Claiming Serenity

by Eden Butler

  “Fuck. Get up.” He had to think of something quick, something that would keep Layla out of Declan’s sight. God knows what the Irishman would do if he found her in here. A glance around his messy room, and Donovan took her elbow, leading her away from the bed. “Go in the bathroom.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  Swinging his gaze from the door Declan kept knocking on, to Layla’s increasing fury, Donovan whispered, dragging Layla to the open bathroom door. “You want Declan to know what we’re doing?”

  “Oh God,” she said, hurrying to slip her skirt over her hips. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Donovan? Let’s go mate.” The doorknob twisted, but didn’t open and Donovan said a small prayer of thanks that he’d remembered to lock the door. “What are you doing in there? I brought my car so we can run the track in Willow Peak before practice.” Declan continued to beat on the door, this time making the hinges rattle.

  “Hang on a sec,” Donovan shouted and then Declan’s constant banging against the door stopped.

  “What’s the problem? You bare arsed or something?”

  Donovan hopped on one foot as he jerked on his boxers, then his practice shorts up his leg. “Um, yeah, I am. I ah, locked the door because Jeff kept, uh, coming in here to use my bathroom last night because he’s, um, too lazy to move too far from the XBox.”

  Layla shook her head and Donovan shrugged, knowing the excuse was stupid. He hoped Declan didn’t remember that his roommate Jeff had moved in with his girlfriend. Donovan hated to imagine what kind of girl would put up with his sloppy ass.

  “Just give me a sec.”

  Donovan pushed Layla into the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush and helping her with her bra as Declan started chatting about something Donovan couldn’t quite make out.

  “Quinn at hospital, which, the bollicks won’t bloody stay away from…”

  Finally, Layla had her rumpled clothes on and tried straightening out the wrinkles as Donovan raced back into his room, grabbing his shirt. He was almost to the door with his shoes under his arm and his head through the neck of his practice tee when he darted back to the bathroom to find Layla scowling as she waiting on the edge of the tub.

  Smile wide and his eyebrows wagging, Donovan stole a kiss which Layla seemed too surprised to pull away from. “Sorry. Rain check on going mctavish, right?”

  She pushed him out of the bathroom and he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh at him. “You owe me, Donley.”

  “And I’ll pay you back.” He finished tugging his shirt on and winked at her. “You’ll love how I pay back. Promise.”

  Layla’s mother took an early morning Yoga class every Saturday at seven a.m. She did this because standing in front of an operating table for hours on end wore down her back and because her husband tended to be grumpy after he came home from a weekend morning rugby practice. Her mother confessed to Layla that she needed to be relaxed and centered when the usual “those boys are lazy” ranting came along with her father’s return from the pitch.

  So Layla considered it a blessing that the house was empty when she returned from Donovan’s that morning. The kitchen was clean, the marble tops pristine, with only her mother’s leather bag and hospital I.D. badge cluttering up counters.

  Layla walked to the sink, turning the faucet to fill the short tumbler she grabbed from the white cabinets, when two piercing barks echoed around the silent house and her furry little Maltese, Honey, was in her arms. “Did you miss me, baby? I missed you,” she said, nails under his chin scratching as she spoke in that same stupid tone everyone uses when around animals and infants. “Yes I did. Yes mummy did. Who’s mummy’s ickle lil man? You are. Yes, you are, aren’t you…”

  “Layla, that dog has no idea what you’re saying.”

  “Daddy! Shit!” Layla’s heart jumped almost out of her chest, but she quickly corrected herself from the rude curse when her father frowned at her as he walked into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “Why aren’t you at practice?” she asked breathlessly. Honey followed her father, jumping on his leg, begging for a scratch.

  Her father cocked an eyebrow as he poured a cup in his thermos and pushed her dog back with his foot. He wore his usual coaching garb—Cavanagh Rugby ball cap, a red polo with the university logo on the pocket and black track pants. Her father was pushing fifty, but he was fit, had broad shoulders and a rugged face that made his bright blue eyes shine against his pale skin.

  “I’m coach, right? I can be late. Besides, I told Declan to run them through drills. They’re getting sloppy.”

  “Oh. I, um…” Layla looked through the sunroom window and noticed her father’s BMW wasn’t out in the driveway. The early morning sunlight caught on the farmhouse table in the breakfast nook and Layla blinked quickly, moving her head back from the glare. “How are you getting to the pitch?”

  “That’s why I was going to be late. I need you to bring me.” He took a long sip from his thermos, eyes closed as he drank and Layla took a second to straighten her shirt and run her fingers through her ratted hair before her father set his mug on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “My car is getting a rotation. I texted you last night.” Her father was intimidating. Most people thought so, but they only saw the gruff, confident rugby coach who could put down men twice his size with one hard stare. Layla knew he was really just a big teddy bear. Except when he was annoyed or irritated and most of the time when he was in that mood, it was Layla’s fault. His Cinderella princess was long gone and sometimes Layla hated that her father knew that. This morning, unfortunately, seemed to be no exception.

  He had this frustratingly easy way of looking at her, calm, cool, as though he could read her mind. It drove Layla crazy and he did that, just then, with his arms crossed, his eyes scrutinizing her face as though he expected her to spill her secrets right out onto the kitchen floor. Just a few seconds under that stare and Layla felt self-conscious, awkward that he was likely accessing the state of her clothes and the rumpled mess that was her hair.

  “And where were you last night that kept you from returning my text?”

  “Daddy…” She stood next to him, trying to kiss his cheek, hoping that the sweet princess act would work on him. It was early, he likely wasn’t fully awake and therefore had dulled senses, but her father wasn’t falling for it—he was accustomed to her little game and highly alert to bullshit. She was pressing her luck with the go-to princess act and her father confirmed it as he pulled away from her with his nostrils flaring.

  “Cut the crap. Your clothes are wrinkled, your hair is a mess and you smell like sweat and…” he leaned forward and sniffed her, shaking his head with a disgusted frown on his face. “Regret. Sweat and regret, Layla.”

  Shoulders lowering, Layla leaned next to him on the counter. “You can say that again,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Was it Walter?”

  The old man just would not let that go. Rubbing her face, Layla exhaled. “Daddy, Walter and I are never getting back together. Ever.”

  His exhale was long, resigned, and he moved the cap he wore up and down, fluffing his light brown hair until the brim lowered just above his eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to know? You don’t talk to me about anything anymore.”

  “Daddy…”

  He didn’t want to know the details; Layla guessed that from the way he shook his head, how he waved his hand to stop her from explaining anything further. But it wasn’t his way not to give her his advice, whether she wanted it or not. “Look, sweetie, you’re an adult.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Layla’s father squeezed her shoulder, one small gesture letting her know he wasn’t angry and when he spoke again, his voice held less bite. “You can make your own decisions, but staying with someone you’re not with one night, just a few weeks after you dumped your boyfriend is, well…”

  She smacked his arm. “What exactly?” When he only shrugged, Layla shook her head, not amused by her father’s unspoken insult. “And
would you say the same thing to Ethan? Or would you pat him on the back and say ‘that’s my boy’ while puffing out your chest?”

  Layla hated the frown he gave her, hated more that he cursed to himself, voice low and whispered as though he didn’t want her hearing the multiple foul words he kept to himself. “We’re not talking about your brother right now and for the record, yes, I’d lecture him too about this shit. You have to be careful.”

  This was definitely not a conversation she wanted to have with her father. Not now. Not ever, but as she sidled to the refrigerator to grab a bottled water, she felt the old man’s eyes on her, felt the frustration humming off him. She hadn’t been around much, that was true, but neither had he. There was no way she’d let him guilt her. It was too damn early for that. “Dad I’m not doing anything stupid and even if I were, I’m always careful.”

  “But Walter…”

  “Daddy, please.” She slammed the refrigerator door and her father stood away from the counter, shoulders straight as though he expected her to lash out at him. Layla inhaled, leaned against the fridge and hoped her voice wasn’t sharp. “Forget about Walter. That’s done.”

  He took another sip from his mug, looking at the top and Layla knew it was to measure what he’d say next. Her dad usually called her on her bullshit, but he still had yet to win an argument since Layla was sixteen. He didn’t seem to like that so she knew he was trying to figure out the next point he wanted to annoy her about. “You keep to yourself more than you did when you were in high school and I know you cut Walter loose and that’s, well, whatever, that’s your decision. I just hope you aren’t involved with someone who is, I dunno, not exactly ready to settle down.”

  She tilted her head, having no clue what he was getting at. “Like who?”

  He shrugged and shifted his eyes away from her face. “Well, last semester you and Donley were going at each other with glitter and hair dye and…”

  “How did you know…”

  “Layla, please. I have eyes and you two have been going at each other in one way or another since you were in middle school. Besides, I overhear things in my office when the squad thinks I’m not listening.” He took another longer sip from his mug and Layla thought she saw him trying to conceal a smile with his thermos. “And Donley showed up to my practice a couple of weeks ago with his skin and hair tinted pink. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  If her father knew what was really happening between them, he’d kill Donovan, never mind cutting him from the squad. Really, the thought of her father finding out about them made Layla’s stomach turn. She didn’t want her father nosing in her life and definitely not in her sex life. She shot for innocent ignorance, hoping his bullshit detector wasn’t charging on all cylinders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about and Donovan and me? Really, Dad?”

  “Uh huh. Go ahead and deny it. Just remember that your old dad wasn’t always old and I remember what it meant, sneaking back home after a night of doing God knows what.”

  “Dad…”

  “Layla…” He set his mug back on the counter, coming in front of her to rest his hands on her shoulders. “I just want you to be smart and don’t want you involved with someone who can’t give you what you deserve. I’d hate to have to kill some poor asshole because he broke my little girl’s heart even if he is one of the best forwards I’ve ever coached.”

  “Daddy, no. There isn’t anything between us.”

  Layla appreciated her father, his advice, his patience, even when she didn’t deserve it. He’d always supported her and her brother Ethan no matter what and Layla was grateful that she had him. He was only looking out for her, like any good father would do.

  When he only cocked an eyebrow at her, still seeming unconvinced that nothing was happening between Layla and the Demon, she shook her head, accepting that her father wanted her to be a bit complacent. “I will, Daddy. I promise.” She kissed his cheek and linked her arm through his as they headed toward the door. “Come on, let’s get you to the pitch. I want nothing more than to get back here and wash off…”

  “Your sinful regret?” he said, laughing like he thought he was hilarious.

  “The night, Dad. I was going to say wash off the night. Perv.” Layla stared after him as he walked toward her car, laughing with him and hopeful her father bought her forced indignation.

  The night before should have been mind-blowing. After all, Donovan promised to make it up to Layla. It should have been raw and real and something she would never forget. But Donovan being Donovan and Layla reacting to him when he was, meant that the bare experience never happened and the night as a whole, really, was less than spectacular.

  She’d dropped off her father at the pitch and Declan leaned into her window asking her if she’d heard from Sayo. She hadn’t¸ but no one had and then Layla caught Donovan glaring at her through the windshield before he whistled at Declan. She hadn’t liked the look he gave her or the way he rushed through their night when she went to his apartment. He’d seemed tense, his touches half-hearted and though Donovan didn’t disappoint her, he never did, she caught on to his attitude, felt like he was just going through motions with her and a little annoyed by something he kept to himself. He’d been distant and made Layla feel unwelcomed and she left after she took a shower. He hadn’t stopped her. He hadn’t asked her why she wasn’t staying with him.

  The next day when she and Mollie were at the university’s cafeteria—and Donovan was hanging out with some teammates a few tables away—Layla hated the way Donovan laughed like there was nothing out of the norm going on between them. Oh, sure she understood keeping up appearances, but completely ignoring her? That was a little juvenile.

  “You don’t want your pickle, do you? I have a craving.” Mollie didn’t wait for Layla to answer and had eaten half the pickle before Layla could even open her mouth.

  Layla looked at Mollie’s discarded napkins and empty plate. She’d eaten every single bite and was working her way toward Layla’s. “What gives? You’re eating like a Victoria’s Secret model the day after a bathing suit shoot.” Mollie ignored her, reached across the table to still another pickle and Layla slapped her hand away before she leaned forward, whispering to her best friend. “Oh my God, Mollie are you pregnant?”

  A quick eye roll and Mollie tossed her crumpled up napkin at her. “Don’t be stupid. God, can you imagine?” When Layla only continued to stare at her, Mollie rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Vaughn is a little gun shy about the whole kid thing, Layla. Besides, we’ve only been dating a few months. A few hot, mind blowing months, but still only a few months and you know I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen.”

  Layla shrugged, knowing Mollie’s casual attitude wasn’t forced. Her appetite was likely just a result of all the activity she and Vaughn had gotten up to. She’d told Layla that her Marine had been training for a CrossFit competition and their meals had been protein-rich and regimented. Mollie might love the guy, but she wouldn’t mimic his diet. The girl loved food too much for that.

  “I have a third cousin in Nashville who got pregnant while she had the flu despite being on the pill. She got landed with a kid at eighteen. The pill isn’t always a hundred percent.”

  “Don’t scare me,” Mollie said, sitting up straight as a small shiver moved her shoulders. “Please, I know better. How many lectures did your mom or Autumn’s give us over the years about being smart with sex? No, I’m not pregnant. I just didn’t eat much last night because Vaughn came over and we…”

  The quick eye waggling was enough of an explanation but when Mollie licked her lips and released an inflated moan, Layla shook her head, holding up her hand to silence her friend. “Okay. Enough. Please spare me.”

  “You’re grumpy,” Mollie said through a laugh. “What gives? Your dad still hounding you about Walter?”

  “A little. He gave me that ‘make good decisions’ lecture yesterday morning. Ridiculous.”

  Mollie nodde
d, but then her attention was distracted by the chirp of her phone. By the stupid way her features softened as she read the text message, Layla guessed Vaughn had texted Mollie something saccharinely-sweet and disgusting. She didn’t want to see that idiotic smile on her friend’s face, so Layla looked around the cafeteria, nodded to two of her father’s players when they passed her, then scowled as Donovan’s annoying laughter brought her attention back to him.

  He hadn’t looked at her once in the half hour since she and Mollie had walked into the cafeteria and Layla was annoyed more with herself than with him that his ignoring her bothered her so much.

  Now he sat across from her in the cafeteria, acting like he didn’t even know she was there. Laughing and carrying on with his squad mates as they catcalled every girl that past their table.

  “Well, at least you get to see your dad every day,” Mollie finally said, picking up their conversation about her father’s lecture when Mollie placed her phone in front of her on the table.

  The small complaint had Layla forgetting about Donovan and focusing on her best friend. She hated that look on Mollie’s face, she hated that the brunette tried to cover her worry for her father who was in some FBI hospital being treated for cancer.

  “Honey…”

  “Oh God, Layla,” she said, waving off Layla’s concern. “I’m being a whiney shit. I talked to my dad Friday night. Still with the treatment but he said he’s responding.” She moved a finger under her eye and then smiled at Layla. “It’s looking good.” Layla knew Mollie wanted to talk about her dad, about how worried she was, how much she missed him and maybe they would have had that conversation, but Mollie’s eyes rounded and she sat up straight after glancing through the window to the Union outside. “Shit, Layla, duck out.”

  “Why?” She moved her head, tried to catch what Mollie had noticed outside, but her best friend stood up, blocked Layla from the window.