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Cavanagh - Serenity Series, Vol I (Seeking Serenity)

Page 51

by Eden Butler


  “Hey, drop me off at Financial Aid. Layla’s going to bring me by my apartment when she gets off of work.”

  Declan nods and they enter the campus proper before Mollie works up the nerve to respond to Vaughn.

  Mollie: What did you find out from Mannie?

  The campus is quiet. They are between semesters and on each bristle of wind, there is the anticipation of the end of summer and the preparation for fall. Teams still practice. Families still take picnics in the courtyard and professors meander through the campus like shoppers loitering in the mall parking lot on Thanksgiving night. And it is the quiet, the stillness, that Mollie enjoys most; like the university is a private place for her and her friends to keep to themselves. The burglary and Vaughn insinuating himself into her life threaten that privacy and Mollie doesn’t like how uneasy both make her feel, how fractured her calm is quickly becoming.

  Vaughn: I’ll tell you when we have coffee.

  “Is here good? You don’t want me to walk you in?” Declan parks next to the building where Layla’s father has forced her to work over the summer.

  “Nah. I can manage the fifty feet to the entrance, Deco.” Mollie gets out of the car and leans against the door, smiling at Declan as he darts his eyes between the sidewalk and building. “Hey,” she says, bringing his attention back to her. “You worry too much. I’ll be fine.” Mollie squats down, resting against the open car door. “It’s not your job to look after us, you know. Autumn is the only one you have to concern yourself with.”

  Declan’s smile is easy, brief, as though Mollie’s declaration is ridiculous. “You lot are Autumn’s family, love. I take care of my family.”

  Mollie wants to hug Declan, just then, but she knows that would only make him uncomfortable. Yes, she’s jealous of Autumn, but not because she wants Declan. She just wants someone to love her friends the way he does. “Thanks, Deco, for everything. Especially for taking me up to Chattanooga.”

  He shrugs, waves off her gratitude before putting his car in gear. “Think nothing of it.”

  As Mollie walks toward the building, she knows Declan watches; his overprotective chaperone act is one she doesn’t mind. It’s not like Vaughn trying to project a father role over her. She knows Declan’s concern is genuine, but she doesn’t look over her shoulder as he watches her walk up the sidewalk. Instead, her attention returns to her phone and the annoying Marine’s insistence that she should see him.

  Mollie: We’re not having coffee.

  Vaughn: No? You asked me out for coffee.

  Mollie: When?

  Vaughn: After the match.

  Mollie: That was months ago and you blew me off.

  Vaughn: I didn’t blow anything.

  That has Mollie stopping just outside the building doors. Laughter warms her stomach and she looks up when Layla throws a wad of paper at the glass to get her attention. Her best friend holds out both of her palms as if to say “give me ten minutes” and Mollie nods before she sits outside the building on a brick planter holding an assortment of daises and evergreens.

  Vaughn: That didn’t come out like I meant it.

  Mollie: Whatever dude. Totally none of my business what you do behind closed doors.

  Vaughn: You’re hilarious.

  Mollie: What did you find out?

  Vaughn: Tell you later. When do you want to meet?

  She doesn’t understand his insistence. Mollie will admit her attraction to Vaughn; there was still that bubble of electricity she felt the moment she saw him at the Dash and it had returned that night in Sevierville when she touched his hand. But she doesn’t understand the signals he gives off. One minute he acts like she was some punk kid. The next, he flirts like he can’t help himself.

  “Men are stupid,” she says to herself, eyes downcast at her cell.

  “I mean, duh, I’ve been saying this since we were thirteen.”

  Mollie’s head snaps up at Layla’s approach and instantly her shoulders sag. Her best friend seems to be in the planning stage of yet another prank attack on Donovan. “What the hell, Layla?” She nods toward the enormous bag of silver glitter in her hand and the long Slim Jim under her arm. Mollie instantly understands that the glitter will end up in Donovan’s car and the Slim Jim will make jimmying the locks a breeze.

  “Mollie, he stole my baby. You remember that? He thought it was funny.” Layla pushes Mollie over to sit next to her on the planter. “He thinks I forgot all about that, but no one messes with my Honey.”

  “God, you treat that dog like he’s your soul mate or something.”

  Layla nods, frowns at Mollie with her eyebrows pushed together as though this is the most obvious thing Mollie could have said. “This is what I’m saying.”

  “That’s not a good thing, dumbass. You can’t diddle a dog.”

  The sunlight glints on Layla’s perfect manicure as she waves her hand, dismissing Mollie’s assessment. “Anyway, I have plans for that jackass. You don’t mess with my baby.”

  “Is this why you wanted me to come here? So I can help you break into Donovan’s car?”

  “Well, no, but, you know—” Layla nudges Mollie with her elbow and lapses into her “But I’m Your Very Best Friend” eye batting. “You have skills I don’t.”

  “I am not breaking into his car, Layla.”

  “Mollie. He stole my baby. A week! I didn’t know where Honey was for a solid week!”

  “That was over two months ago.”

  “I know that. I wanted that jackass to relax. This,” she hoists up the heavy bag of glitter onto her knee, “will quickly remind him not to screw with me.”

  Mollie shakes her head, moves her attention back to her cell and away from her best friend’s attempts at a pout. “No, that will only provoke him to retaliate.”

  “Molls, please? I can’t jimmy the lock. You can.”

  “It’s against the law.”

  “So?”

  Mollie stretches her legs and takes a breath. Layla doesn’t often see reason and it’s Mollie’s job to make sure her more spontaneous plans are thought over before they are initiated. Sometimes, logic works. Sometimes, not so much. “Sweetie, your father is the coach of the rugby team and your boyfriend is a campus cop.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “And, Walter would have a fit if he finds out his girlfriend broke into someone’s car just to vandalize it. And your dad—”

  “My dad and Walter don’t have to find out, Molls. You’re good at this shit. It’s genetic or something.” When Mollie glares at her best friend, the blonde hurries to explain herself. “I just mean that you’re good at functioning under the radar. Besides,” she continues, “I am letting you stay with me while your place is fixed.”

  “Guilt? You’re pulling a guilt trip on me?” Mollie stands, eager to end the conversation, but before she can take more than three steps, Layla interrupts with a particularly low blow.

  “Kenya,” she says, making Mollie stop in mid-step.

  “That’s rude, Layla.”

  “I liked him so much,” She releases an exaggerated sigh. “I doodled his name all over my Trapper Keeper.”

  “You’ve never used a Trapper Keeper in your life and Layla, we were freshman. You didn’t tell me you liked him.”

  She ignores Mollie and moves her long hair off her shoulder. “I baked him brownies, Mollie. Me. Baking.” The bag of glitter falls to the ground in a silent thump when Layla relaxes her hands against the brick planter. When she speaks, her voice has taken on a somber tone that Mollie suspects is forced. “I go to his dorm to bring him the brownies and who do I find there but my very best friend.”

  “Layla—”

  “In nothing but Kenya’s Bob Marley t-shirt.”

  Layla is queen of manipulation. Logically, Mollie knows this, but the guilt of stealing your best friend’s crush doesn’t die easily. Even after four years. The beauty of the summer day on an isolated Cavanagh campus is utterly destroyed by the heavy guilt Mollie suddenly feels. T
he loud chirp of the sparrows singing in the oak trees falls mute. The sweet hum of the lake in the distance seems to still as Mollie takes in Layla’s challenging, lifted eyebrow and pursed lips. Even the loud roar of a black car speeding by can’t distract her from her best friend’s frown. “Fine.” She drags Layla off the planter by her elbow. “I’ll do it, but this is the last time you get to play the Kenya card.”

  Layla’s fabricated glower immediately disappears and her lips are pulled tight with the enormous smile she sports. “Awesome. Thank you so much, Molls.”

  Mollie shakes her head, and leads Layla toward the parking garage near the rugby pitch, trying her best not to laugh at her best friend’s automatic excitement.

  “You know, I did you a favor hooking up with Kenya.”

  “Hardly. He was so beautiful, you bitch.”

  “Yeah, well Mr. Beautiful gave me crabs.”

  THREE

  Silence would not keep, would not let him find rest. There were screeches of memory that invaded every crevice of space. In the silence, where he was meant to breathe, rest, where the horrors of yesterday should be extinguished with time, Vaughn only found nightmares.

  For him, the war is over. There are no more bombs splintering the eerie quiet in the desert. For him, there is no more desert, but even in his sister’s palatial home where comfort abounds and security means more than the reach of his gun, Vaughn still labors every night. But it isn’t bullets and bombs that break the quiet of sleep. It isn’t the scorching heat or the combatants that threatens his life with every patrol in a third world village. It is the dream; the memory that comes back to him, exaggerated by the haunting images, many that he does not understand, some that he can never erase from his vision.

  It is always the same.

  Arms reaching, searching, begging to be held. And then, he takes her hard, the way she likes it. Their bodies slicked, sweat pooling down his back with each thrust.

  “Here, right here, baby.” Her voice is soft, heavy from the screams she makes when his hips work faster. Vaughn follows her hands, licking a path between her breasts while he arches, reaches deeper. She rewards him with a squeeze against his dick.

  “Fuck. Ah…”

  “Harder, baby. I like it hard.” Her legs are small, lithe, weighed nothing as he moves her knee over his shoulder, gripping down to penetrate harder so that she can feel all of him, all that is hers.

  He loves the sharp yanks she makes against his hair, the way her fingers twist tight, the way she moans when his hold on her hips tighten.

  “I want to ride you, baby. Move us.”

  And he does, taking her down, settling over his lap as he leans back against the headboard. He loves the way her soft, pink tits bounce against him as she rocks, he can almost fit her small waist in one hand as he guides her over his cock.

  Her movements increase, those glorious breasts moving faster. She is close, so close and Vaughn knows what she needs, what she likes best.

  Her nipple comes easily into his mouth, fits between his teeth and she bows back, her movements jarring, disjointed as her climax builds with each small nibble he makes against her.

  “Fuck baby, yes. Just like there. Bite it. Ah, oh God.”

  And Vaughn lets her ride the wave but it isn’t complete, is left unfinished. He increases his effort, kisses her chest, just between her small tits, loving the way the salt on her skin tastes, frowning when that taste transforms, becomes tangy and metallic.

  The blood is everywhere. On her chest, on his tongue, in his hair and Vaughn screams, the terror of his love battered, broken and he is helpless, forcing his eyes shut as bloodied limbs fall on the bed, as he watches her heart beating in her open chest—the fray of skin, of muscle, the splintered remains of flesh sliced by a bullet’s quick trajectory. Then she is crying; he hears the screaming cries every time he fell asleep.

  “Help me, Vaughn. Please. Save me. Save me.”

  And then she is nowhere, everywhere, laying next to the kid, PFC Tony Williams, fresh from Basic, scared as he lays bleeding on the ground, bullets and shrapnel flying over their heads. His legs are missing, arm hanging from his shoulder as he gurgles out pain, torment.

  “Winchester, help me, man… I can’t feel it. I can’t… feel anything.”

  The gurgle deepens, sounds wetter and Vaughn reaches for him, for her, scared that he cannot help. He cannot help either of them.

  It never varies. It never stops. The constant loop of those words gut him, make him feel less, make him feel nothing when sleep is denied. “Save me.”

  And now, in that odd nightmare space where sleep had come, but at a price, Vaughn hears the words yet again. He sees thin, pale fingers lunging toward him, gripping, trying in vain to take hold one last time. Just as that cold grip of deathly bone skims across his wrist and the constant refrain of “save me” shouts with a brittle, angry voice, Vaughn wakes.

  “No!” he screams, jerking his arms away from the ghosts that haunt his dreams. “No,” he says again, this time a little calmer, a bit less anxious. “Damn.” Head down, face hidden behind his palms, Vaughn wipes the sweat from his skin, tries to still that quick shake moving his fingers. “Suck it up, man,” he tells himself.

  He doesn’t look up. He knows his sister has come again, that the light pooling into the living room is from the kitchen where she has set up an impromptu workspace, never able to really let her job stay at the office.

  “You okay?” his sister says, sitting next to him on the sofa.

  “Fine,” he lies, not eager to have her worry overtake them both. It’s what she does and the more concern she displays, the heavier Vaughn’s guilt surges. “I’m fine, Viv. Really.”

  Viv rubs his shoulder, hand firm, encouraging. Tonight she is dressed down, comfortable in cotton PJ pants and a cardigan over a silk tank. It’s not how his elegant sister generally looks, but when she’s home, a rarity as of late, Viv forgoes the crisp black suits that are part of her district attorney “uniform.” To him, though, she doesn’t look much different than she did at twenty-five when he left for basic training. She is still thin, though age has rounded her hips. Her eyes are still bright and cobalt blue, though time has left traces of hard work on the corners of her lids. “You always say that, but the dreams keep coming. I wish you’d take the medicine they gave you at the VA.”

  He doesn’t want to hear it again. Vaughn doesn’t need another lecture. “Thirsty,” he says, ignoring the low frown moving Viv’s mouth. He leaves the sofa and thunders into the kitchen, grabbing a glass to fill with cold water from the fridge.

  “Vaughn,” his sister begins, but stops short when he shakes his head.

  “I don’t like how they make me feel. I get lazy. All I wanna do is sleep when I’m on those pills.” He takes a swig from the glass, slams down half in one gulp.

  “It’s not healthy, you having these nightmares.” Viv’s fingers on his back only makes his unease double. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be.” He grips her hand in a quick squeeze before he faces her. “Look, sis, I’ll be fine. I figure the more I work out, the more exhausted I’ll be. Too exhausted to dream.”

  Viv doesn’t look convinced. She leans against the island, arms folded tight and that pinched expression makes the slight wrinkles on her face exaggerate. “It’s been at least a week since you had one.”

  “Yep. I know, but I didn’t kill it today at the studio. Had some stuff to take care of.” Another swig of water and Vaughn takes a breath. “I just got distracted. It’s my own fault.”

  “Distracted?” Vaughn can read the hidden meaning behind her question. Her lips are no longer dipped into a frown and the dimple in her right cheek is dented deep.

  “Don’t give me that look,” he answers her, putting the now empty glass in the dishwasher. “Yes, distraction. It happens now and again.”

  Viv pulls her loose sweater tight over her thin waist and jumps onto the island. “Does this distraction have anything to
do with your little visitor?”

  “Nope.”

  Vaughn hates when his sister laughs at him like this. It always makes him feel like a child. “You are a God-awful liar, little brother. I can always tell.” Her laughter only increases when Vaughn flips her the bird. “You know who she is. This little infatuation won’t help with what you have to do.”

  “It’s not about her or what I have to do.” Vaughn knows his voice was too loud. Viv flinches at his yell and he instantly he feels like an asshole. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing her arm.

  If his sister is upset by the small break of his temper, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she moves her manicured nails through the back of her hair and curls her arms tight, as though she’s suddenly caught a chill. “You need to get out more. Go somewhere besides your studio.”

  “I have been.” He leans against the island at Viv’s side and picks up the remote to the small TV on the counter, aimlessly flipping through the channels with the volume cut low. “You’re just too busy to notice.” He stands up when she winces, as though he’s slapped her. “Hey, I’m kidding.”

  “I don’t mean to leave you on your own so much. You’ve barely been home a year and I’m always working.”

  “Your job is important, I get that.” Vaughn makes sure she knows he isn’t really upset and squeezes her hand. “Besides, who says I want you hanging around? Maybe I’ll pick up a hot chick and bring her home. I don’t need you around cock blocking me.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you want to do. And no self-respecting woman would blanche at a twenty-six year man bringing her back to his sister’s place, right?”

 

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