Cavanagh - Serenity Series, Vol I (Seeking Serenity)

by Eden Butler

  I laugh. “No way. He’s too much of a jock for that, Sayo. There’s no way he’s in the Tribe.” She gives me an annoyed frown, but doesn’t respond until we both catch him heading our way with Mollie and Layla yammering behind him.

  “He looks great though, right?”

  “Hmm.” I can’t disagree with her. Declan is taller than most of the people here and his wide shoulders and bright green eyes clearly make him stand out.

  “You’re staring,” my best friends says, but I find it impossible to ignore him or to respond to her accusation. “Not mad at me, are you?” I shake my head and ignore her high laugh.

  “So, Tucker’s here,” Layla announces, handing Sayo her drink.

  My attention is instantly directed to Declan as he takes the seat next to me and hands me my Scotch. “Promise me you won’t fight tonight,” I say. When he squints, angry, I grab his hand, let my thumb rub over his knuckles. “Please?”

  For a moment he doesn’t answer. He simply takes my hand and brushes his mouth against my ear. “If you promise to wear that corset for me again.”

  My smile is wide, and I try to ignore the quick tremble in my stomach at his request. For a second, I don’t remember that I’m trying to push him away, that I know his attentions, even his presence here tonight is likely an attempt to change my mind. He did say he doesn’t give up easily and the longer I stare at him, the darker his eyes become, the easier my barriers are reduced. I can’t seem to help myself. “Oh, sweetie, what’s underneath the corset is infinitely better.”

  My friends hear that, and there is laughter around our table. Layla chokes on her drink and I feel Sayo’s hard nudge against my shoulder, but I ignore them, focus my attention on my Mr. Books whose smile could now be construed as absolutely filthy.

  Declan’s eyes lower over my chest and he begins to speak, but we are interrupted by a girl with devil horns and a red pleather mini skirt and bodice. “Hey guys, are you participating in the costume contest?”

  “Of course,” Sayo answers.

  The girl scans the table and gets our names from Mollie. “Okay, so you guys are steampunked.”

  “We’re from The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences,” Sayo offers, but the Devil Girl ignores her.

  “And you two,” she says, pointing her clipboard at Declan and I. I begin to answer, but she smiles wide. “Oh, don’t tell me! A steampunk Harry and Ginny. Oh my God, that is adorable.” My ginger hair, Declan’s black, round glasses, yeah, I can see that.

  “Wait. No,” Sayo says, but the girl turns around, scribbling something down on her papers. “Shit, no. We can’t have that.” And Sayo trails off after her leaving the rest of us laughing.

  “Heads up, Autumn,” Mollie says, and nods to my left.

  I don’t turn, but do shift my eyes to the side and notice Tucker staring at us from against the bar. He holds a shot in one hand and a beer in another and I pray he doesn’t approach, that he becomes so drunk that he forgets I’m here. I feel Declan tense next to me and my hand covers his knee, drawing his attention. The lights overhead lower and the music slows and to distill any brimming drama, I squeeze Declan’s knee.

  “Dance with me, Books,” I say, catching the surprise on his face.

  “Alright then.”

  He leads me to the dance floor and we are jostled among dozens of slow moving couples. He’s arranged us as far away from the bar as possible, and I relax against him, let him hold my waist tight. My cheek against his chest, I inhale and the clean scent of his body makes the knots in my stomach tighten.

  “Have you changed your mind?” he says and I can feel the vibration of his deep voice in his chest.

  “About what?” I stare at him, curious.

  “That thing you said you weren’t looking for anymore.”

  “Why? Because I’m being nice to you?”

  Declan pushes my hair off my shoulders. I wore it in waves tonight and he doesn’t seem to be able to stop running his fingers through the ends. “It’s not usual and the last time I saw you, you were spitting mad because you lost a bet.”

  Smug bastard. “I lost that bet because you’re a cheater.”

  His smile is unabashedly wide. “You still lost. And you still didn’t answer my question.” Declan brushes my bangs off my forehead and I release a long breath.

  “I haven’t changed my mind.” I return my face to his chest. “It’s Halloween and I’m here with my friends.” I glance up at him again. “And you.” He laughs. I add, “I’d just like a drama free night.”

  He considers me for a moment. “This doesn’t count as our date, you know.”

  “It should. We’re here together. We’re dancing way too close.”

  “I haven’t kissed you.”

  And despite myself, I smile, eager to flirt. I touch his bottom lip. “Well. The night’s not over, is it?”

  When Tucker bumps into us, Declan’s body tenses again, but I pull his face down to mine, let my fingers rub across his cheek. “He’s not worth it.”

  Tucker dances with the same girl Declan was all over a couple of weeks ago. The scrawny blonde. His hands are everywhere on her, chests touching, and his fingers dig into her ass. Glancing at them, I notice the barely-there costume she wears. I suppose she’s going for some sort of hula dancer look, complete with a coconut bra too small for her large chest and a vibrant flower lei around her neck. But her grass skirt barely covers the curve of her ass and bright pink bikini bottoms peek out between the brown grass. She dons an abundance of too tanned, umpa lumpa skin and a silver belly ring and she doesn’t seem to mind that Tucker’s fingers have slid beneath the hook at the back of her bra. Tucker catches my eye, gives me a wink before he turns his attention to the blonde’s skinny neck. Disgusted, I nod toward the table and Declan follows me. By the time I reach my friends, Tucker has abandoned the girl.

  “Who’s the girl Tucker’s pawing on?” Mollie asks.

  “Heather Matthews,” Declan says. “I have Biology with her.”

  “Funny,” Layla says, her mouth quirked up on one side “I’d have thought it was Chemistry considering the way you were grinding on her a couple of weeks ago.”

  Declan’s mouth drops open, surprised, but he doesn’t respond to her ribbing.

  “He was trying to make Autumn jealous,” Mollie says.

  Sayo takes a sip of her Cosmo. “Must have worked, right?”

  When we laugh, Declan inches close to me. “Are they always like this?”

  “This is them well behaved, I’m afraid.”

  Layla’s eyes drift over my head and her humor vanishes. “Tucker’s not even original.” She jerks her chin up and we turn toward the bar where he is surrounded by a few of his squad mates and a collection of sorority girls. “Look at him. I mean, come on. A toga?”

  “He hates Halloween,” I say, remembering the two years in a row that I didn’t join my friends for the holiday. I close my eyes at my own stupidity.

  I can feel Declan’s eyes on me and when I stare around the table, I know my friends are remembering how different I was when Tucker was my boyfriend. The tension is thick and made thicker when Tucker passes our table, his over the shoulder glance, a drunken glare at Declan. But the Irishman doesn’t bother to return the expression. He offers me a small grin and then talks to us about training. Several minutes pass by, then a full hour, and our table is cluttered with empty glasses and bottles.

  Clearly buzzed, and slumped fully on the table, Layla catches my eye, then stares at Declan, whose arm rests on the back of my chair. “So, Declan, why don’t you have any friends?”

  “I…what?” he says, sitting up straight.

  “Layla, stop being a bitch,” Sayo says.

  “I’m not. I just don’t ever see him with any guys.”

  I don’t like the expression on his face or how he’s pulled his arm away from me. “He and Donovan are friends,” I say.

  Declan’s cheeks curve up, the movement making his eyes squint. “How’d you kn
ow that?”

  “He’s the one who covered for you the night your groped me.” Declan winces and I expect my girls to mention it, but they hold back.

  “He was going to come, until I told him Autumn would be here,” he tells Layla.

  “What?” Why would Donovan not like me? Aside from his nodding off in class the last two times I taught it, I haven’t had any opportunity to be a bitch to him.

  Declan lifts his pint to his lips. “You gave him a 75 on his last paper. I think he may well be scared of you.”

  My friends laugh at me, but I can only manage to stare at Declan, at his obvious humor. “She has that effect on some people,” Mollie says.

  “Nah, she’s not scary.” Declan offers, rubbing his hand against my leg under the table. “Intimidating, but not scary.”

  “You think I’m intimidating?” Everyone laughs. “What?”

  “Autumn, do I need to remind you of last Halloween?” Sayo says and immediately, I give my friends a death stare. I really don’t want Declan knowing what an insane woman I was last year.

  “What happened last Halloween?” he asks.

  When Layla stretches forward, likely a full confession on her buzzed lips, I throw a balled up napkin in her face. “Nothing happened. We didn’t dress up.”

  Declan smiles, scanning my face for a few seconds, but doesn’t pry. Instead, he picks up his pint, finishes it off and returns his free hand to my leg. I hear my friends chatting around me, but my attention is focused on Declan, on his large hand running up my thigh, skimming along my knee. He pulls back my skirt and when he feels for my garter, his eyes darken and I get an immense amount of pleasure in the shady expression he gives me, as though he had no idea what secrets lay hidden under all that silk. I like that look, though I know I shouldn’t and don’t immediately stop him when his fingers run under the garter. But the moment is lost as Heather stands next to him, moves against his shoulder. Declan’s hand disappears from my leg.

  “Hi Declan,” Heather says. Her voice is slurred, her eyes red-rimmed.

  “Heather. Alright then?” he asks, his tone light.

  “Yeah. I’m good.” She slips her hand on his shoulder and Declan straightens up as he tries to dislodge Heather from him. “You on your own tonight?” I blink, look around the table, see how we all clearly are a team and laugh.

  “No,” he says, giving her a gentle push back. “I’m here with Autumn and her friends.”

  Ignoring us, Heather crosses her arms, her eyes rolling up as though she’s too drunk to keep them still. Her eyes flick to his hat, the small glasses and squints her eyes at his pocket watch. “So what are you supposed to be?”

  Declan smiles wide, clearly excited to explain our costumes to someone.

  “Agents and villains of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences. A department of her Majesty, Queen Victoria’s guard. We handle the cases that baffle and amaze, stump and confuse; the peculiar, the unexplainable, the surreal.”

  Heather blinks, as though she’s sorting something out in her tiny little mind. “Wow, Declan.” She laughs at him, loud enough to draw attention. “I had no idea you were such a geek.”

  We don’t echo her laughter and by the curl of his fist and the slight twitch working in the muscles of his face, I get the feeling Declan isn’t amused either. A quick glance at my friends and I know we are all thinking the same thing. Ours has always been a relationship that included near obsession and adoration for the things we love. All of us have been teased at some point in the past for having geekish type hobbies, for reading too much, obsessing too much, but I doubt Declan can appreciate why Heather’s killed our good humor.

  Geeks might be in at the moment, taking over the Net and pop culture, but it still stings a little to be called that by someone who isn’t in the Tribe. I begin to say something, to tell Heather to go back to letting Tucker grope her, but Declan’s face hardens further when he notices our down cast eyes and his gaze narrows at the scrawny blonde.

  “Why’s that funny?” he asks her. “Me having a laugh? Me showing up here dressed like this? You think that makes me addled somehow?” When she opens her mouth to speak, he shakes his head. “I really don’t give a shite what you think. I like what I like and I won’t apologize for it.” He stands, his voice stern, his huge form towering over Heather.

  “I have a Green Lantern #76 I bought when I was fourteen. It’s in mint condition and should I wanna sell it, which I don’t, I could get some nice bank.” He puts his hands in his pockets and with each word he speaks, his tone becomes clearer, his voice louder. “I like science and space and think it’s a fecking shame that dragons aren’t real and should Martin so much as think of killing Arya, we should collectively riot.” Heather steps back, her eyes wide and a small group has collected around our table. Declan seems unaffected by the attention. “I threw my book across the room when Snape killed Dumbledore and I watched “Doctor Who” with my mum when she was sick and dying and couldn’t do more than lay around, and I haven’t stopped yet, and I won’t, because life is such a shite bowl why wouldn’t I want to disappear into the Tardis or read about folk kicking arse or tamping down the shite doers with just bits of their brain and their own cleverness? That’s what? Bad to you, is it? Then I feel sorry for you, Heather. I do. Because having your nose down over a phone or behind a screen is fine sometimes, but it’s nothing to running away to worlds you can’t even fathom with your small little mind.”

  He takes a breath to look at each of us. The noise around us has quieted as people listen and we offer Declan smiles of encouragement. “Everyone talks about the zombie apocalypse, but we’re in it. People spend hours a day hovering over their fecking phones and screens like God himself is breathing all His secrets to them through those damn things and then they forget to say ‘hullo,’ or ‘cheers’ to their mates sitting with them at the same table.” Behind Heather, I see several people nodding their heads, but Declan is on a roll, determined, it seems, to put the girl in her place. “So here’s me, big rugby lad whose put down players twice my size on the pitch, having a laugh, dressed like I am because I think steampunk is fecking cool and my mates here do as well and them dressed in corsets and leather and buckles and brass is a sight more hot to me than you in your bit of nothing costume with your nipples hanging out for every amadan in this place to see.

  “Call me what you want, but I’m not fussed at you saying I’m odd, calling me,” Declan looks at me, “a geek, is it?” I nod. “It doesn’t bother me, because what I like, I like and when I like something—” again his attention returns to me. He isn’t smiling. His expression, in fact, is quite serious and I instantly feel the knots returning to my stomach. The harder he stares at me, gazes over me, the more my skin feels electrified, like each glance he gives me sets my flesh on fire. “—I like it with everything in me and I have bollocks enough to admit it.” After a breath and a small smile I believe he reserves solely for me, he returns his attention back to Heather. “And why can’t I be a geek, be odd and also be a right bastard when I’m on the pitch? Which I am, in case you’re wondering. Besides, it’s not about what I like, it’s how I like it that counts.”

  The small congregation of club goers clap as though Declan had recited a slightly buzzed, seemingly less monumental version of the St. Crispin’s Day speech. I can only stare at him as guys slap him on the back, as girls give him wide, wanting grins. Heather, it seems, is affected as well. She doesn’t smile, but her eyes are lowered over his body, at Declan’s commanding presence. She looks like she wants to eat him alive.

  Layla distracts me from my observation, reaches across the table to grab my hand. “Oh my God, Autumn. If you don’t marry him, I will.”

  ELEVEN

  My mother’s grave rests beneath a large willow tree with limbs that fan around it. There is an easy breeze that moves the leaves and scatters small white buds across the ground from a nearby crepe myrtle. The trees shouldn’t be in bloom. It is All Saint’s Day and November has
brought in breath that fogs in air and the slight hint of flurries on the wind. Still, for my mother, the flowers bloom, the trees are bright with green leaves and the crepe myrtle showers her with white flowers like fairy dust.

  It is the first time I have seen her marker. She lies next to her parents, they, next to theirs; all were fiercely proud of their heritage but felt that Cavanagh was home. They didn’t need burying in Ireland to remind them of who they were. My injuries had been too severe to attend her funeral and until today, I hadn’t managed to visit her grave. Had it not been for Ava calling to tell me the headstone had been laid, I would have ignored All Saint’s Day completely.

  But I did not need Ava to join me. She would have cried, would have expected me to do the same and then there would have been too much wine, too many reminisces about the past. My first thought was self-preservation, to avoid all of that completely, so I called Joe. He immediately asked to go with me.

  It is a beautiful headstone. There are large, elegant letters that mark her name, birth and death date. Beneath a picture of her are the simple words from Neil Gaiman’s “American Gods”:

  Even nothing cannot last forever.

  I believe she had a very real love for Neil Gaiman. It was either Gaiman or his character, Shadow Moon. She had a tendency to fall in love with fictional characters, a habit that she passed down to me. We’d discussed her tombstone once, mine as well. I wanted “Now I can sleep” on mine, but she told me no one really appreciates gallows humor anymore. She wanted the Gaiman quote because she believed that the beyond, the afterlife, was something none of us could truly measure. It was endless, or it was quick, or it was a huge space of nothing and everything all at the same time.

  Joe stands next to me staring down at the marker. His shoulders are slumped and I get the feeling that he wants to cry. I know he’s trying to compose himself, that he thinks I wouldn’t appreciate his tears. So I grab his hand and tilt my head against his shoulder.