Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (11 page)

I can’t clear away any of the things I’m feeling. They exhaust me, overwhelm me and so the tears continue to fall, and my father inches closer to me. I tell myself it’s only for a second, just a moment of recollection that I won’t cling to, but then I don’t move his hand from my fingers. I don’t recoil when he drapes his arm over my shoulder. I take in that sweet mix of tobacco and mint. For all my anger, for all the years of pent up rage, there is a part of my subconscious, that small, little girl that remembers Irish Teas and nights of music filling our home, of bedtime stories and snoring on my father’s chest. I can’t help it. I rest against him.

“Oh, my sweet Autumn. My love. I’m so fretfully sorry.”

The crowd, the remnant celebration continues across campus with bustling, drunk fans, and, scattered around random corners, a wandering rooster or, at least, the mess they leave behind. I can’t run the pitch, not on match day.

Joe left hours ago and I couldn’t stand the silence, the low hum of nothing that filled every crevice of my apartment. Even baking didn’t help, something that always manages to calm me. But I could not be calmed, not after this day. Not after that visit. I had to get out - since the campus itself was too busy, I headed for the falls north of campus.

Fanning Falls is secluded, a quiet trail that snakes along the river and inclines up the mountain. Each step on the trail leaves my day further behind. Each exhalation exorcises my tension until my mind is clear, until my chest doesn’t ache. I avoid large roots protruding across the gravel trail, bypass thin trees that shoot up from the earth like broken fingers, and, I continue up the trail, focusing on the heavy pant of my breath, the cool path of sweat that slides down my back. Here there is no arguing, no solitude fractured by noise or complication. Here I can be alone with my rising heartbeat, with the comfort of the river’s soft, slow trickle.

But comfort for me never lasts long. When the twinge of pain in my calf smarts, my steps slow, and I wobble through the ache cursing my body, this weakness that shakes my pride and dissects every facet of my self-confidence. The pain resides, lessens, as I sit on the river bank, among the cold wet stones smoothed by the current of time. I pull up my yoga pants, let the back of my calf catch the water and I like how it collects around the back of my knee, circles across my shin. All is still, undisturbed until I hear the voices—loud, obnoxious, cursing. My friends have no concept of serenity, no idea about the thrill of peace or the joy in silence.

“What the hell, Autumn?”

Oh look, that’s my quiet scampering away.

“Are you trying to drown yourself?”

“Leave her alone, Layla.” Sayo at least understands my need for isolation.

This trail isn’t the Fortress of Solitude, but it comes damn close. Layla and Mollie hate nature. The high heeled boots and tight jeans they wear are evidence of that. They hold each other by the arms and navigate down to the bank in clumsy, awkward steps, and Sayo is at my side before Mollie’s scream splits across the river.

“Hey,” Sayo says, squatting down next to me. “So. What happened?”

“Cramp. I needed a break.”

“She doesn’t mean your leg, genius. We went to your apartment.” Layla’s voice is a shriek of worry, concern muffled behind the sarcastic jibe.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’”  My best friend brushes the loose hair off my sweaty forehead, her touch slight, but reassuring. “Tell me what happened. I know the two rugby pigs fighting didn’t cause you to buy out Cavanagh’s supply of flour and sugar, or send you out onto the trail by yourself.”

“I felt like baking.”

“For an army?” Sayo says.

Layla and Mollie finally manage to make it down the bank and crowd next to me. Layla’s arms curl around her waist and her eyes flick to the forest around us, to the dark patches of wooded areas. She’s watching for animals. She doesn’t like being here and is certain bears and mountain lions lay in wait for thin co-eds. “What happened, Autumn? You totally disappeared after the match,” she asks.

“Yeah, you didn’t see the rest of that fight,” Mollie says. I think she might want to sit next to me, but the way her eyes pinch and how she sweeps her hands over her jeans distracts her. “Declan got in a few good shots, but Mullens ended it before it got interesting.”

“I saw the results.” At their questioning frowns, I tell them what happened. “Tucker followed me. He looked like shit.”

“I guess he did,” Layla says.

“So him chasing after you had you baking a billion pastries?” Mollie gives my foot a gentle tap. “I thought we were supposed to be training.”

“I didn’t eat any of it. Besides, it wasn’t Tucker.” My arms loop around my knees and I cradle them to my chest. “My father showed up.”

“You’re shitting me,” Sayo says, instantly touching my back.

“Nope. Tucker’s chasing after me and gets pissed off, kicks over a trash can and I take off toward my apartment and there’s Joe.” I won’t tell them what Tucker said. They’d only bemoan his stupidity and warn me not to believe him when he says he still loves me. “Tucker goes all caveman, asks me who Joe is and that didn't go over so well.  I thought Joe was going to kick his ass”

“Wish he would have.” Sayo’s hatred of Tucker isn’t something she keeps quiet and I often wonder if there is something she’s not telling me, some closely held secret about my ex that is the genesis of her anger.

“Anyway, we had it out, my father and I. I told him I hated him. And then, I just collapsed. Started crying.”

“You cried?”

“I’m allowed, Layla.”

Though I don’t see it, I know Layla and Mollie. Their eyes are likely rounded, connecting together as if some silent, mental conversation jumbles between them.

“Of course you are.” Sayo covers the silence. “Well. That explains the obscene amount of muffins.”

“And the pie and all those cookies.” Mollie’s laugh is comforting and I don’t mind their easy ribbing. In fact, their companionship and concern for me only sharpens my guilt. I have to tell them about the bet. They won’t be happy, but I can’t put it off any longer and now is best when their hearts are softened by my shit day.

 “Guys, I have to tell you something.”

Layla’s intake of breath is loud, sharp against the trickle of the river. “You and Declan in the basement. I knew it.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it, Layla.” I rub my hands over my face and I try not to laugh at my lecherous friend. “I did Declan on top of all those dusty, moldy books in the middle of a panic attack.”

“Okay, what is it?” Sayo disregards Layla’s lack of tact.

 “I made a bet with Tucker.”

“What do you mean?” The expression on her face has me nervous. It’s as though she knows something dreadful is shadowing in my throat. Sayo most of all will hate me for involving them.

“He was being a dick,” I say, rushing to explain myself. “He told me I shouldn’t attempt the Dash, that I’d humiliate myself. I lost my temper.”

Layla’s fingers slip into her back pocket, but her shoulders straighten, become a tense line. “Oh, man. This isn’t gonna be good.”

It’s best to get it over with, like a Band-Aid ripped clean in one swift jerk. “I bet him we’d win the Dash.”

My head jerks up and I hazard quick glances at my friends. Predictably, Mollie and Layla wear twin expression, eyes narrowed, heavy crinkles wrinkling between their eyebrows, but Sayo is calm, her face almost relaxed. “What do you mean ‘we’?” she says.

My leg is completely soaked and the water rises toward my knee, wetting the hem of my pants. My joints pop when I stand and I distract myself from their heavy stares by shaking my leg dry and pulling my pants back into place. “The bet was the squad against us.”

“Autumn—” Mollie begins.

“Wait. What are the wagers?” I can’t look at Sayo and my eyes shift down as I pull my sock and shoe back on. “Autumn—”

“If we win, Tucker has to get Mullens to put Declan back as wing.”

“What? How is that a win for us?” Layla says.

I know they agree with me, that the consensus is that Tucker is a jackass, but by their worry, their indignation, that idea is likely secondary. “Because it will piss Tucker off. I had to think of something that would annoy him the most and Declan happened to be there at the time. I wasn’t thinking.”

Sayo stands in front of me, her arms crossed over her small chest. “And if we lose?”

“Um…that’s the shitty part.”

She grabs my arm when I start to walk away. “Explain. Now.”

My hands curl into a fist and I close my eyes, try to make my heart stop racing. Band-Aid. Right. I can do this. “If we lose, then we have to, um, volunteer for the Biddy Auction.” Hands on my neck, I watch the sky and let their loud, vulgar protests wash over my like a wave. I deserve this.

“No fuckin way,” Mollie says, her thick Mississippi accent surfacing in her anger. We always joke that she spends too much time in clubs DJ’ing and hanging out with musicians. The potty mouth comes out the more gigs she has. 

 
“Are you crazy? My dad would kill me. He’d kill all of us.” Layla’s right. Mullens would have a fit at the idea of any of us participating in that vile auction.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen,” Sayo says. “Absolutely no. Nope. Never.”

“I know! I know, okay? It was stupid.” My voice cuts through their dissent. “We just have to make sure we win.”

“Ha, okay, like that’s so probable,” Mollie says, her voice holding no humor. “How the hell are we going to do that?”

“Declan.”

“Wait. What?” Layla asks.

“He offered to train us.” Their faces are a mask of suspicion. “He’s trained since he was a kid. He knows what he’s doing.”

“What kind of training?” Sayo asks.

“Hard. Excruciating, probably, but there is no way in hell that I’m letting us lose. You guys don’t have to agree, but I’m doing it.” My voice strengthens with every word and I know my friends can sense my determination. “He can’t make us do the auction if we lose, but I’m not taking that chance. We’re going to work our asses off and we’re going to win. I swear to God, we’re going to win.”

 
Another silent discussion and I wait, concerned that I’ve irrevocably fractured our bond. But Layla smiles and my heartbeat slows. Wait. She’s smiling. That can’t be good. “Autumn, the level of shit you owe us for this is epic. You get that, right?”

“I do.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Now Sayo’s smile is wide, wider than Layla’s.

“What?”

“Halloween,” Mollie says. They’ve been conspiring behind my back.

“Shit. I’m the slutty fairy?”

“No. You’re Eliza.” It takes me a moment to catch Sayo’s meaning. Then I remember the steampunk book series she’s currently obsessed with and realization crashes down on me. Crap. “You have to go all out. Corset and all.”

“What? I can’t wear—” Sayo silences me with one challenging look. “Fine. It’s because I’m a redhead, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s because you bet our tits against Tucker,” Layla says. “Dude, that is not cool.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

Mollie’s phone chirps an alert and she grabs it, nodding once at the screen. “I gotta jet. I’m DJ’ing at Fubar’s tonight. Y’all in?”

“Hell yes,” Layla says.

“Sure.” Sayo watches me.

“You don’t want to hit McKinney’s?” It’s our traditional post match pub, but the second I mentioned it, I regret it.

Sayo’s voice is latent with surprise. “I thought you’d want to avoid it since you know the whole damn rugby team will be there.”

“True.” No, I definitely didn’t want to go anywhere near McKinney’s. In fact, if I had my way, we would head out of Cavanagh altogether, maybe go into Chattanooga. The last thing I want is to be reminded of long lost fathers and alpha male would-be boyfriends.

 “But you need a bath. You smell like sweat and flour and I’m not going anywhere with you looking like that.”

The heavy pulse of music thumps against my feet as Sayo, Layla and I near Fubar’s. Thin smoke wafts from the door and a long line queues around the side of the building. Mollie is popular and anytime she DJs, there is always a crowd.
  We squeeze in through the entrance just as the bouncers pull closed their red ropes.

Our hands joined, my friends and I navigate the crowd, squint against the flashing lights from above that scatter sharp streaks of light around the masses. Sporadic faces are illuminated—dancing couples, tongue-locked bodies that sway and gyrate to Mollie’s well-timed beats. As we skirt around the crowd, my lips stretch into a wide smile. Heads turn at Sayo’s approach, her vivid pink hair is like a beacon in a messy bun and the black mini that barely hits her upper thigh with sleeves that are cut to expose her shoulders and arms, giving peeks of her luminous skin. Men always stare at her. They should. She’s stunning.

I’m dwarfed by Layla as well with her endless legs and draped neckline, sleeveless red mini dress, her white blonde hair flowing in soft waves over her shoulders. I opted for something a bit more low key. My burgundy halter dress does show some skin since I know how hot Fubar’s generally gets when Mollie’s DJ’ing, but it isn’t anything risqué. Just a simple silhouette that hugs my curves and comes to just above my knee. I don’t have a problem getting attention either, but I am like many women in Cavanagh, flaming ginger hair and scatters of freckles. Sayo and Layla are standouts. I’m thicker than my friends as well, with more curves, but I don’t mind. I love having a woman’s body. 

We finally find a spot at the bar and immediately get our drinks. Sayo is a Cosmo girl. Layla likes the “Black Stuff” and I stick to the classics: Glenlivet straight up. We glance up at the DJ booth and Mollie is already sweating. She’s got her hair pulled back in a high, tight ponytail and rests her head against her shoulder, holding her massive earphones in place. She looks up when Sayo whistles at her and gives us a wave, then smiles and the song switches to one of our favorites.

We hit the floor, triplet dancers bouncing to the music. For twenty minutes straight Mollie spins beats and amps up the crowd as we forget everything and get lost in the music. We pop and twist, dance against one another, twirl each other, bump and sway with guys we don’t know and laugh until our stomachs ache. For those few minutes I forget about my father. I forget about baking and car accidents and missing my mom until my chest burns, I forget how quiet my apartment is. I forget about Tucker calling dibs on me like an enthusiastic fifteen year old and I definitely forget about Declan and his annoying smirk, or the way he stares at my lips, how he looked today sweaty and winded on the pitch. I forget everything and just let the music seep into my soul, eradicate any care, any concern.

A bit sweaty and parched, we return to the bar and three fresh drinks are placed in front of us. The music slows, the bar fills with smoke and, predictably, Sayo is whisked away, drink in hand, to dance with a massive, muscular blonde. She has a thing for blondes. Layla disappears seconds later and tucks under the chin of the largest guy I have ever seen. She looks like a kid next to this guy’s massive chest and thick arms.

The scotch slides down my throat and the cool air from the vent above me whispers against my moist neck. Twice I’m asked to dance, twice I refuse, grateful for this minor reprieve. Layla will be drunk in less than an hour. She’s likely to flash someone, something Sayo and I generally have to monitor since Mullens has spies all over the town. When a subtle breath inches on my neck, I instantly regret refusing to dance. To my right an abundant, tattooed arm curls up on the bar next to my hand.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Declan says. He stands so close that I feel the brittle wisp of his stubble on the curve of my ear. I ignore him, stand straighter, try to edge away from him. “Seems like a good song. Don’t you like grinding against some random?”

I can only make out his chin when my head turns. His face is obscured by the dim lighting and surrounding smoke. “The night’s not over yet,” I say, my voice sharp.

There is a grunt of a response then he is so close to me that I can feel the contours of his chest against my back. The fine hairs on my exposed skin lift when I feel his chest move in an exhale. I try not to react, but he smells delicious, like a musky mix of jasmine and cedar, and his breath is hot against my neck. I take a quick sip of my drink and focus on the slight burn of the scotch against the back of my throat.

“Where’s your fella?”

“I don’t have a fella, Declan.”

“What was that shite after the match then?”

I’m prepared to admonish him for his idiotic fight, but my breath catches as I turn. The bruises and whelps on his face are red. Instantly a laugh bubbles up my throat.
  “Oh, God, I hope that hurts.” He shakes his head and stares out into the dancing crowd. There is a large bruise just under his left eye and a cut that runs from the bottom of his nose to his upper lip.

 
“He looks worse, I promise you.”

I guess Mullens didn’t separate them quickly enough.

I don’t tell him that I know. There’s no reason for Declan to hear about Tucker’s little meltdown this afternoon. That would only invite more drama and I’ve had my belly full for one day. “You’re both idiots.”

“Is that so? Well I was just defending myself. He’s the one who got all hacked off thinking I was trying to bed his woman.”

My humor disappears. “I am not Tucker’s woman, Declan. I’m not anyone’s woman.”

He rests against the bar, his cheeks reddening. “Then you may well want to tell him that, McShane.”

“Trust me, I did and he seems to think... You know what? It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business when Nancy Boy takes a swing at me.”

“You threw the ball at him.”

He pauses, seems as though he’s trying to come up with a logical excuse for acting like a jackass. “He looked entirely too smug. To hear him tell it, he won that match on his own.” My head falls onto the bar, just for a second before I lift up. Declan faces away from the dance floor and motions for the bartender to bring him a pint. We don’t speak and I move around to see Sayo dancing with the same blonde. Layla has already moved on to another partner and I grin at how loud her laughter is, but then Declan’s eyes are on me and the smile leaves my face.

“What?” I say.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think about you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?

”He takes another sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You hugged him when you said you weren’t interested in bringing back the past.”

One glance at him, and my eyebrow arches up. “You said you don’t give a shite who I touch. Why does me hugging Tucker annoy you?”

“McShane, I’m just watching out for you. He’s not overly fond of being told no.”

“I don’t need you to watch out for me, Declan. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Not against him you’re not. He could—” My stare, wide mouthed and shocked expression stops Declan’s little speech. “What?” he says.
 

“I get it now. I do.”

“What?”

“You grabbed me that night on the pitch. You were drunk and I let that slide. Then you get all apologetic when you mention my mom and then kiss me when I have my little freak out and then again, last night at the courtyard.”

“I was there.”

“You were, but now you’re warning me to stay away from Tucker because he’s used to getting his way and what? You think he’ll lose control and attack me?”

“I’m guessin’ you should be careful, is all.”

“Oh, Declan.” I bet he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Poor thing. “I’m not sure if you are aware, but it’s not 1952.” He starts to speak, but I interrupt, grabbing his chin, mortified that he honestly thinks I need his protection. “My entire adult life, it was my mom and I and she taught me a few things about the kind of woman I should be. Because of her, I can protect myself. I can provide for myself. I can do what needs to be done to make sure I’m happy. Most importantly I became a woman who doesn’t want or require a hero.”

“I’m not saying that you do. I just mean that a girl like you should be—”

“Stop it. Don’t you dare tell me what a girl like me should do. I haven’t needed a man since my dad skipped out on us. And I got over the domineering caveman shit after Tucker. Now it only pisses me off. And just for the record,” my mouth comes just close enough to him that I violate his personal space. “I am most certainly not a girl.”

I slam the last of the scotch in my mouth and manage one brief glance at his face, catching the way Declan’s mouth tightens, the way his nostrils flare as though he’s breathing heavy. I’m not here for him. I’m not here to soothe his ridiculous ego. Layla skips my way, her hair already a sweaty mess and she hugs me, presses her drunken mouth next to my face.

“I love you, Autumn!”

“Damn, already, Layla?”

“Hey bitches!” Layla and I turn toward Mollie when her voice breaks over the mic. “How about some old school?”
  The funky little baseline sounds through the large, black speakers and Layla’s loud squeal rings in my ears. Sayo runs across the dance floor, tackling us in one big hug and my friends toss me into the center of crowding bodies as “The Humpty Dance” rings out.

We dance together, hips shaking, arms extended up and I get the distinct feeling that Declan watches me. My skin prickles, vibrates as though his hard stare is running over my body. Turning around Sayo and her Thor-looking blonde, I catch Declan’s vibrant arms, don’t miss his angry scowl. He slumps on the railing next to the dance floor, a beer limp in his hands and his mouth is pinched into a severe line.

“Whatever,” I say, under my breath, but Sayo catches the word, serves me with a weak smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. My eyes lift once, catching Declan’s stupid little glare, and then my attention is back on the music, the funny, obnoxious song and my girls. “Nothing at all.”

“My feet are killing me! I’m gonna take them off. Should I take them off? OK I’m still gonna.” Layla is a sloppy drunk, but by the movement of the floor and the blur of the lights, yeah, I’m not exactly sober.

When she stumbles, laying her cheek against my chest, I’m not coherent enough to push her off of me. For some strange reason, my friend slobbering against my cleavage is incredibly funny to me. “Autumn, look. Your boyfriend is cheating on you.” She points across the dance floor to Declan who is dancing against a scrawny, big chested blonde.

“He’s not…I don’t…whatever…”

“Are your friends okay?” I hear Sayo’s Thor clone ask.

“They’re fine.” She leans over, with her hands still clutching him. “You two are fine, right?”

“Hell yes!” Layla yells, then flaps her hands when Mollie’s next song is a slow, sensual track. “Snap! Baby making music.”

She leaves me standing alone on the dance floor, but I don’t mind. The air from the vents is cool on my hot skin and all around me are willing, completely unfamiliar strangers who handle me this way and that, take turns grinding against me. I stumble once, then recover by skidding away from my random friends and am nearly to the bar when a large hand grabs me, pulls me close to his thick chest.

Declan’s body is solid against mine and that masculine, outdoorsy smell of his wafts into my nose, makes my stomach twist pleasantly. I start to pull away, my anger at him a bit stronger than my buzz, but he stops me, wraps his large hands on my waist.

“Be nice,” he says and nuzzles my neck.

That rational part of my brain that tells me to walk away, to get as far from this caveman as possible, seems to be sleeping. I’m too focused on the way he feels, how tight he holds me, how his breath warms my neck as he pulls me against him. I don’t care about the blonde he just left, don’t mind that his hands are on my waist, that I can feel the strong contours of his chest as we keep a slow, close rhythm.

But I can’t take the heat in his eyes, how dark they’ve become, how intensely his gaze eats away at my features. I turn, my back to his chest, my head rests on his shoulder and Declan settles his hands around my hips, guides me as we dance. The sputtering of my heart is fast. My head rolls to the side and his bourbon and beer mixed breath fans over my face. My body responds to the way he feels against me, how his hands slide up my arms, my hips, how warm his breath feels on my skin. When his arms tighten around my waist and he kisses my neck, I lift my head to the side and watch him.