Catching Serenity (Serenity #4) (29 page)

“God,” I say, pulling away from Quinn. “I…”

“When did this happen?” Quinn asks, voice carrying less bite, but I can’t answer, and I become the one to walk away, turning a deaf ear to their voices becoming faint and indistinguishable as I beat a hasty retreat.

WHY DO WE
revert? Every single time? Why do we keep repeating past mistakes, conveniently forgetting that our choices led us down a road that we swore we’d never revisit?

I sit in the booth furthest away from the front door, far away from the bar to avoid the light crowd that McKinney’s typically draws on a Sunday night. There is a group of sorority sisters near the front, downing dollar margaritas while some of the first year rugby players sing bad karaoke, trying to impress them. Declan had done that a couple years back when he wanted Autumn’s forgiveness and he thought humiliation was the way to earn it. Maybe he was on to something. Maybe if I embarrassed myself in front of the town then Quinn would forget me acting like a jealous asshole.

“They’ll be gone in half an hour,” Sam says, sitting next to me in the booth. “But I can kick them out now if you want some quiet.”

He smells like lemons and limes with a hint of sugar. I used to love it when Sam would come to my place after a shift, smelling of the fruit he’d cut to garnish whatever drinks were on special. That scent hasn’t changed much. But I have.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The question is out of my mouth before I even decided to ask it. It was something I’d wondered the last time I was here drinking his Baileys laced tea. It had been a long time since Sam and I had been an item. Why should it matter to him how I felt?

“I thought I was always nice,” he says, brushing my hand before he leans on the table. “I gave you free tea the last time you were here.”

“Yeah, I know.” I turn, resting against the wall at my back so I can look at him. “You’ve never done that before and I’ve seen you plenty here since we broke up. It wasn’t… wasn’t until Rhea…”

“This isn’t pity, if that’s what you think, Sayo.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

Sam’s eyes narrow as he thinks of what to say. He doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable when he leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth, moving his lips like he was trying to gather his thoughts.

Finally, he exhales, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling, then back down at me. “I should have never let you slip away.”

“What?”

He straightens, leaning on his side to face me. “Two weeks after we broke up, Tucker shows up at my place shitty as hell. He starts blabbing about Autumn, about what a whore she was, how she’d been sleeping with Fraser after meeting him once.”

“That’s
not
what happened.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam shrugs, scrubbing his face. “Fraser and Donley, they hung out in here a lot. They’d come in for lunch, or after practice just to relax. You get to see all sides of people when you work behind that bar, and that semester when Fraser was running after Autumn, I saw plenty. But I didn’t think about any of that when you told me what a shithead Tucker was.” He shrugged again, shaking his head. “You know how it is, being friends with someone for so long, you sort of overlook their flaws. I did that with Tucker. But when he came to my place bashing Fraser and Autumn I realized you’d been right. Then, a few months later when Heather came around, well…”

“She distracted you.”

He has the decency to look sheepish, shaking his head at his own stupidity. “I’m a guy and I’d gone a few months without…” Sam stops his explanation when I squint at him. “Fine. No excuses, but a few weeks with her and I knew you’d been right about both of them. But by then you’d moved on, and I had convinced myself that I didn’t deserve you.”

He reaches toward me, taking my hand. “I probably still don’t, but I’d like to try.” Sam has long fingers. There are several callouses on his knuckles, but the palms are smooth. “I know you’re still hurting from losing Rhea. She was a sweet girl. I remember that from your sister’s birthday dinner we spent with your family.”

Around us the karaoke has grown drunker and louder, and the wait staff busies themselves with orders for pitchers, but Sam seems to see nothing but me.

“Sayo, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He inches closer, takes a hold of my hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that at all. Maybe I can, I don’t know, help a little.” He takes my chin, lifting it as though he wants to pull me to him. “Maybe I can ease some of the ache for you.”

“Sam,” I say again, remembering that I had tried to take the ache away before. That hadn’t worked out so well for me. That’s what I think, where my thoughts are when Sam pulls me in, kissing me soft and slow.

That brush of his lips, the tenderness in his touch… he could ease my grief. He could, very easily make me forget…

And then another flash comes to my mind—the intensity of my clothes being pulled from me, the pulsing vibration of stronger hands, fiercer grabs. A mouth that possesses, controls, makes me crave that demand, eyes that are blue, not gentle, touches that are eager and sure. Quinn is everything Sam is not. He is more, so much more and as I let Sam kiss me, stealing some of my breath, a bit of my burdens, I feel… absolutely nothing.

“Oh God,” I say, retreating, leaning back. Not letting him ask the question I know is threatening to leave his mouth. “Oh… shit. Shit!”

“What is it? What’s wrong, Sayo?”

“I can’t…” I make my lungs expand, keep enough air inside that I can think and reason. It’s there—that knowledge, that sudden realization. “Son of bitch, Sam, I can’t kiss you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because,” I tell him, pushing him out of the booth and grabbing my purse and jacket as I stand to leave. “I… I’m pretty damn sure I’m in love with someone else.”

MY LIFE IS
not a Nora Ephraim-penned movie. Realizing I love Quinn is one thing. Seeing him, or God forbid, telling him? That’s an entirely different matter. I wasn’t about to go running through the sleepy streets of Cavanagh in a mad, dizzying rush to get to my man and profess my undying love. This isn’t a John Hughes movie either.

One minute Sam was kissing me. The next I knew he shouldn’t be, and then I did what any rational, red-blooded woman my age would do. I went home and hid under my blankets. Minutes went by. Hours. Before I knew it, two days had passed, and I was smelling mildly like the tub of roasted garlic hummus I’d eaten, (family size because I’m a pig) and still utterly unwilling to venture out.

Autumn’s incessant calling, not leaving messages, texting and then calling again, finally got me out from under those blankets.

“Next Sunday at eleven. Don’t make any plans.”

“What have you signed me up for, friend?” I should have known there was some sneaky missive that Autumn kept to herself.

“Um, maid of honor duties.”

My jaw literally dropped. I hadn’t planned on that. I hadn’t even expected it.

“No sense in waiting,” Autumn explained. “Declan is due in New Zealand in a month. We may as well get married first.” I was speechless, but she didn’t waste any time leveling on the surprises. “Will you do it? Stand up for me?”

“Duh! Of course I will.”

“Um, well, before you agree, I should tell you. Quinn is standing up for Declan.”

“Quinn? Why not Donovan?”

“Donovan can’t do it.” She sounded annoyed, but I heard the half-truth in her tone. That woman had schemes afoot. “He and Layla are taking the baby to New Orleans to visit his family.”

Autumn’s breath went still, as though she was holding it. But dang, she had been my best friend since we were kids. There was no way I’d let Quinn O’Malley stop me from being there on the most important day of her life. “Sure,” I finally said, ignoring the slow rumble that started in my stomach when I thought of looking at Quinn across the aisle. “Of course I’ll do it.”

I just didn’t realize what a challenge that day would be.

AUTUMN WAS TYPICALLY
calm. Always. Aside from panic attacks when her anxiety got out of hand, especially when things are out of her control, she never had an issue retaining her calm.

Her wedding day was the exception.

She looks beautiful. Her thick ginger hair is pinned up at the sides, and a simple gardenia accented with baby’s breath nestles around the crown of her head. The dress she wears is simple, knee length with a classic pin up silhouette in white satin with a pleated skirt. She looks like a paler, taller, much more Irish Marilyn Monroe.

“Declan is going to lose his shit,” Mollie says approvingly, zipping up Autumn’s dress as I steam the hem. Autumn’s reply is a non-committal grunt and I exchange glances with Mollie, shaking my head at our friend’s distracted, edging-toward-flustered state.

There seems to be a lot weighing on her—the move to a new country, finishing her graduate work, closing up the house, finding a job in New Zealand… getting married. Added to that is the quickness of this wedding. It doesn’t seem right that Layla isn’t here, but family visits with the first grandchild outweigh impromptu weddings, apparently. Fortunately she and Donovan would be back before the New Zealand departure.

The church Autumn managed to rent for the ceremony is very old, at least one hundred and fifty years, with nothing but the framework to serve as a venue for small, intimate weddings. The structure is made up of a white washed brick frame and a half-roof that lets in the sunlight and casts beautiful light against the alter and the stained-glass behind it. The tiny building outside of the church houses the office and all around both buildings is a lush, well-maintained English garden.

Autumn fidgets, shaking her foot as she leans against the bathroom counter in the church office. We’d blocked the entrance, using the bathroom as a make-shift dressing room. I notice the way Autumn keeps glancing at her phone, how she mumbles under her breath.

“Sweetie, what’s the problem?” I ask, touching her shoulder.

Finally, she exhales, rubbing her neck. “Declan wasn’t worried before now, but we only have twenty minutes and Quinn’s still not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’d been here on time, you’d have realized Quinn is MIA.” I ignore the snap in Autumn’s voice, chalking it up to pre-wedding nerves. Still, she manages to earn my forgiveness with an apologetic smile.

“I don’t know why this surprises you,” Mollie says.

“But they’ve been getting along so well,” Autumn explains. The trip to Atlanta actually had gone well, and Quinn had started watching matches with Declan, Donovan, and the others on the squad. “He didn’t even fuss when Declan asked him to be his best man,” she said, plaintively.

“Really?” Mollie sounds skeptical and I had to agree. That did seem wildly out of character for Quinn.

“Well, I did get the impression that he was annoyed that he was Declan’s second choice, but I can’t see that being a reason to ditch us.”

“No one’s heard from him?” I say, stopping Autumn when she chews on her thumb nail. “Don’t. You’ll mess up your manicure.”

“Do you have any idea where he could be?” she asks, holding my wrist when I swat her thumb out of her mouth.