Claiming Serenity

by Eden Butler

  Then Karlie Fitzgerald, the somewhat flirtatious team trainer, ran onto the pitch, a towel in one hand and an unopened bottle of water in the other. Donovan let the silly brunette distract him. He let her cling to his sweaty neck as he gratefully took the bottle of water from her.

  The real him, she reminded herself. Donovan the Demon. How could she let herself forget? Donovan who’d put a shaving cream bomb in her locker when they were fifteen. Donovan who’d called her Skeeter, short for Mosquito Bites, at fourteen because she had yet to develop. Donovan who her parents forced on her every holiday, every vacation until she was seventeen. She hated that their fathers had been best friends. She hated that her down time away from school had usually been spent being tormented by him. He would never be any different, would never be more than the boy he was now.

  She’d forgotten, the stupid drugging recent memory of his mouth deflecting the truth she had known all along. Numbing her to the reality of their real relationship, of what it had always been. Of what she needed to remind him it would always be.

  “That stupid fecking bollocks almost burned down the bloody house.” Quinn again, Donovan thought, nodding to Declan as he continued to complain about his brother. “I thought Joe was going to have another bleeding heart attack. Scared the piss out of me.”

  Declan had been going on about his brother for more than fifteen minutes. He hadn’t touched his burger and the Irishman wasn’t a guy who generally missed meals. Donovan nodded toward his plate, hoping his friend would calm down enough to eat. “Your shit’s getting cold.” Mimicking Declan, Donovan inhaled two bites of his taco in case his friend decided to start up his bitching again. When they’d both gotten through half of their meals, Donovan took a sip of his water then leaned back in his seat waiting for Declan to swallow before he opened his mouth. “Was there damage?”

  “Feck, no,” he said, wiping his mouth. “But that’s not the bloody point. I told him he can’t smoke in the house, Jaysus, at least twenty damn times, and that lazy arsehole doesn’t listen.” Declan rubbed his hands over his eyes, grunting behind his fingers as he continued. “I don’t know what’s to be done about him, if I’m being honest.”

  “Kick his ass,” Donovan offered, hiding his smirk behind his drink when Declan stared at him. “What?”

  “I. Have. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, mate, don’t you fecking listen? Five bloody times. I’ve darkened his eyes twice and gut punched him three times. Shite, even Autumn kicked him in the bollicks and Quinn still tries having a go at her.”

  Donovan didn’t get what Declan was so upset about. The guy had at least twenty pounds on his younger brother. Why didn’t he just mess him up a little to get him in line? “So kick him out.”

  “And have those swarmy estate people nagging me?” Declan threw his napkin onto the table, rubbing the back of his neck as though he couldn’t make the tension there ease. “As if I don’t have enough shite to worry about.”

  “Man, you have to relax. No one is asking you to play nursemaid to him.”

  “The hell they’re not. He’s the one that’s gotten himself into this mess.”

  “Then he should get himself out.”

  “He can’t.” Shoulders lowered, Declan leaned on the table, face down and worried. Donovan had only ever seen his friend so keyed up once before, when Declan was trying to keep away from Autumn. Before he decided to get his head out of his ass. “That’s why I got landed with him. His mum bites it and he can’t function without her. I’m his only blood kin left, much as that means.”

  Donovan thought of pressing Declan, asking about Quinn’s other distant relatives back in Ireland, but just then, Sayo walked through the door and both their attention switched to her. She offered them only a quick nod and didn’t smile, didn’t do much more than dig her money out of her back pocket as the girl behind the bar wrapped up her order.

  “She looks tired,” Donovan told Declan, his voice low so Sayo couldn’t hear him.

  “Autumn said she spends most of her time at hospital.” They watched Sayo turn toward the door, a small white bag under her arm as she left McKinney’s without so much as a wave to either of them. Declan stared after her, the muscles around his eyes tight as though he was thinking of something he wanted to keep to himself.

  “How old is her cousin?”

  “Eight, I think. Adopted, like Sayo. Autumn said Sayo thinks they may have both come from the same village in Japan so she’s close with the little girl.”

  “Damn.” Donovan hated to hear that. He had an eight year old cousin living in Savannah. A lazy little punk named Kevin who spent most of his time in front of his Xbox killing zombies.

  “It’s a rough bit, someone that young suffering so.” His shoulders shaking as though he’d been spooked, Declan crossed himself quick and Donovan smiled. He forgot just how superstitious and very Irish Catholic Declan could sometimes be.

  When Declan remained quiet, Donovan thought he’d distract him, pull him out of his foul mood by mentioning how early they would have to start training in the morning. The rugby season was in full swing and Coach Mullens was putting them through hard, tormenting paces. “Don’t forget our early run in the morning.”

  “Six?” Declan asked, his voice a little too hopeful

  “Five.” Donovan laughed at the loud groan his friend made. “That too early for you, sunshine?”

  “Piss off, I’m bloody captain. I don’t know what Mullens thinks it’ll accomplish to have us dragging arse before the bloody sun comes up.”

  Donovan knew. Coach Mullens wanted them winning the conference title. He especially wanted the seniors, the guys in their last season, or nearing it, like Declan, to have the opportunity to be scouted by the National teams. That meant they all did extra drills and started runs earlier and earlier. It was Coach’s insistence that the squad improve that had Donovan on the pitch the night before, working off his nervous energy. And sexual frustration. That little conversation with Layla in the classroom left Donovan on edge and seeing her again last night hadn’t helped any.

  Donovan looked up, sensing Declan’s hard glare on him and frowned when the Irishman’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  Declan popped his neck once and leaned on his elbows. Donovan didn’t like the stern frown his friend wore or how his forehead dented as that frown deepened. He’d seen Declan use that look more than once on freshmen half-assing their efforts during drills. “You get this barmy little look on your face when you’re thinking of Layla.”

  “Dude, whatever.”

  A shrug and Declan’s expression did not relax. “Deny it all you want, mate but that’s the same damn look you had on your face the night you punched me when you thought I was chatting her up.”

  “Man, come on, that was months ago. Drop it already.”

  “You admitted you fancied her.”

  Donovan shrugged, trying to forget that drunken confession. “I was drunk. Doesn’t count.”

  Declan nodded, pulled his arms over his chest and considered Donovan as though he was trying to figure something out. But he didn’t speak. Declan only stared, taking his time to watch Donovan squirm in his seat. “You want to explain to me what that shite was with Layla in Marshall Hall?”

  “No.” Donovan let his shoulders fall, knowing it was pointless to tell Declan to mind his own business. Autumn, her friends, somehow Declan had taken it upon himself to act like their body guards. The overprotective shit was damn annoying. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is when our coach’s daughter runs away from you looking like you’ve had a go at her.”

  “It’s not like that, Deco.”

  Declan’s eyes were hard, calculating, but he didn’t speak, just nodded once and Donovan didn’t like how final that expression seemed. “Good. Then there shouldn’t be a problem. Just remember, mate, Mullens won’t thank you for messing his daughter about.” Tired of the lecture, Donovan stood, was about to kick his chair under the table when Declan grabbed his sleeve. “
I won’t thank you for fucking with her either.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Declan threw back Donovan’s arm and stood, looking down at him like they weren’t friends, like Declan’s warning was meant for some asshole he didn’t trust and not his best friend. “What you do to Autumn’s friends affects me, trust me it does. If there was a problem and I didn’t offer to sort it out, then she’d be put off and, mate, I don’t like my woman put off at me. Ever.”

  “That still…”

  “Layla is Autumn’s friend. Thick as thieves, the whole lot of them. You mess one about…” he waved his hand, likely knowing Donovan got what he meant. “For your own good and for my bloody sanity, mate, please, promise me you’ll leave off Layla.”

  Donovan nodded, knowing Declan was right, knowing that anything he and Layla did together would end in disaster. If it did, the shit would land sure and heavy at his feet. But as they left McKinney’s silently walking down the sidewalk ignoring the tension that Declan’s warning had brought, Donovan wasn’t so sure he could keep that promise to his best friend.

  Five a.m. was too damn early for a run, no matter what Mullens said. By five-thirty, Donovan’s coach had the squad running up the mountain, past Fanning Falls, with a steady bellow of “move, you bastards” drowning out the loud spray from the waterfall and the wind rustling the trees.

  All Donovan could think about was getting a shower and sleeping until his nine o’clock class. Then, he’d be free until his one o’clock class which meant he could have a small nap before practice that afternoon. He was looking forward to it and so he was not paying attention to much of anything in his apartment when he returned from their pre-sunrise run. Donovan didn’t notice that his roommate, Jeff, had left the television on or that there was a half-smoked blunt in the ashtray on the coffee table.

  He simply moved to his room, slipping off his sweat-slicked shirt and made for his bathroom, still somewhat asleep, his mind fogged by the early morning and his exhaustion. The water scalding his skin; the sweet sting making a low moan lift from Donovan’s throat, the hot stream of water pounding into his overused muscles as he stretched his neck and moved his shoulders. And then, Donovan leaned back, tried to lather his thick blonde hair but the tangy scent of something sweet like syrupy snowballs melting in the summer caught his attention and then, finally then, did he see the shower of red water cascading down his body.

  “What the hell?”

  He jumped away from the spray, inching his nose toward that strawberry scent and then Donovan cupped his hand, taking a tentative sip of that red water.

  “Fucking Kool Aid. Oh, I swear to God…” And he jumped out of the shower, tried rinsing his hair, his tinted skin with the sink faucet only to be assaulted by another whiff of strawberry and the pink water flowed again. “Where the hell did that little brat get so much damn Kool-Aid?”

  Donovan left the bathroom with one person on his mind and thinking up plans, scenarios, of just how he’d pay her back.

  Quinn O’Malley thought a lot of himself. That was Layla’s first impression of Declan’s half-brother. Why Autumn had brought him to the café was beyond Layla. The redhead professed to hate her boyfriend’s brother. She’d told Layla and Mollie that her knee had met his junk at least three times since he’d started living with Declan and Autumn’s dad, Joe.

  “You like to party, love?”

  Quinn’s low, heavy voice came right at Layla’s ear, making her flinch when she realized that he’d slipped into the seat right next to her. He’d at least waited until Mollie and Autumn had gone to the counter for a reorder. He wore a typical ‘I don’t care, but I really do care’ outfit—skinny, dark jeans, pristine black Chuck’s and a vintage wash tee that read “Feck Off, Please” in a large, obnoxious white font. It annoyed Layla that he was so good looking. It annoyed her that his shoulders were so broad, that the offensive t-shirt he wore pulled against his large chest.

  “Depends on the party,” she told him, scooting her chair away from him when the Irishman leaned on the table.

  His smile was lecherous. There was no other word for it. Maybe devious. Possibly indecent, but Quinn’s low-lidded eyes moved up her legs, to Layla’s hips and landed on her chest, where they stayed for a good moment too long.

  Layla whistled, a quick, sharp sound that followed the snap of her fingers and brought Quinn’s gaze back to her face. “Upstairs, asshole. Where the eyes are.”

  The toothpick between his teeth moved side to side, pressed between those thick lips of his as they inched up on one side of his mouth. The smirk was almost identical to the one Declan always gave Autumn, but Quinn’s seemed more dangerous, like there was a promise there only the baser instincts in Layla’s gut would ever consider uncovering.

  “You’ve a bit a spark, don’t you, love?”

  She wasn’t impressed by him. Not really. She wouldn’t be impressed with anyone who groped his brother’s girlfriend, or tried to. Layla didn’t find the way Quinn’s eyes wandered, how they undressed every female within gawking distance of him to be the mark of a decent guy. He was a pig. He was rich and gorgeous and sinfully sexy, but Quinn O’Malley was still a fucking pig.

  “You’ll find that a great many women in Cavanagh have spark, O’Malley.” Layla pushed Quinn’s hand off her knee when he rested it there and frowned at the hard glare she gave him. “It comes from generations of calling assholes on their bullshit.”

  “Oy, you calling me an arsehole?”

  “If the toothpick fits…”

  She expected his attitude, he seemed to hand it out like water at a marathon, but Quinn didn’t get defensive. He looked, in fact, amused by Layla’s attitude, a bit like he appreciated it. “I like bossy women. You want to boss me around a bit?” He leaned so close that Layla could smell the faint hint of tobacco on his breath. “I don’t mind you bossing me, so long as you rough me up a bit. A bit of a spank would be grand.”

  Layla snorted, tried to recover the shocked sound with a cough that she knew Quinn didn’t buy. “You are so full of yourself, O’Malley.”

  “Aye, maybe, but I’m a good time, love and forgive me for noticing, but you look like a girl who is desperate for a good time.”

  “Or a fucking throttling,” Donovan’s gruff voice sounded behind Layla.

  A quick jerk around in her seat, eyes roaming over the pink skin, the red rimmed, angry eyes and discolored blonde hair that were compliments of her latest prank, and she shot up from her chair, twisting away from Donovan’s large hands when he grabbed for her.

  “Piss off, Donley.”

  “Piss off? Are you shitting me?” He followed her around the table, hands reaching, trying to grab her until Autumn and Mollie stood next to her, blocked her from Donovan’s reach, if not his glare.

  “You needed a lesson.”

  “Layla, seriously?” Mollie said, taking in Donovan’s pasteled coloring. Layla didn’t like the exasperated tone that peppered Mollie’s voice. “This shit has got to stop.”

  “Then tell him to stay away from me. Tell him to not even look in my direction!” Layla was grasping straws that had no weight, no reason at all.

  “I didn’t do a freakin thing to you, you insane woman!”

  “Really? Nothing at all? Do you know how long it took me to get the green dye out of my hair? You’re about to find out, asshole.”

  Donovan’s lip curled up and he moved to the other side of the table, only stepping back from Layla when Declan thundered through the door and pulled on his collar.

  Then Layla couldn’t keep track of all the noise, the commotion in the tiny café. Donovan’s angry, loud voice as he met every step Layla took; Declan trying to hold his best friend back as Mollie and Autumn shouted at Donovan to get out. Even the haggard-looking balding manager started yelling for everyone to leave by the time Donovan twisted out of Declan’s hold. Quinn sat there, Layla noticed, eyes watching the mayhem unfold with an amused,
highly annoying smirk twisting his lips.

  “That is enough!”

  It was Sayo, who Layla hadn’t seen come in during all the arguing chaos, that silenced the thick, angry shouting. The moment Layla spotted the dark circles under her friend’s eyes, the way Sayo’s normally well-kept, pink hair was twisted into a sloppy bun at the back of her head, she felt an overwhelming knot of shame bubbling in her gut.

  “Sayo…”

  “No, Layla, this is bullshit.” Layla noticed that the Japanese girl’s dark roots were growing, that she must have been so distracted by her cousin’s illness, she hadn’t had time or cared about doing much in the way of personal grooming. When Sayo’s frown hardened and her dark eyes glared, Layla lowered her head, unable to take the look her friend gave her. “I come in here for caffeine because I haven’t slept, I can’t sleep, and this shit is still going on?”

  “I didn’t know…”

  Layla closed her mouth the instant Sayo held her palm up. “You will be finishing college next semester.” She looked at Donovan, barely managing a glance at how ridiculous he looked. “Both of you. I don’t give a shit what your problem is with each other. Grow. Up.” Sayo looked between Donovan and Layla, that stern glare making their other friends retreat so that Sayo’s focus was centered on them. “I just came from an eight year old’s bed. She’s dying… she’s…” It took a moment for Sayo to swallow down the apparent knot in her throat, but she recovered quickly, shaking off whatever image in her mind that had her composure slipping. “My little cousin wanted to go to college. She wanted to turn ten. She wanted to come here because she knows how much I love it. She knows how much we all love it here.” Sayo took a step, shaking her head when Autumn touched her shoulder. “That’s not going to happen for her. She’s not going to get the chances that you both have. The opportunities that you are ignoring because you can’t let go of whatever high school bullshit you both are still holding onto.”