Finding Serenity

by Eden Butler

  She doesn’t want to turn around. If she turns around, then she’ll have to look him in the eyes. She’ll have to see the worried, ‘this girl is a stalker’ look that is almost certainly on Vaughn’s face. Mollie takes a breath, hoping the brief pause will do something to ease the hammering rhythm of her heart, but at the inhalation, she picks up a whiff of Vaughn’s cologne—the twin aromas of musky aftershave and the distinct male scent that every man carries on his skin.

  Her mouth instantly waters.

  Still, her Daddy didn’t raise a coward and so Mollie lifts her chin and looks over her shoulder, trying hard not to let Vaughn see how much she likes him in his formal uniform. But, damn, is it hard not to react.

  Up close Vaughn looks like some heavily photoshopped version of a Marines recruitment ad. He is so tall, so broad that Marco and Bret look like preschoolers next to him.

  Mollie maintains her cool, but only just. She feels Vaughn’s eyes glare over her face, stopping a moment to examine the dark bruise on her cheek. But he is a skilled veteran of composure, that much she can tell. Mollie won’t allow him to divide her focus and so she only offers him a nod and then pulls her attention back to the cowering DJ. “Look, I get it. You want to be the shit around here, maybe make a little cash. Nothing wrong with that. But you see, that asshole you bought your stuff from? Yeah, he robbed me the other night. Took all my shit.”

  “I… I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do. So the question becomes, what are you going to do? I want my shit back.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Bullshit.” Marco grabs Bret by the collar.

  When Vaughn steps to the side, backing up Marco like some burly sentry, the kid’s eyes round, shifts between the three of them. “I swear, man, all I have is the headphones and some of the CDs. Well, and the five hundred these people paid me for this gig. I broke the equipment bringing it into my apartment.”

  Mollie can’t focus, can’t shake the feel of Vaughn’s eyes on her, of his towering stature looming too near. She just wants her stuff. She wants this night over with. Marco releases Bret when Mollie slaps his hand away because he looks like he’s about to wet himself. “Who‘s boards are you using tonight?”

  “My brother’s.”

  Then the kid gets desperate. He bypasses Marco, seems to forget that the hulking Marine is standing just feet from them and grabs Mollie’s arm. Instantly, Vaughn steps forward, throws him back against the van.

  “Don’t touch her,” he tells the kid and Mollie tries her damndest not to grin like an idiot.

  “Look, I know who you are,” Bret says to Mollie. “I love your beats, Malone and I’m sorry as hell that you got ganked, but I don’t have your boards. Not anymore. I… I can give you the cash I made tonight.” He immediately digs into his pockets, twenties and tens falling down by his feet.

  There is a heavy gleam in Bret’s eyes and as he lowers to pick up his fallen bills, she notices how his fingers shake so that he drops his money several times. I’m a hateful bitch, she thinks to herself, releasing some of her anger. The kid is hungry, eager. She remembers that feeling, remembers how it consumed her until she had what she wanted. This kid is clueless and Mollie is struck suddenly by overwhelming guilt.

  Bret pushes the scatter of cash toward her, shaking his wrist for her to take it, but she waves him off, more interested in information than money.

  “You know the guy you bought my stuff from?”

  “No. Mannie, who runs the pawn shop on Third in Chattanooga, called me. He knew I was looking for some boards. Said this dude came in looking to sell. I got there when the guy was unloading his trunk so the stuff didn’t even make it into the pawn shop.”

  “This Mannie guy might have a name for you.” Vaughn doesn’t look at her, doesn’t do anything but continue to glare at Bret. Mollie returns his statement with a nod of her head, trying to fight back the curiosity of Vaughn’s sudden interest in her dilemma.

  “I’ll check it out,” she offers, determined to keep her attention on the kid and not the domineering Marine who is now searching her face and burning a glance over her skin.

  Bret seems to have relaxed. With Vaughn not hovering over him, the kid’s body isn’t as rigid, his spine not quite as straight and he is just about to say something, Mollie thinks it is likely another apology, but he’s interrupted when a middle-aged man in a black suit approaches. One snap of his fingers and jerk of the head and Bret hustles away from the van. “Look, I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t know.”

  She shrugs and they all watch Bret run back into the banquet hall.

  “I can check it out tomorrow.” Marco walks next to Mollie toward the parking lot. Vaughn is steps behind them, listening, and Mollie wonders where his sudden interest has come from.

  She doesn’t want Marco any more involved in this mess than he is. Besides, she’s already seen his inability to put up a fight. She likes him. He’s a friend and she doesn’t want to see him hurt on her behalf once again. “Nah. I’ll get Declan to go with me.”

  Mollie hears him exhale and smiles at the obvious relief on his face. “Good idea. You need muscle to ask your questions.”

  “Why don’t you let the cops handle it?” Vaughn says, stopping the pair from their retreat to Marco’s car. She faces him and tries to ignore how the electric lights behind him cast a soft halo over his face.

  Marco laughs, shares a smile with Mollie. Ignoring Vaughn’s question, she turns again toward the parking lot. Just walk away, she tells herself, sure that Vaughn’s mild curiosity is more about the mystery of uncovering her burglar than with any interest he might have in her.

  “Let’s head out. I’m tired and still have to get the mess handled at my place.” Marco nods, but there is a tension working through the warm air. They make an odd trio—Mollie with her inappropriately bare stomach, Marco with his ragged boots and baggy jeans and Vaughn in his finest Marine blues. But as the Marine in question steps closer, right next to her, Mollie shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable once again. Marco meets her glance, catches the jerk of her head and the unspoken command resonates with his narrowed eyes. “Give me a sec, okay?” she tells Marco and ignores his hesitant pause. She cocks an eyebrow up as if to say “scram little dude” and her friend shrugs once before he takes off toward his El Camino.

  “Something funny about getting the cops to help?” Vaughn takes a small step toward Mollie. When she doesn’t immediately respond, he stands in front of her, blocking her attention away from Marco.

  That quick connection she felt at the Dash returns, but it’s only for a second and by how Vaughn keeps space between them, Mollie guesses the sensation is one-sided. “It’s a long story. And, it’s not your problem.” She can’t help but stretch her neck, stare into his eyes. Mollie doesn’t like the way Vaughn frowns at her, as though he thinks she’s some reckless kid that needs a good dressing down. When he doesn’t lose the stern glower, Mollie shakes her head, lets out a long sigh. “My friend’s boyfriend is a big son of a bitch and he’s got my back.” She starts to walk away and he follows. She thinks they must look ridiculous together, him in his finery, her looking like a reject from Forever 21.

  “If you got robbed then maybe your place isn’t the safest place right now.”

  She smiles. “Not concerned for me, are you, Semper Fi?”

  He doesn’t miss a beat, completely ignores her mild flirting. “You live alone, don’t you?” Vaughn points to her cheek and an odd, almost angry scowl hardens his features.

  More of the little girl bullshit, she thinks and the idea of his over-protective Daddy Act only pisses Mollie off. For some reason she isn’t intimidated by Vaughn; not his size, not the worried, grim set of his mouth. Her natural reaction at being looked down on, at him dismissing her completely, is to cradle that dimming anger that settled into her gut the moment she was knocked out by a punk robber. “And?”

  “It’s just not safe. Not if someone can get into your place and steal from you
.” Vaughn slips his hands into his pockets, moves his shoulders once as though his explanation is completely logical, obvious.

  This guy must think I’m helpless. She doesn’t know why that is. Her age maybe? The fact that she told him she’s still in college? He’s older than her, but dammit, she knew she felt something all those months ago when he helped her down the mountain at the Dash. Was that it? That day, to him, she was helpless. Muddy, cold, with a crooked finger and egging on her friends, telling Autumn and Sayo to go on without her. She must have looked like a kid. Vaughn must have thought she’d acquired some sort of hero worship when he picked her up, set her finger and warmed her with his hoodie. Then she pops up at his business? Passing back his property was a sad, obvious excuse to see him, but that doesn’t mean she is a helpless kid. She knows that Vaughn’s concern is likely well placed, that he’s used to rescues, accustomed to solving problems.

  Not exactly what she wants from him. “I’m fine,” she finally answers him, pulling her arms around her stomach to hide her bare skin. Mollie doesn’t want this; not his placating little smiles or his intrusive queries. She’s managed without a father for ten years and God knows she doesn’t want Vaughn to fill in for her dad. Oh sure, she might like to call him “Daddy” but those two things are completely unrelated in her mind. She heads toward the El Camino again and for some unknown, utterly mindboggling reason, Vaughn keeps time with her every step.

  “I was surprised to see you here.”

  “I wasn’t following you.” Mollie knows that the explanation is too quick, that she is being defensive and unnecessarily rude to Vaughn when really he’s done nothing to earn her attitude. But her pride is wounded, her libido is throbbing just by breathing the same air as Vaughn. From their last encounter together, it’s clear to Mollie he’s uninterested. This Disappointed Daddy thing only drives that home. She slips her glance up to his face and frowns harder when she spots the quirk working between Vaughn’s lips as though he’s fighting the urge to smile at her, possibly pat her head and tell her to be careful. “I wasn’t. Marco found out this kid bought my stuff. I was checking it out. I had no idea you’d be here.”

  He nods and she thinks he might actually believe her, but then Vaughn’s eyes move over her head, back to the building behind them. “They gave us an award for our dad.” His voice is soft, like it’s difficult to get the words out. When she only frowns, confused, Vaughn exhales. “He was a trooper, thirty years. Got killed in the line of duty last year. My sister dragged me here tonight to get this commendation for him.”

  Sister, she thinks, trying very hard not to clap her hands like a twelve year-old. She pushes back that irrational glee because she doesn’t want her anger, her annoyance to fade. It’s easier to dismiss him, to remind herself that to him, she’s just some stupid kid with a crush. But his expression has gone hard, regretful, and a small bit of her irritation is forgotten. “Well, I’m sorry about your dad.” Her dad might be locked away in a cell, but she still gets to speaks to him, weekly phone calls monitored by some nosey prison guard. But if he were gone completely? If he were dead? No, she can’t fathom that at all and the fiercely held annoyance she felt at Vaughn’s dismissal of her as anything but a stupid girl disappears.

  His expression is difficult for Mollie to make out. There is a small smile pulling his lips, but then Vaughn frowns, looks off into the parking lot as though his father isn’t a topic open for discussion. She can relate and can’t help but touch his hand. When her fingers meet his large hand, the electric pulse rises back up and Mollie quickly pulls her hand away. She thinks he feels it too. She thinks there is a moment when Vaughn’s eyes leave her hand and jump to her face where he notices the spark. If he does, he buries his reaction behind a few blinks and the return of his impassive, small frown.

  “Anyway, like I said, I was here to find out who took my stuff,” she says, covering that mild electrical rush by pulling on the hem of her threadbare t-shirt.

  Marco revs the engine and Vaughn looks up. “And that guy is your back up?”

  Mollie waves at Marco, flipping her hand to get him to wait a second. “That guy, is a friend. Another DJ.” When Vaughn’s stoic expression shifts into a grin, Mollie tilts her head, curious. “What?”

  “I just can’t imagine you in a smoky club spinning records. It seems kinda out of character.” His smile is wider, his shoulders shake as though something he keeps to himself is amazingly amusing.

  “And you know about my character how, exactly?”

  “Come on, Mollie. You?” She doesn’t like how his voice has taken on a condensing tone or how his smile widens. “You’re a tiny little thing. You out late with a bunch of drunks, amping up a crowd?”

  “I’m actually pretty good. Don’t make judgments, Vaughn.”

  His laughter flips a switch in her and Mollie decides she doesn’t need to stand around this guy waiting to be ridiculed. She’s got Layla for that shit. She turns, tries not to stomp as she approaches the El Camino, but Vaughn pulls her back, grabbing her wrist to stop her before she reaches the car. “Look, you’re right, I have no idea about your life.”

  “You really don’t.” She meant to jump in the car and leave him standing there by himself. But that niggling little voice in her head tells her that she has to explain herself, that if she doesn’t, Vaughn’s opinion of her as a pathetic kid is going to stay stuck in his mind. She can’t have that. “I didn’t mean to just pop up at your place the other day. I… I thought maybe you’d want your hoodie back.”

  “After months? In the middle of summer?”

  “It wasn’t mine and you GI Joe types tend to be funny about your stuff. My dad always was.”

  Vaughn lifts his eyebrows, his curiosity obvious. “He was in the Corps?”

  That makes her laugh. The idea of her dad in the Marines. “God no. He was a Navy SEAL and wouldn’t let me touch any of the stuff he had from his service.” She notices that his shoulders have relaxed, his humor and condescension now missing. “Anyway, I thought you might want it back. The hoodie.”

  Vaughn leans against Marco’s car when he revs the engine again. “Well, thanks. It was sweet of you.”

  That wasn’t sincere appreciation and Mollie doesn’t know why Vaughn is even still sticking around. “Whatever,” she says, reaching for the door handle.

  Vaughn stops her, slides his hip over the door. “You know, you sure do have a temper.”

  “You got no idea.”

  “Maybe…” he starts, standing closer to her, “maybe you wanna let me find out.”

  “What?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I’m curious.” Again his gaze moves toward Marco and the loud boom of the stereo that he cranks up. Vaughn couldn’t be jealous, not of Marco anyway, so Mollie figures it’s the burglary. This guy can’t help himself, seems like he has to be the hero. Always.

  “I was, too.” She steps closer to him, but he doesn’t even lean away from her when she invades his personal space. “And then I went to see you, and you acted like I was a first grader with a crush on my teacher.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “You called me a little girl.” He winces, then laughs. Mollie pushes him back so that she can open the car door. Instantly the quiet parking lot is filled with Marco’s bass. “Besides, I don’t need any heroes. I got this.”

  “Do you, now? You sure?” Vaughn jerks his chin toward Marco, clearly unimpressed. “Seems like your backup is a bit underqualified. I’m sure a girl raised by a damn squid would have better taste in protectors.”

  The car window rattles when Mollie slams the door shut. “Get this straight. I can take care of myself. And I don’t need some fucking jarhead disrespecting my father.” She doesn’t care that there is no humor on Vaughn’s face now. She doesn’t care how attracted she is to him or how hopeful she was that there was something between them. When she comes within inches of him, Vaughn straightens, his defenses set firm. “No one, and I mean no one, talks shit about my dad.”
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  Mollie doesn’t wait for his reaction. She doesn’t care that she’s likely blown any shot she ever had with Vaughn. She’s pretty sure now there was never any real shot at all. To her, anyone can say what they want about her. She doesn’t care, but mess with her friends or her family, and she skates a bit on the psycho side.

  Mollie was never jealous of her friends. There was a time, right as she turned fourteen and her mother’s ridiculous badgering ran along the lines of “what do you mean you got a B?” and “stop laughing like that. You sound like him” that Mollie wished she had the stable home life of her best friend Layla or a sweet, consoling mother like Autumn’s, but otherwise, she never got jealous.

  Now, standing in a low-lit pawn shop with guitars and fiddles hanging from the ceiling and the smell of second-hand oily tools cluttered around the floor right next to Declan Fraser’s enormous form, Mollie would admit to being a little envious of Autumn. She doesn’t want Declan, not the way she wanted Kenya Washington freshman year or like she wanted Vaughn the first time she saw him at the Dash, but as Declan crosses his arms, the thick veins on his forearms protruding and the heavy scent of grass and cologne wafting from him, she thinks at least that Autumn is a lucky bitch.

  Declan Fraser is an intimidating man. He doesn’t blink, barely seems to breathe as Mannie, the pawn shop manager, explains his rather flimsy excuse for considering taking in stolen property.

  “So, I’ll ask you again, arsehole. Who was the guy in the Shelby?” Mannie shrugs for the third time and Declan remains cool, calm. He throws his arms away from their curl on his chest in a quick flash, making Mannie flinch, but instead of taking a swing at the pudgy guy, Declan simply rests his fists against the glass counter, those enormous, tattooed arms of his flexing. “Sorry, but I don’t know what that means,” he says, mimicking Mannie’s shrug.

  “Man, I don’t know. I’d never met the guy before. Just some dude with a bunch of tattoos on his neck wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses. He barely spoke. Acted like he didn’t want anyone hearing or seeing him.”