Claiming Serenity(56)
Finally, with the shift of emotion working over her features, Donovan shook his head, tried to keep his tone light. “Of course not,” he said, hating the words before he spoke them. “It was what it always is, brat.”
“Yeah,” she said, taking a step back. “That’s what I thought.”
Then Layla slipped through the door and left Donovan alone, wondering what he’d done, wondering how he could remedy this. Wondering how he’d gotten to this point, but also knowing that it was vitally important that he did.
Small things aren’t supposed to wreck your life.
Small things like science wrapped up in plastic and glass can mock you. Decades of precise thought and ingenious chemistry all collected, evolved into that moment when she held that dangerous small thing in her hand.
She picked it up for the third time and then, just as quickly, replaced it on the countertop in her bathroom.
Two more minutes. Just two. Two that would leave devastation or relief. One hundred twenty seconds that would pause the knowledge of who she’d be next year: college graduate or first time mother. Single mother. Unmarried mother. Very, very bad Catholic. She would shame her family. Her life could unravel in just two small minutes.
In love or out. Passion or possession. Fear and loathing. All were question marks she could not sort through. Her mind was too full of possibilities and dread. What would her father say? He was liberal, God he had to be, the life he led, but would even he, that great liberal bear of a man who raised fear in other men, whose voice could both scare and comfort, would not see past this. She was certain of this.
And the man. The other one; her protector, her lover, the one that controlled and guided, the one that did things to her body that she’d never thought possible, what would he say? Would his long held fear have him running? Would all those things he spoke with each kiss, each touch, fall away with the reveal that their lives would never be the same?
Would he still want her?
She looked at her phone, watched as the numbers rolled back, pushed her closer and closer to inevitability.
Her stomach felt weighted. It felt thick and numb and all those adjectives she tried to think of, tried to collect into something resembling understanding, explanation. She tried to ignore it, the sensation of fear, of loathing, of abject terror as those numbers got lower, as those two minutes became one.
Such a stupid thing, irresponsibility. Such desolation that can be made when you forget that sensation, passion, even love, pushes away the sense of responsible adult living.
But she didn’t feel like an adult, not just then. She felt like a kid. She felt lost and frightened and worried that those lowering numbers would erase the person she wanted to be, the life she’d dreamed she’d have.
Small things aren’t supposed to wreck your life.
Not small plastic things that reveal your future.
Not small things like love.
Not small things like fear.
Small things are supposed to be forgotten. They are meant to be handled.
Small things like tests and loyalty and expectation and babies.
They all fuck you over.
The rain had stopped, leaving the pitch a sodden, soggy mess. Donovan sat on his already wet ass, arms on his knees, glaring at his squad as they practiced without him. He didn’t care that he wasn’t playing, had already been pissed at Mullens and Declan for calling this last minute practice. He wanted to be home, in his own bed, forgetting about the weather and the annoying refrain of “One month! Just one month left until Conference. Move your asses.” God, but Coach could be an asshole. But then, he probably was projecting. After all, it wasn’t Mullens’ fault that Layla was planning to leave Cavanagh. It wasn’t his fault that she was through with Donovan. Coach wanted good things for his daughter. He wanted her happy. Donovan wasn’t a good thing. Donovan was a rotten, distracting thing.
Still, when the rain dried up, the frigid temperatures dropped even lower and
Donovan ran the field cursing himself for forgetting his gloves. He cursed himself louder when he spotted Mullens’ glare and his best friend joining their coach as they both scrutinized Donovan’s performance. He was a miserable mess, but he blamed it on the weather, not the girl with great blue eyes. It wasn’t those full, perfect lips or the delicious peach scent that had him grumpy. He told himself it wasn’t even that he’d missed all those things that kept Layla vivid in his mind more often than he’d ever admit. That wasn’t why he was snapping at his squad mates. That certainly wasn’t what had him brushing shoulders with Ricky Tibbit when he asked Donovan what he had planned for the Christmas break.
“Fuck off” probably wasn’t the answer Tibbit had expected to hear and Donovan had forgotten about his squad mate’s temper, wasn’t prepared when the guy pushed him so hard, Donovan landed on the wet grass. “Like that, motherfucker?”