Claiming Serenity(58)

Donovan closed his eyes, feeling stupid for worrying about Layla and what might or might not happen if she left, when Sayo was still dealing with her cousin’s looming death.

“But Mollie hasn’t talked to her much this week either. They’re both a little off, if you ask me.” Donovan knew that tone. Autumn always used it when she was trawling for details. Sayo made small little noises of agreement and Donovan looked over his shoulder, wondering why it seemed to him like she was trying to keep quiet around Autumn. He caught her gaze and she smirked at him, both of them ignoring Autumn steadily texting someone on her phone.

Shit, he thought. Did Sayo know? That smirk meant something, but he didn’t think Layla would tell her friends about him. She hadn’t been willing to face all the nagging they both knew they’d get if anyone found out that they’d been sneaking around.

“Hey, there’s a sale at the mall. When Declan’s ready we’ll hit the road for Knoxville and stop at the mall first…”

Then the girls started talking about shopping and Christmas and Declan being a caveman for not wanting Autumn and Sayo to drive in the snow. And just when Donovan was about to dust off snow from his hair, Sayo cleared her throat and the conversation returned to Layla.

He didn’t move.

“So Quinn hit on Layla again?”

“Oh yeah. As always. I swear, that boy is a living, grunting, breathing hormone. You’re not… I mean, does that bother you?”

“What? Quinn being Quinn? No. He’s been nice to my cousin but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still a little slut.” The chair behind him squeaked and Donovan thought Sayo might be shaking her foot, a nervous little tick she got whenever she was annoyed. “So what did Layla do?”

“Screamed at him in front of the entire crowd at McKinney’s. He went after her when she left and Declan wanted to follow, but I told him she could take care of Quinn if she got too handsy. I mean, God, I saw Walter yesterday and his nose is still a little swollen.”

The shaking foot must have sped up because the creak in the chair only grew louder. “Well, I hope she clocked Quinn like she did Barney Fife. They both deserved it.”

“Bring your arse, young lady!” Declan shouted to Donovan and he shot up, jogging toward the squad, shaking his head at his best friend’s attempted insult.

He was grateful from the break in gossip. Donovan already had too many images, too much imagination about Layla to distract him. He didn’t need to wonder what she’d done to O’Malley or why the asshole had gone after her in the first place. He already made up enough fictional bullshit about her, worried why she’d been off that morning, why she’d been spooked by him. That she continued to consume his thoughts, that Quinn trying to have a go at her pissed him off, was nothing to how angry he was at himself for falling for her and being an asshole for letting her slip through his fingers.





Twelve presents nicely wrapped, apple green bows and iridescent paper all around her, had done little to keep Layla from her snippy mood.

“Merry freakin Christmas,” she said to her empty room.

It had been an attempt to keep her from thinking of stupid things. Things like Donovan and him following her from her Marketing class two days before. Things like his attitude and how easily he dismissed what had happened the last time they’d been together. Christmas was supposed to be a time of happy, happy, joy, joy and lots of liquor and laughter and buying her friends things they didn’t need. She’d gone shopping alone, like every year, earlier that day because pulling together scarves and gloves and jewelry she knew would match Mollie’s olive complexion or Sayo’s eyes, or Autumn’s hair, calmed her. Fashion kept her focused, kept her mind distracted enough that she didn’t have to think on whatever weighed down her thoughts.

It worked every year when the semester ended and Layla’s constant worry over her finals and her GPA and what the next semester would bring, never failed to overwhelm her. But, today at the mall in Knoxville, not even the winter collection of Coach bags could pull a smile from Layla. And it was all Donovan’s fault.

“The Demon,” she told herself, mentally kicking her own ass for not remembering that. “The boy who put a frog down my shirt during our eighth grade field trip to the Knoxville Zoo.” She threw the box holding Mollie’s small pearl studs onto the floor. The boy who made sure everyone in our high school thought me and Father Benson were having a torrid affair.

She wouldn’t focus on the other thoughts, the ones that made her sick to her stomach. The ones that promised disaster if she paid attention to them. The ones that promised her she’d never be the same after Donovan. She hated herself for missing him. She hated him for acting as though the last time they’d been together was just another night of naked debauchery that meant utter shit.