Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (27 page)

Autumn, Remember the stories your mother told you. - Harper Lee.

The signature is feeble, as though it was made with struggle, but there are flicks at the end of the R’s and a wide loop in the top of the L that make me smile, make my chest burn with pleasure. She’s written my name. She reminded me of my mother, of the stories she always told me. It was personal, and I am so affected, so overwhelmed that I don’t notice the tears sliding down my face or that Declan immediately wipes them away.

“Declan, this can’t be.”

“It is.” He takes the book, flips the pages to the back cover. There is an envelope, a letter of authenticity that he produces with pride. 

“How in the world?”

“Winchell.”

My head snaps up and I watch his expression to make sure he isn’t joking. “What?” He nods to the side, toward the window and I look inside to see Ava watching us. She offers me a wink and small grin before she returns to the party.

Declan tries to dismiss the gravity of this gift, as though there was nothing to it at all. “I went to her office and told her what I’d like to get you for your birthday. She made some calls. Has an Aunt working for some Writer’s Symposium in Alabama. She offered to call in a favor.”

His face is impassive as though this isn’t the most remarkable thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t help myself. There is a great swell of warmth in my chest. He has done this for me. I knew the book alone must have cost him plenty, but to admit he’d gone out of his way, just for me, that is priceless.
  I don’t think, I just pull him down into a hug, hoping he can feel that the tremble in my arms isn't from fear, that I am so filled with gratitude that the sentiment shakes my entire body.

I can’t stop the tears from falling and I don’t care that my nose is running. “Declan, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” I pull back, but his hands stay wrapped around my waist. “Thank you so much.”

“I just bought the book, McShane. Winchell did the hard stuff.”

“It was your idea.”

“Yeah, well—” he blushes and I laugh. I’ve never seen Declan blush before. I open the book and read the inscription.

“It’s priceless.” I look back up to him. “It really is priceless. Thank you.”

In the stretch of the moment, I can guess what will happen. I don’t care. His rejection, his constant mixed signals, I don’t care about any of it. He is going to kiss me and I want him to. I want him to take me back home. I want him warm against me, I want him kissing me, holding me, helping me forget everything that has happened over the past few months. I touch his cheek when he bends toward me and exhales, I feel his breath hot on my face; a rich sigh that lessens the weight of tension.

“Autumn Honor?” I hear Joe say. Declan growls, a regrettable, annoyed sound and rests his forehead against mine. Joe comes behind us and I turn, curve my eyebrow up. He has a ridiculously pleased smile on his face. “Sorry, love. I was just checking on you.”

“I’m fine, Joe. Declan was just giving me my birthday present.” At his doubting frown, I shake my head, nod it to the left, hoping he’ll get the hint. “I’ll be in a minute.” One ridiculous grin and a brief wink, then Joe disappears into the pub. “I guess I should go. I’m being rude.” I can see the hesitation, the disappointment on Declan’s face, the purse of his lips. “Do you want to come in?” He squints through the window of the pub and watches the crowd, no doubt seeing Tucker among the endless faceless.

“Best not. I’d hate for there to be a scene.” He rubs his thumb along my bottom lip. When I think he will kiss me again, I inch in closer, but then his thumb leaves my face and Declan clears his throat. “Are you lot prepared for the Dash?”

“I think so. As much as we can be.”

“Good. That’s good.” He smiles as though a thought comes to him. “We’ll back you up.”

“We?” I ask, wondering what he’s planning.

“The lads and I. Don’t worry, it’ll be fair. Captain won’t have a clue.”

The smile returns to my face and I squeeze Declan’s hand, a silent thank you for his gift, for him looking out for me. Though I don’t want to, I walk away, am almost to the door when I hear him call my name.

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday,” he says, but I don’t think that is all he means. Those green eyes are brighter now than they were just moments ago.

“Thanks, Declan.”

“I’m going to pee myself.” I’ve never seen Layla this nervous and find it a bit unsettling. She doesn’t get nervous. She gets grumpy, out of sorts, mad as a wet rooster sometimes, but Layla is never nervous.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mollie says. “We’ll be dripping with sweat and muddy as pigs in about twenty minutes. Pee at will.”

The crowd is thick with shivering, anxious runners, circling around the starting line. It’s Dash Day and the hordes have converged. Time to test our mettle, to forgo the theory and set the practice into motion. I think we are the only nervous participants. Some of the crowd partake in large bottles of beer, some power eat everything from bananas to protein bars as though the run ahead will take days and not the projected three hours. Layla and Mollie are among the scarfing fiends. They have eaten three bananas each and tried convincing Sayo and I to join in their gorge fest, but we both are too nervous. When Mollie yet again offers me another banana, I shake my head, the bundle of nerves in my gut spins around like a blender.

“Autumn, you have to carb load.”

“If I do, I’m afraid I’ll vomit.” She shoves the fruit in my hand and I’m forced to nibble quickly. Sayo takes one as well and when I watch the small bites she attempts and glance at her bitten down fingernails and Layla and Mollie’s anxious glances behind us, toward Tucker and the squad, I decide we need a pep talk. “Come here, all of you, come with me.”

I lead my friends away from the starting line, down a dry ditch to a patch of dead grass not occupied by runners or spectators. “We have prepared for this. We are ready.” My friends don’t buy it, seem wholly distracted by the end result, by what we will be forced into should we lose. I hate myself in this moment. I hate that all their anxiety, all their fitful worry is my fault. I got us into this. “Listen, you guys, I’m sorry about this. I really am.” When they begin to speak, all at once, I wave my hands, silencing them. “This is all me. This is me losing my temper at Tucker. I allowed him to talk me into this stupid bet. I should have never let him get to me. I…I love you all so much.”

My friends’ faces are determined, severe and I notice the quick exchange of worry between them, as though that silent communication is back and I’ve been purposefully left out of the conversation. A couple of nods and finally Sayo scarfs down the rest of the banana, straightens her shoulders and nearly grunts when she speaks. “Tucker Morrison can kiss my ass. And yours, Autumn. He’s a pig and a bully and he deserves to be shown up. I’m doing this and we’re going to win. All of us, we’re going to win.”

I don’t know if Sayo told Mollie and Layla about the source of her anger where Tucker is concerned. I can’t imagine she has, but they seem to agree with her and a wave of resolve overtakes their bodies.

Sayo pulls my arm into the crook of her elbow. “And we love you too, bitch.” We laugh and I notice my friends stretch their shoulders, walk tall, proud, as we return to the starting line and move their chins up as though this race is nothing to them, a minor excursion that they will navigate with little effort.

God, how I love them.

The day has been abysmal. The wind breaks limbs, dusts a brief patter of rain over our bodies, dotting the ground so that it’s just muddy enough to make the impending run difficult. My friends huddle beside me, their arms linked as they whisper words of encouragement, but the powwow is broken up by Sam’s arrival and the oddly awkward presence of Layla’s cop, Walter. I notice the clipped tones they exchange, how Mollie walks to the back of the line, talking to a few of her musician friends. My eyes follow her, but stop when I see Declan near the back, talking to Donovan and a few of his fellow squad mates. Tucker sits on a cooler near a small congregation of fans in the middle of the squad. His smile is smug as he animatedly speaks, regaling some boastful story or another to his eager audience.
  Declan and I both look at him, share equal expressions of annoyance, and then Tucker is forgotten. Declan’s smile is soft, he barely pulls his lips as though he’s reserved it for me alone, a private signal to me that tells me to push through, to be a warrior, to do the best I can.  But the connection is broken, cut clean when Tucker stands in front of Declan, shouts something that sounds remotely like “secret” and “back off” before he stomps my way.

“So,” he says, draping an arm over my shoulder. I instantly recoil, step out of his personal space. “There may be a thong and a bikini top with tassels on your outfit for the auction, sweetness.” He’s trying to goad me, get me to react. It’s actually kind of pathetic and a small part of my brain musters up sympathy for my ex. But it is minute, barely there, and a louder, prouder part stamps out any kindling of compassion. Tucker Morrison is an ass. As usual, Sayo was right.

“Laugh it up, chuckles. I’m not worried.”

“You should be. My boys back there are itching for a win.” Again he puts his arm around my neck. “You and your little hens are in for a world of hurt, babe. And I’m really going to enjoy watching that sweet ass of yours shake in nothing but a string at the auction.” I withdraw, pull my head back when the smell on Tucker’s breath assaults my senses. He’s so full of himself that he thinks attempting the Dash while clearly drunk will be a cake walk.
  He called me babe to piss me off, another vain attempt at a rise. And in this moment I realize what a pathetic little boy/man my ex is. Intimidation? Taunting? Is that the best he can do?

I take Tucker’s face in my hands, grip his cheeks until those bright blue eyes are focused on nothing but my face lightened by the thrill of my forthcoming win. “Tucker, you are an asshole and no one likes you.” He jerks back, wounded. “Your boys? You mean your squad? The squad that survived and flourished when you deserted them? The same squad you belittle and bully on the pitch? Those guys right there?”
  We both turn to the rugby team, five or so of them circle Declan, laugh with him, and when they notice our scrutiny, I receive cursory grins, nods of acknowledgement, but Tucker receives low lidded eye rolls.

He doesn’t bother to respond to me. Tucker darts away, and immediately the squad is dressed down, bombarded with my ex’s wild commands and threats. He walks in front of them, and behind his back are more expressions of disdain, a few vulgar hand motions and I can’t help but to watch Declan, to join him in a mutual giggle and the humiliation Tucker is about to receive. Declan winks at me, as if to say, “we’ve got you,” and the small embers of worry that still smoke in my belly are fully extinguished. He isn’t offering to fix the race so that I can win. And for me, it isn’t really about beating Tucker anymore. This is me, challenging my body, my mind, proving to myself that I am not beyond repair. That wreck took my mother from me. It didn’t take me out of this life, not completely.

The two minute warning sounds and we all converge on the starting line. My friends join me, shoulder to shoulder and we link hands, brief grips of encouragement, determination that will steel us in our task. I hear a whistle and then my name and scan the crowd until Joe’s ruddy face shines out among the thick scarves and wool coats. He carries a blanket and a thermos of coffee and gives me an encouraging thumbs up. I laugh when he opens his coat to reveal a flask in his side pocket. My father is always prepared. I wink back at him, too focused on my friends’ hands, on our solitary joining to distract myself by exchanging pleasantries with Joe.

“We are here,” a booming voice sounds, amplified by a speaker to my right. On the makeshift platform stands a huge blonde, donning a USMC gray hoodie and black jogging pants. In my ear, I hear Mollie’s low gasp and her grip on my fingers tighten. She seems to like what she sees. The blonde marine clears his throat, works his thick neck to encourage the crowd. He lifts his long, muscular arms and the crowd roars, a frenzy of adrenaline. “We are not runners, not accidental athletes setting out to challenge our bodies. We are here to fight. We fight the weather, we fight the elements, we fight the low niggling voices in our own heads that tell us to quit, that taunts us for our weaknesses. Right now, in this moment, tell that voice to go to hell!”

The crowd is so loud now that my ears ache. In the excitement, I lose hold of Mollie’s hand as she jumps up and down, eyes bright and focused on the platform. “Do not listen to that voice. It is beneath you. Today we are not individual athletes. We are not hundreds of mindless participants in this challenge, we are one. Leave no man or woman down. Let no one fall. Test the limits of your body, yes, but better still, challenge your spirits, become a legion.”

All around me the chant begins; a low rumble from the back that circles over bodies, waves into a crescendo of energy, a beating drum that shouts over and over “We are one.” The mantra flows into my skin, seeps through my ears, but my focus is reserved for the gun hoisted in the air, ready to fire. I disregard the eager clap of Mollie’s hands, the jubilant crowd around me. I will become one later. Right now, that course is mine. This win, mine. I offer one last glance at my friends, hoping that their resolve is as peaked as mine and then my eyes are ahead, my arms poised for the takeoff, my feet dig into the cold ground below me.

The gun fires and I dart from the crowd. I don’t listen to the squeals of laughter around me, to the dozens of girls more content on fun than on the challenge or the footfalls at my side, Tucker, his squad, my friends, they all become an echo of sound, faint, fading.

The first three miles are nothing, an easy jog that is no harder than our treks up to the falls. Runners pass me as I set an easy pace, focusing on my heartbeat and the cool breath that hangs in the air with each exhale. I know my friends are behind me, working on their own strides. They shoot words of encouragement to me, shouts of positivity that make me smile. But then Tucker approaches, his pace even with mine and I have to double my efforts at concentration.

“You kept asking me about Declan,” he says, his words flowing easy, not a bit winded. The distraction he attempts is difficult to tamp down. Of course I want to discover Declan’s secret, but not now. Not while I’m trying to clear my mind. “Why do you want to know what he’s hiding, sweetness?”

“Shut up, Tucker. I’m running here.”

He drops back for a second, then speeds to my side again. “Oh, I know you are and you look hot as hell shaking your ass in those tight pants. If I wasn’t so focused on making sure you end up in that auction, I’d drag you into the woods over there and remind you of some of our favorite activities.”

My pace slows and the fog of air from my mouth gets heavier. “For your information, those activities were for your benefit. I didn’t enjoy them nearly as much you thought I did.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I faked them all, Tucker. Every single one.” His eyes round and his skin takes on a bright flush that I doubt has little to do with the race. I smile when he tries to speak, the stammer of his words becomes a muffle of curses. And then I forget Tucker, forget that there are secrets he holds close to his chest. He wouldn’t reveal them anyway, the moment isn’t right. I know Tucker, he’ll wait until he’s cornered or until I’m at my weakest. I don’t want to stick around for that, so I lower my head, set my feet firm on the ground and kick off fast, leaving my ex sputtering behind me.

Ahead of me, the sound of loud groans muffle between the blue lips of runners. The incline begins, a treacherous terrain of rocky trails knotted by thick roots and downed limbs. I welcome the pain. It’s become my dear friend. Three long strides and at my side are Mollie and Sayo, ridiculously pleased smiles stretching out their lips.

“What happened to Layla?” leaves my mouth, but as soon as I ask the question, I hear a litany of curses behind me. I think I’m being called a “sadistic heifer,” possibly “the spawn of Satan’s junk,” but then our grumpy friend makes it to just feet behind us and I swing my head over my shoulder and blow her a kiss. The curses only get louder.

Sweat covers my back, slips down my spine like oil and I start to feel the impact of the Dash. There are small groups ahead of us, some overconfident, some smug, but they don’t anticipate the last leg, the hard kick that will be necessary once the finish line comes into view. The incline dips, weaves around a low cropping of shrubs and miniature trees and Mollie trips, swings out her palms to balance. It’s too late. She’s on the ground, jamming into a thick, loose root, her fingers trickling blood. We stop, move Mollie out of the path of runners, surround her, to check her injuries.

“I’m sorry, Autumn.” She holds her hands against her chest and I can clearly see the crooked break of her index finger. She tries to cover her pain behind a quickly wiped wince and a forced smile.

“Forget about, sweetie. It’s not important. We’ll stay with you until the officials come. There should be EMTs around the—”

“No,” she says, not willing to let me finish. “You keep going. You’re only losing time fussing over me.”

“No man left behind, Mollie.”

“What the hell ever, Autumn. We ain’t men and I want you to pulverize Tucker’s time.” She grabs the hem of my hoodie and pulls me down into a crouch. “Go kick that smug pig’s ass.”

“I can’t leave you,” I say, trying to ignore the slowing of my heartbeat, the momentum I’d created in the past hour begins to diminish. I love Mollie, all my girls, and I won’t abandon them.

“Sometimes, Autumn, the battle takes causalities. Some folks get left behind and that’s okay. You go on, you finish this.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Layla says, ducking next to Mollie on the ground as a flash of runners zip by us.