Cavanagh - Serenity Series, Vol I (Seeking Serenity)

by Eden Butler

  My eyes come up to the walls of the room, and the endless boxes shoved and scattered in every corner. I jump down as Sayo ignores me in favor of whatever compelling thing on her phone makes her forget that we have work to do. I slide the boxes onto the tables at my left and clear my throat when Sayo doesn’t make a move to help.

  “Sorry. Twitter,” she says as if I’m supposed to accept her social media obsession as a viable excuse for slacking.

  We work in silence, neither still fully awake, until we have at least four boxes cleared and the books organized into several stacks. I stop to pull my hair off of my neck and look up at the clock over the front desk. “Seven-forty.”

  “He’s late.” Sayo takes another stack of books off the counter and puts them on a book trunk.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  I stretch my arms out and pop my back, cursing myself for the mini “Fringe” marathon I decided to have last night. Netflix will be the death of all productive weeknights. I avoided my phone after Sayo left me. I avoided my laptop and my thesis edits because I didn’t want to think, or feel, or have anything remotely close to a rational thought after my encounter with Tucker. Of course, watching a show about death and abandonment and a couple falling in love probably wasn’t wise, but I kept watching and before I knew it, two a.m. had arrived.

  “What did you do last night?” Sayo asks.

  “Peter and Olivia. Again.”

  “Don’t tell me what happens in season five. I’m waiting for Netflix to refresh.” I nod and try not to think about how Sayo watches me, how I know there is a question brimming on the tip of her tongue. She’s either thinking about Tucker calling me or our costume plans for Halloween. Her lips lower, a grimace, so I’m sure her thoughts aren’t on our plans a few weeks away. She and I have this odd little habit of reading each other’s expressions. A small frown, like the one she wears now, means she’s annoyed by something. She knows when I shake my foot or bite my top lip between my teeth that I’m worried. It’s those weird, comfortable tells that has managed to keep us confiding in each other for the past ten years.

  I move the box in front of me across the table. “Go ahead. What do you want to know?”

  She drops the book in her hand and stands next to me. “Did he call again?”

  “He might have. I don’t know. I turned my phone off.”

  “Good.” Sayo rubs her finger over the corner of the box, her eyes still trained on me before she speaks. “It’s just…I don’t want you to think I’m telling you what to do.”

  “Ha. Since when?”

  “Shut up.” Sayo stands up to stretch her back and flips her long pink hair behind her shoulder. She pulls up the waistband of her baggy jeans and I notice she’s dressed down today, likely anticipating the grunt work we have to tackle. She’s casual in a red Cavanagh U hoodie and dark gray jeans, but her shoes are a riot—steel-toed boots, scuffed on the tops with cotton candy colored shoelaces. Her attention returns to me as I grab another box and place it in the “A – L” stack. “Tucker is an unbelievable prick.”

  “Well, that’s the God’s truth.” We both turn around to find Declan with his elbows on the front desk and that idiotic smirk on his face. He seems relaxed in a fitted gray button up, those bright tattoos visible beneath his rolled up sleeves. He walks around the desk and sits against it with his arms crossed over his chest. His jeans are faded, snug and the black Chucks he wears are worn, but clean.

  Just one glance at that smug little grin on his face tells me I’m in for a long, endless day. “You’re late.”

  “Did you want me to come here filthy from the pitch?” He steps away from the desk and stands in front of me, coming closer than is necessary. “Your fella had me running laps at five this morning.”

  “You could have called.”

  Declan slides his fingers through his hair and his attention turns to Sayo. “I could have. Can you stop your bitchin and just tell me what needs to be done?” He steps away from me and inches toward my best friend. I know that look. I’ve seen too many men give Sayo that look. It’s one she always deflects. “And who are you, gorgeous?”

  She drops a box of books at his feet. “Way out of your league.” Suddenly, she’s all business, any humor, any kindness completely absent from her expression. She stares at Declan, who towers over her five-four frame. Clearly, my best friend isn’t impressed by his tardiness or sarcasm. “Take these out and alphabetize them. There are book trunks set up with labels. Think you can handle that?”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  We’re quiet for several minutes, each busy organizing the stacks and stacks of books, separating them alphabetically, piling them onto book trunks, moving the trunks into sections. It’s slow work, but I enjoy the silence and manage not to comment when Declan complains to himself.

  Finally, Mollie and Layla drag in from the lobby, clearly not awake. I get a nod from Mollie and a sleepy wave from Layla, and Sayo immediately sets them to work. She gives them instructions as I focus on the boxes around me, periodically shaking my head when Declan’s under-his-breath protests continue. Then, someone whistles. The sound crosses the lobby, draws closer and I am sure that Sayo will be yelling. She hates noise in her library. But before she can begin her fussing, Tucker walks into the room.

  “Hey,” he says, as though I’m not supposed to be surprised he’s here.

  “What do you want?” Sayo asks him and he turns to face her, eyebrows uplifted.

  He glances between us, then nods to me. “I told Autumn I’d help out.”

  “You did not,” I say, dropping the book in my hand into a box.

  “I left you a message this morning.”

  “I didn’t get it.”

  “Well, if you would have called me back last night then maybe we could have talked about it.”

  “We have enough volunteers,” Sayo explains.

  Tucker glances around the room. He takes in the full, untouched boxes and the skeleton crew among us that haven’t even begun to make a dent in the sorting. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes,” Sayo answers for me.

  “Look, Sayo, I know you don’t like me, but—”

  “Damn skippy.” As though they are at all threatening, Mollie and Layla stand behind Sayo and their disgusted expression and curled lips mirror my best friend’s. “Why don’t you go, Tucker? Your little minion is here, that’s plenty of help.”

  “I’m not his fecking minion.”

  Sayo’s fierce scowl is focused on Tucker whose shoulders have tensed. He takes a step back when Declan approaches. This won’t be good. A silent prayer that my best friend will forget her vow to smack Tucker around the next time she saw him flits around my mind. There’s so much tension in the room that the air hisses.

  Eager to defuse the impending explosion of shouts, I tug on my best friend’s wrist. “It’s fine. Calm down,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound demanding or stern. I turn to Tucker. “I didn’t get your message. And it’s probably not a good idea, you being here.”

  “Autumn, it’s obvious you guys need my help. Fraser and your girls aren’t going to be able to handle all of this.” Tucker’s hands sweep around to the endless boxes.

  “I can leave, you know.” Declan says, heading toward the door.

  Tucker scratches his fingers over his face, lets them rub on his temples. “You’re staying where you are.”

  “If you’re here, I’m not needed, am I?” Declan says, pausing just before he reaches the door.

  “You need to learn humility.” Tucker pats a box on the table. “Getting filthy in the library will serve that purpose.”

  “Humility? You uppity bollocks—”Declan starts toward Tucker, moving his neck side to side, as though he’s gearing up for a tussle.

  It’s my classroom all over again. Nose to nose, chests out like idiots as if we’re in the center of a cage match and not in a hundred year-old library surrounded by nerdy
academic types. For the second time in a week, I wedge myself between Declan and Tucker as they look eager to pounce on each other.

  “That’s enough.” I turn to Sayo. Her eyes gleam with laughter. I know she’d like nothing more than to see Tucker’s face smashed in. “Why don’t you get Declan to bring in those boxes from the donation room?” She nods, her mouth twisted into a disappointed pout, but she pulls on Declan’s sleeve and they disappear out of the room. Mollie and Layla grumble between each other, clearly disappointed that Tucker and Declan didn’t turn the Reference room into a makeshift MMA fight, but as Sayo and Declan left, they return to the books in the corner. Satisfied that I’d distilled the tension, I glance at Tucker. There are hard lines creased on his forehead and his arms are tense in a cross over his chest. “I appreciate the offer, but you can’t be here.”

  “Why not? Because Sayo doesn’t like me?”

  “Because it’s her library. Besides, I think you and Declan in a room together all day would be a disaster.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “Yes, well, you’re supposed to be his captain, aren’t you? Be the bigger man.”

  He rubs the tip of his boot against the carpet, seems to agree with me. The wrinkles disappear and his fingers hang loose on his hips. “Autumn, we still need to talk.”

  I don’t know what he expects from me. This isn’t really the time or place to have a heart to heart, not that I’m at all interested in that. Our relationship was always one-side, always about him, and now that he’s back and he sees that there are other concerns in my life, it must shock him. I find it hard to care about his feelings and just want him gone.

  “No, we don’t. What I need to do is go through these books and you need to walk away. You’re good at that, remember?”

  The tension that stiffened his body moments ago is back. He doesn’t bother to respond. Tucker simply backs away and tosses our neatly stacked books off the table, scattering a couple onto the floor as he passes. I close my eyes for a second, unsurprised by his temper. As Sayo and Declan return to the room, Tucker pauses, lets the Irishman walk through. They exchange glares and I think I might need to break them a part again, but Tucker leaves and Declan comes fully inside with a large box weighting down his arms.

  “What did he want?” Sayo asks. Declan’s head tilts toward us as he listens. He doesn’t need to know my business.

  “Later,” I tell Sayo, giving her a glare of warning as I nod my head in Declan’s direction.

  “Don’t let me stop you, McShane.” He doesn’t look up from the box he drops to the floor. “If you want to go on about that amadan, by all means—”

  “No one was talking to you.” Half an hour in and he’s already pissing me off. “You’re here to work, not listen in on our conversations so unless you want me to call Tucker back.”

  “Call him. I don’t give a shite.” He kicks the box away with his feet. “But the day would go smoother if you lot wouldn’t sit around yammering on about Morrison.”

  Sayo sighs and steps behind Declan to shove the box he kicked onto the table.

  “What did he ever do to you?” I ask Declan, wondering what could have made him hate my ex so much.

  “Why do you care?”

  “You really are an asshole, aren’t you?”

  “Jaysus, McShane, you wound me.” Declan makes his accent inflate. He waves his hands and stiffens his back acting like an over exaggerated idiot. “I’m slighted by your wicked insults. Tell me, does your mum know you speak with that sort of slaggish tongue?”

  I freeze. Behind Declan Sayo’s eyes widen and I hear Mollie and Layla’s low gasps. His expression is expectant and a wide grin stretches his mouth. My eyes close and air fills my lungs, chasing back the knot that has formed in my throat.

  “No, she doesn’t,” I say. “She doesn’t know anything, seeing as how she’s been dead for five months.”

  Immediately his expression changes. He no longer smiles, he has, in fact, erased all emotion from his face save shock, perhaps embarrassment. “I—” he begins, then takes a step toward me, but I turn away from him and stand next to Sayo.

  “I’ll sort through the books in the basement.” She nods and I don’t let her touch me when she reaches for my hand. The last thing I see as I leave the room is Declan’s softened, remorseful eyes.

  FIVE

  Why anyone would stack a heavy box full of books on the top shelf, is beyond me. I narrow my eyes at the ladder leaning against the bookshelves. It is suspect, to say the least. There are rusted bolts securing the rungs to the frame and the foot grips are worn and frayed. I could call Sayo and have her send down the jackass to help me out, but that would require being in the same room with him and I’m not altogether eager to be anywhere near him.

  The rational part of my brain tells me I shouldn’t be angry. How was he supposed to know about my mom? He doesn’t know anything about me and he was just mouthing off like he always does. Still, his comment was unsettling. I don’t mind the jibe about my filthy mouth. I have heard myself speak, after all. But being reminded of my mom, when I’ve tried so hard to never speak about her to anyone, especially with someone like Declan, has my heart pounding, a panic attack threatening in my chest. And, it hurts. Thinking about her, remembering her makes a million pinpricks of pain scatter in my body. I miss her. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her.

  Determined to get on with it, I grab the ladder and move it in front of me. I say a quick prayer that I don’t end up with a broken neck and shimmy up the rungs. Everything is fine, sturdy even, until I get to the top and reach for the box. I’m just not tall enough. Even with the stretch of my fingers, I barely manage to scratch the bottom. A quick glance behind me has me squeezing my eyes shut. That’s a long way down. I stretch again and this time I raise up on the balls of my feet and am able to reach the cardboard cutout on the box that serves as a handle. I grip it, but the ladder shakes and then, because clearly the gods hate me, my ring gets stuck inside the box. I’m going down.

  “Shit! Not good. Not good!”

  The floor inches nearer and I squeeze my eyes shut, body tensed for a crash I know will hurt like hell, but then a pair of tennis shoes squeak on the marble floor and a large arm wraps around my waist. The ladder smashes to the ground and I am pulled aside as a dozen or more hardcover books fall around me.

  A solid chest fits against my shoulders and a heavy, tattooed arm wrenches around my waist, gripping me tight. I try not to think about how heated his skin feels or how I like the way his breath smells as he pants against my neck, moving my hair with each exhalation.

  Wait. Did I just think about liking anything at all about Declan Fraser?

  “Alright then?” he asks and I can only manage a quick nod in response. His arm is still wrapped around me and I see an intricate Celtic knot weaving around the name “Moira” in elegant script beneath the thin black hair of his arm.

  “Um. Thanks,” I say and scramble to my feet. I don’t speak further, instead, I make quick work picking up the fallen books. He’s at my side on his haunches, moving the broken ladder. “I’m sure Sayo would rather you help her out upstairs.”

  “She sent me down here.”

  Great. Note to self: pencil in the best friend for a lecture. An armful of books has me staggering, but I find an empty box behind the bookshelf and move it in front of me with my foot. Declan watches me. It’s a feeling I’m unaccustomed to. There is the sense of a substantial weight on my skin, the warmth of awareness inching over my body, that sensation that someone notices every twitch of your fingers, all the small gestures that you make without realization.

  The sound of the broken ladder being picked up is to my right and I get the distinct feeling Declan is distracted in his task. I try not to let him affect me. Mentally, I prepare myself for his superior smirk or whatever sarcastic insult he’s going to use. I’m sure it’ll involve my incompetence or my idiotic notion that I could use a rickety ladder to pull down a hundred
pounds of books.

  But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t utter a single insult and, to my great surprise he isn’t even complaining to himself. Curious, I look over my shoulder and notice his eyes on me.

  “What?” I return to the books lying on the floor. He only shakes his head and helps me gather up the mess. His silence has me on edge. From my brief experience with him, he always has a sarcastic remark or a lewd comment to make.

  Dismissing him and his constant leer, I reach for another box, this one just above eye level and as I stretch for it, Declan moves over me and grabs the box with one hand.

  “Let me,” he says and I nod in thanks. He doesn’t give me the box, instead he lifts it over my head and sets it on the long conference table next to the door.

  Our arms brush, brief and only occasionally as we sort through the books, separating them into categories and when we reach for the same book, I jerk my hand back as though the feel of his fingers against mine send an electric current to my skin. We exchange a gaze that lengthens, stretches into a gape and his glance lingers over my face.

  I try to ignore how intense his gaze is, how dark his green eyes become. “I got this. You don’t have to help down here,” I say, trying to pull the book out of his hand, but his grip is firm, unwavering.

  “Sayo asked me to help you.”

  “It’s fine. You can go tell her I don’t need your help.”

  “That right? And if I hadn’t been here just a bit ago, you’d be flat on your arse with a broken back.” When I glare at him and begin to mutter more of what he calls “slaggish tongue” under my breath, Declan drops the book on the table, then pushes the box back to allow him space to sit. He grabs the book I’m holding out of my hand, flips through it idly, and I wonder what rude comments he’ll have for me now. “Do you think we can ever have a conversation that doesn’t begin with me apologizing to you?” he asks.