods outside. The cops and firemen have disappeared and the small street runs with water, leaves and limbs, paper and rubbish sliding toward the drains.

  “I think you should go. I’m safe and it’s late.” Declan slumps against the window and stares at me, his head moving in a slow shake. “Why not? If you stay we’ll only end up fighting and I’m too tired for that.”

  “I want to be here, don’t I, in case that little eejit decides to show up at your door?” He stands up straight. “He doesn’t know where your spare key is, does he?”

  Surprised, I hadn’t thought about that, I dart toward my door with Declan on my heels. He steps into the lobby, looking left and right. The small planter to my left squeaks against the marble when I move it and I release a breath, relaxing, when I see my spare key there. I pluck it off the floor and return back inside.


  Declan shuts the door and we both return to the window, eyes searching across the street. After a few moments of listening to the rain lashing at the window, and not seeing a single person running around in the storm, I relax, fold my arms close to my chest.

  “You don’t have to stay,” I say, my attention on an errant plastic bag swimming in front of my building. “I can take care of myself.”

  Declan sighs, his shoulders lowering. “I know you can, McShane, but I trust that wanker about as far as I could kick him between the uprights.” I smile at the visual and Declan rubs the towel against his dark hair. It stands up everywhere when he turns toward me. “I’ll be a good lad. I’ll kip out here on the sofa. You won’t hear a peep from me and I’ll be gone before you wake in the morning.”

  “You want to stay here?” He nods and my eyes go wide. “You want to stand guard? Against Tucker?”

  “I’d feel better knowing he doesn’t show up.”

  “Why?”

  He avoids my eyes, move his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. His focus returns to the window, on the rain and strikes of lightening. “You were fearless today.” Declan closes his eyes, his fists balling up until they shake. “He tried to take that away from you because he’s a spoilt arsehole who got beat by someone he doesn’t see as his equal. When I saw him trip you I—” I touched his arm and Declan’s fists unclench. “You were so calm, so fecking poised as he’s insulting you, cursing at you, trying to make light of what you’d accomplished. Wanting you to believe his lies.” A small grin dents the dimple in his cheek when he looks at me. “He couldn’t touch you, love. Nothing could.

  “I know well you can handle yourself. Maybe I didn’t really believe that until today and I feel like a right shite for that, McShane. I’ve never trusted Morrison, not around you especially. It’s why I minded where you were, why I tried watching after you when you were with him, as much as I could. But today, I knew you didn’t need me protecting you, not really. Still, I want to watch over you, just for tonight. I’m asking you to let me.”