Catching Serenity (Serenity #4) (10 page)

“Get the hell away from me, Quinn.”

I manage a step, but suddenly notice the form of a large man walking straight for the pitch. Dammit, it’s Sam, my ex. He must have come looking for me after hearing about my blow up at the coffee shop—news and gossip goes light speed in this town. He’d given me a look the other night at McKinney’s, one I thought had been pity, but him coming this way, looking the way he did—like a man on a mission—maybe he wanted to start something back up again, and thought finding me might give him the opening he was looking for. I wasn’t eager to deal with that crap right now, so without thinking, I backtrack, grabbing hold of Quinn and using his large body as a meager shield.

“And what are we up to?”

“Quiet,” I say, craning my head around him to spot Sam getting closer. I flash my eyes up at Quinn’s face. “Ex-boyfriend that I really am in no mood to talk to right now.”

The hesitation in his body lasts only a second and then Quinn nods, grabbing my face so that I am forced to look at him. “Relax, love. I’ll handle it.”

And then he is kissing me. Quinn is forceful, his tongue gliding along my mouth, insisting, expectant, then he pulls on my arm like he has the right to, moving us until I am against the wall of the restrooms, my back cold and scratching on the brick wall.

There are footsteps behind us, the crunch of gravel and the long, slow release of an exhale but all of that is secondary sensation, something that barely registers as Sam retreats. I am too caught up in Quinn’s mouth, his touch, and why the hell I’m not tell him to piss off.

Finally, he pulls away, but Quinn is not smiling. There isn’t the slightest hint of laughter on his face. There is only that tight, blazing glint in his eyes and his gaze burning over my features like he means to set my skin on fire.

He isn’t aggressive, isn’t hurting me, but the delicious musky smell of his skin and the cologne from his body is like a tranquilizer, as if the very scent of him is some numbing drug that keeps me paralyzed against the brick wall. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear myself screaming, telling me to push him away, to escape. He isn’t holding me there, in fact he is barely touching me at all, but still I am immobile and hate that nothing but the pull of his gaze and the whisper of his fingertip along my cheek is locking me in place.

“Was that sufficient?” I can barely hear him over the wind, and he pulls the hair from my face and keeps it still between his fingers with his hand cupping behind my ear. “You damn well kissed me back.”

“No,” I say weakly, trying to pretend that I am indifferent to the smell of him, the feel of those hands. “I didn’t.”

“Liar.”

“I meant what I said. Get the hell away from me.”

Instead Quinn steps so close that the smallest hairs on his chest tickle my collarbone and his wet bottom lip skims along my chin. “You like having me about, don’t you, love, because I don’t mince my words.” I close my eyes, not wanting him to see anything there that he might take as longing. But Quinn is a bully, a beautiful, seductive bully, and he doesn’t seem to like me not watching him. He doesn’t seem to like not being able to read me. He curls his fingers, tightens my hair around them and my eyelids flutter open. I’m careful to glare at him, leaving nothing sweet or honest in my eyes. Still, he doesn’t buy it. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you have your anger.”

“That’s because…”

He stops me with his thumb smoothing along my jaw. I am distracted by the sight of his face so close to mine, his dark eyes, and the smell of coffee and sugar lingering on his breath. If I move my head, pull my hair free from his fingers, then my mouth would be on his; our bodies would be pressed together. For a brief second, I wonder if his stomach is as firm as I thought it was that morning on Joe’s porch. I wonder how far down that thin patch of dark hair goes, if it thickens further down his body. Just the thought of him, of that beautiful skin and those taut, lean muscles has me wanting to let him take me, right there against the wall. I’d defile the place that holds my sweetest memories if only to quell my curiosity.

If only to forget everything else.

Quinn drifts so close, holds my chin, keeping my head still with his free hand and I swallow back the knot of worry, the words I know will stop him from kissing me. He’s so close, the airy breath from his mouth tickling down my nose… just a half an inch closer and I’ll taste him again.

If I hadn’t glanced at him, if I hadn’t glimpsed that slowly creeping smirk—one that was all attitude, all smug triumph, then maybe I would have let Quinn kiss me, this time without the excuse of putting off my ex.

But I do glance at him.

I do see that smirk that every entitled asshole learns, it seems, before they utter their first “I said right now,” and it is that smirk that totally snaps me back to reality.

“You let me have my anger, O’Malley,” I pull his hand from my face and feel a stab of vindication as the smirk disappears, “because if you didn’t then you’d have to apologize for once in your entitled, pampered life, wouldn’t you?”

He jerks back, putting at least a foot of distance between the two of us. I can feel his anger spark against mine. “I apologize for nothing. Not one fecking thing.”

“And that’s your biggest damn problem, isn’t it?” Quinn’s body has gone stiff, his shoulders so straight I wonder how his muscles aren’t cramping. “You are too proud. You have zero shame. You are nothing like Declan.”

“Jaysus, I hope not.” He laughs then, but there is no humor in the sound. Quinn sounds, in fact, mildly disgusted by the comparison, which only adds fuel to my anger.

“You could learn a lot from him, you know that? You could learn what it is to be generous and thoughtful. You could learn what it means to care for others before thinking only of yourself.”

“Why in God’s name would I want to do that shite?” His voice was flippant, but there was no humor left in him.

“You wouldn’t. In order to do any of those things, Quinn, you’d have to have a freakin’ heart.”

It was a burn that I could not back up, but the insult made Quinn retreat, keeping him still as I walked away from the pitch oddly empty, and still cold, wondering if I’d ever be warm again.

AUTUMN MCSHANE AND I
have shared everything since we were little. She knew that I stole twenty bucks from my mother’s purse in fifth grade because I wanted five books, not three at the school book fair. She knew that when Nicky Thompson pinched and fondled my boobs freshman year, I’d orgasmed in just under a minute. I knew that she snuck out to see Roger Smith our sophomore year because he was moving back to Houston the next day and Autumn wanted to see if
everything
from Texas really was bigger. I knew that she’d secretly wanted to say yes to Declan when he first proposed despite them only dating for a few months. He’s asked every week since then, always with “Is it
sometime
yet?” and she always answered “no, not yet.” I also knew that my best friend’s refusals were getting less and less adamant.

We knew each other. We knew each other’s faults and habits and we knew how to apologize, when that usually it only took a hug and a teary laugh to forgive and forget.

It’s all it took now. One smile and my eyes a bit blurry, and Autumn was hugging me, the pair of us blocking the hallway leading to Rhea’s room.

“I love you,” she whispers, hugging me so tightly that my back popped.

“I love you.”

“Jaysus,” Quinn moans, earning a glare from me and a jerk of Declan’s head, instructing his brother to sit on the benches at the end of the hall.

“Wanker,” Declan mutters as his brother moves down the hall. It isn’t until Quinn is nearing the benches that Declan loses his glare and his gaze passes back to us. “How is she?” the big Irishman says, letting Autumn slip to his side.

“Better. Much better.” For the first time in weeks, I feel rested, not as down. Carol’s phone call this morning had pulled me out of my funk.

“White blood cell count is inching toward normal. We still have to wear masks but she can have visitors again.”
I hadn’t let Aunt Carol finish her explanation before I hopped in my car and made it to the hospital in less than fifteen minutes.

“Can we see her?” Autumn asks and her smile is so wide, so hopeful that I can only return it, feeling an uncommon swell of gratitude toward my best friend.

“Yeah, of course, but first I wanted to talk to you about the fundraiser.”

“What are we raising funds for?”

“Um,” I start, checking to make sure my family isn’t there. “The experimental treatment for Rhea. Aunt Carol has been trying to organize something to raise the funds for it, but she’s been so overwhelmed with taking care of Rhea that it hasn’t gone anywhere. I thought since we’ve pulled together a massive book sale every year then maybe we can organize the fundraiser for her. You think perhaps Ava…”

“How much do they need?” Declan tilted his head, smiling easily to apologize for interrupting me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I tell him. “But it won’t work. I offered up my savings but they wouldn’t take it.” Declan opens his mouth, encouraged by the proud smile Autumn gives him, but stops when I shake my head. “Declan, whatever you’re thinking, really, I so appreciate it, honestly, but it just won’t do.”

“I don’t want that money, Sayo.” His expression darkens when I continue to shake my head. Declan had never met his birth father, Quinn’s father. But when Quinn’s mother died, the inheritance she’d withheld from Declan went directly to him. I’d never asked how much money Declan had inherited but I did know he had no interest in that money just as his birth father had never had any interest in him.

“Deco, you’re so sweet. Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “It’s too much. I… um…” I glanced back at Quinn then stepped closer to Autumn and Declan, not wanting to advertise my business. “I have thirty grand and they refused it.”

“How much does the treatment cost?” Declan asks again, clearing his throat when I close my mouth.

“Eighty grand.”

“Jaysus.”

“Indeedy.”

“Sayo?” Aunt Carol is walking toward us, looking rested. The dark circles around her eyes have dimmed, finally. “Oh, Autumn, sweetheart, Declan, so good of you both to come.” Carol kisses Autumn and pats Declan’s back as way of greeting.

“Carol, Sayo mentioned a fundraiser.” Autumn’s smile is still wide, still sweet and my aunt, being the well-mannered southern lady that she is, nods to my best friend, though I can see her discomfort. Autumn sees it to, but grabs Carol’s hand and rubs it, like a mother comforting a nervous child. “Sayo and I organize the library book sale every year. We even put Declan to work, didn’t we, sweetie?” She winks at Declan when he nods. “Anyway, well, we’d be happy to organize a fundraiser for Rhea. There’s really nothing to it.”

Aunt Carol seems a little overwhelmed by the way Autumn takes over, already offering up ideas and plans, whiffing on organizations that could donate and volunteers that we could pool from her freshman classes. As Autumn runs through a list of projects and chores we would need to tackle before the big day, “starting with the day of the event,” I step back, glancing down the hall to see that Quinn is missing from the benches. I wave at Declan while Carol and Autumn improvise ideas about the fundraiser, and go to check if Rhea is finished with her lunch.

But as I inch closer to her open door, I hear unexpected laughter coming from her room. Rhea hasn’t laughed once in months. No jokes, no shows, no films or comics have lifted her spirits since she landed back in the hospital. Until now.

“Do it again,” I hear her say, that soft giggle getting louder. “Oh, that’s so funny.”

Nothing could surprise me more than what I see as I turn the corner and walk into Rhea’s room. She’s sitting up in her bed, as Quinn scribbles with a black marker over a green paper face mask. On his head he wears two more separate masks, both with oversized eyes drawn on their surfaces. When he pulls them down over his own eyes, they look ridiculous and crossed.

“Rhea?” I ask, stepping further into the room, but my little cousin ignores me in favor of the two new masks Quinn fastens over her eyes.

“There you are, love. Look, we’ll have a photo.” Completely ignoring me, Quinn leans next to Rhea and they move their heads together just as he snaps a selfie with his phone.

“What’s going on in here?” I ask, stepping closer to the bed. “Rhea?”

“Quinn’s making me faces with the stupid masks, Sayo.” Her laugh is still blessedly light and buoyant. Although I cannot believe that asshole is being sweet to Rhea, I don’t have the heart to kick him out.

“Is he?” I ask, leaning next to her on the bed.

“Yeah, do you want one?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she hands a clean mask from the small pile in her lap to Quinn. “Make Sayo some, okay?”

It’s only then, when Rhea prompts him, that Quinn finally looks at me, nodding in answer to her question with his attitude cool, unaffected by how stiffly I sit on the bed and how hard I glare at him.

“Hey, Sayo, Quinn says he has a Thor comic book signed by Stan Lee, isn’t that right, Quinn?”