Claiming Serenity(83)

“You weren’t going to tell me.”

“No,” he said, finally sounding like himself. “I wasn’t going to say anything until I knew what would happen,” he waved his hand in the direction of her stomach, “with everything.”

“Everything?” He nodded and then Layla looked down at her stomach, finally realizing what he meant, finally understanding that it was the baby, not the mother that he wanted. It was him not so subtly saying that he was waiting for her to make a decision and stick with it. “You were waiting for me to change my mind, weren’t you?”

“I…” again he fell to her bed, scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I waiting for. Maybe, shit, Layla I don’t know.”

And he never would, she realized. Donovan had spent his life letting others decide for him, whether by demands or actions, good or bad, it was what others did, what they suggested that made him finally move. Declan was going to New Zealand, taking Autumn from her home and he wanted Donovan with him. So, naturally, he’d go. His father had taken Jolie, they’d both betrayed him and it was that callous act that had made Donovan decide he didn’t want to love anyone ever again. Layla had come back to him night after night, wanting, asking and Donovan gave her what she wanted. Everyone led Donovan. Everyone insisted and he fell in line like a good soldier. And the one thing he seemed to want, the baby, their daughter, even she wasn’t enough to make him decide on his own. He wanted Layla to choose for him.

And so, she did. She had already.

“We found a family.” She knew her voice sounded rough, without a touch of gentleness in her inflection. And she watched as Donovan’s tether to calm broke. That press against his lips grew harder, turning the skin around his mouth white as he watched her, as those beautiful blue eyes of his watered and he breathed hard through his nose. “The agency called, this afternoon. They want to meet me.”

She waited for him then, for his anger, but it didn’t come. Still, he stood, getting too close to her again, arms tight around his chest as though he needed that tension to keep his limbs still. “And that’s… that’s still what you want? To give the baby away?”

Layla ignored the vibration of her phone, shrill chirp that kept ringing. She couldn’t take her eyes from the red streaks in his eyes or the glassy shine they’d taken on. But she knew if she relented, if she told him that the baby moving inside her, that her wanting to walk away from the life developing in her body was something she said, then Donovan would follow, like always. That’s not what she needed from him. It’s not what she wanted. She couldn’t lead. Donovan needed to tell her what he wanted. He needed to say the words.

“I thought that was what we both wanted.”

He didn’t answer and Layla grew nervous when he looked down, when she thought he tried to hide his tears from her but when he lifted his head, his face was dry and all the emotion was missing from his features.

I don’t do emotion.

Again her phone chirped, it kept chirping and Donovan nodded toward it, stepping back.

“Do you… do you want to come with me to meet the adoptive parents?”

When his eyes fell closed, when her phone started ringing, vibrating harder, Layla missed his answer, too focused on the words that blared ugly and brutal across the screen.

“Oh God. No.”

Donovan was at the door, his hand on the knob when she looked back at him, telling her with one look that she didn’t have to say the words.

“She’s… Rhea… she’s gone.”

And Layla barely noticed Donovan stepping in front of her, his chaste, brief kiss on her forehead before he left her room throwing a soft “I’m so sorry,” over his shoulder before she was alone, crying into her hands. Later, when she had calmed, when Autumn informed her and Mollie that Sayo wanted a day alone and Layla rested on her bed, silent in her dark bedroom, then she realized what Donovan had said, what that dismissed response was when she asked if he wanted to meet their daughter’s parents.

“No, Layla, I don’t.”

And for the first time in months, Layla thought, maybe she didn’t want that either.





Wexford Heights was the largest, most exclusive neighborhood in Cavanagh. Donovan’s father once told him that the large Greek revival with the large spindled columns at the end of the street had once been home to Mickey Cavanagh, the town’s founder. It was said, Cavanagh chose this spot, where the highest peaks of the mountains could be seen, where the Falls ran just three miles from the property line, because it was the quietest, the most peaceful spot in the town.