Catching Serenity (Serenity #4) (15 page)

“So what are you guys up to?” I’d asked, wondering if Quinn would let me get a better look at the sketch, but he hurried to excuse himself from the room, giving me the time with Rhea I’d wanted without even a frown over his shoulder in my direction, even though I had protested that I was only there to drop off the comic book.

It was then I got it: Quinn O’Malley didn’t want anyone to see him being sweet, because that meant he would be vulnerable. Instead, he expressed himself, his feelings in that sketch book, I’d seen that much in the brief glances I’d stolen in his room. His point of view was in every line, every curve of his pencil and he hid them all away from the world, away from anyone who might disagree with him. Anyone who might judge him. Rhea wouldn’t do that. She was still a kid. She hadn’t learned about judging others. She hadn’t learned about differences. To her, we were all the same and everything was worthy of friendship.

It was then I resolved to understand Quinn better. I wanted to know what he saw. I wanted to know what he’d shown my little cousin. I wanted a glimpse into the world he hid from everyone else.

The day before, I’d been convinced Quinn was putting on an act. I’d been convinced that what he showed the world was a mask—the disguise he wore because he didn’t want anyone to see the real him beneath it. That’s where my thoughts had gone when I left Rhea’s room. That’s what occupied them as I made my way to the parking garage, huddling against the late October wind as it whipped across my face. It was Quinn and the façade he wore that kept me distracted so that I didn’t pay attention to the footsteps that echoed behind me as I walked up to my car.

It wasn’t until I was unlocking my Jetta that I heard a low breath right behind me. Defensively, my elbow went up and out, and Quinn, who had slipped up way too close sucked in a breath, leaning against my car, holding his stomach.

“Sodding bollocks,” he’d said, groaning as I stepped back. He rested his forehead on his arm, breath rough, labored as he moved his head to bring his gaze to me. “What the fecking hell…”

“Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone in a damn parking garage?”

“I bleeding well do now.”

I gave him the pause he needed, but still kept my keys in my hand. I’d seen a glimpse at his softer side. That didn’t mean I’d let my guard down around him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted…” he grunted, clearing his throat as he straightened, as though the pain in his stomach still smarted. Damn. Didn’t realize how bony my elbows were. “I wanted to know,” he said again, “what the hell you were doing lurking in the hallway.” He stepped forward, that ever-present glare making him look less and less like he’d just got jabbed in the gut. “What are you on about?”

It would have been easy to goad him, to lie because he expected it. But I had convinced myself that I wanted answers. If I could get them from him, then there’d be no need for me to go snooping again. I knew that would probably be like expecting to win the Lotto without even buying a ticket, but I still gave it a shot.

Quinn stood in front of me, his back and shoulders rigid and straight. He looked very much like he expected a fight. He didn’t move his body when I stepped forward, when I tilted my head, narrowing my gaze to really look at his face, examine those highborn features. He remained cool and didn’t flinch until I spoke.

“I don’t buy the bullshit, not like everyone else does.”

There wasn’t surprise, exactly, on his face, but his eyebrow did lift even as his frown relaxed. “You’ve no bleeding clue about me. None of you.” Quinn laughed, once, bitter. “You lot think you know me, but you don’t, do you? None of you…”

“You’re good to Rhea.” That quieted him, but it also made him nervous, had him taking a step away from me. “You’re sweet to her. You speak to her with a kindness that no one else gets. Why is that?”

“No one else deserves it.”

I licked my lips, continuing to look at him, see how close to the edge I could take him before he walked away. That seemed to be Quinn’s M.O. He jetted when things got to be too much. Still, I went for it anyway, my curiosity greater than my worry that he’d turn his back on me. “You relate to her, I get that.”

He dropped his arms, letting them hang at his side. “What?”

Several cars passed us; their taillights blinking colors over Quinn’s face. Still he remained motionless, shocked, but unflinching. “I… I know about your childhood. I know that you…”

In a second his calm fractured and for the first time, I saw something real from Quinn O’Malley. Two quick steps and we were nearly nose to nose. “Fraser and his woman need to keep their fecking mouths shut.” I suppose he thought his height, the reach of his shoulders would somehow intimidate me. It didn’t. I’d grown up around rugby players my entire life. I was small, but I wasn’t skittish.

“They didn’t tell me,” I lie. “I… I found out… another way.” He glares at me, opened his mouth as though there was another insult queuing up to level at me. I stopped it before it came. “It doesn’t matter. You know what Rhea’s going through. You know what it’s like to be stuck in a hospital, to be poked and prodded.” Quinn worked his jaw, teeth grinding together and the anger brimmed close to the surface, pulling the muscles of his face tight. His nostrils flared and the top of his cheek twitched, but still, I continued, now too curious with what my accusations would force him to say. “You understand what she’s going through and so you are nice to her, but why just her, Quinn? Why not everyone?”

“Because…” his voice was rough, as though the rage bubbling in his gut threatened to burst free. “Because she’s the only one…”

“Everyone is struggling with something, Quinn.” He stepped back, but I grabbed his arm, pulling him toward me. “Every single one of us.”

“Bollocks.” Quinn jerked from my touch, but didn’t leave. “You’re full of shite, the lot of you…”

“You have no reason to be angry.” He stepped closer. “You lost your parents…”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Autumn, Declan, they both lost their moms.”

That brimming anger surfaced, and he slammed his fist onto the trunk of my car. “They bloody well have each other; they have all of you…”

“You could too.” My voice carried, lifted above the noise of engines and braking cars and the thump of his fist against my car. Quinn looked at me as though he didn’t quite catch what I had said. Eyes blinking, his mouth opened, slowly. I took the advantage, wondering what he’d do if I kept at him, wondering if he’d show me a small peek of what Rhea saw every day. “We aren’t hard people to get along with. We aren’t closed off, none of us. You open up to us a little and maybe you won’t be so miserable.”

“I don’t need anyone. Not a fecking soul.”

“Is that how you get through the day? Lying to yourself?” When his top lip curled, I shook my head. “How’s that working out for you?”

That barb hit the target. Quinn’s frustration turned to rage, and he grunted, a loud, desperate sound I’d never expected him to make. Before I could react, he charged forward, and grabbing me by the shoulders, backed me up against the concrete column I had parked next to.

His fingers dug into my shoulders. I expected him to shout. I expected him to get right in my face and make threats. I expected him to curse at me, rail against me, say things I’d likely never be able to repeat to any of my friends.

I did not expect Quinn O’Malley to grab my chin.

I did not expect for him to stare down at me, gaze on my mouth, his tongue wetting his lips.

I did not expect him to kiss me.

And I damn well didn’t expect to like it.

There was so much anger in his touch. Fingers gripping tight, breath fanning from his nostrils, warming my cheek; his angry, desperate movement against my body—it should have insulted me. It should have hurt. But Quinn’s angry kiss changed when I didn’t struggle, when I took what he gave me, when I welcomed it with a return of my lips against his, my fingernails running up his scalp, pulling him forward.

I forgot who I was, who was touching me. Quinn’s anger turned into something that ebbed against the cool temperatures around us. He warmed me, lit me up from the inside with his tongue intruding, commanding inside my mouth, with his teeth against my bottom lip and his fingers tightening against my hip, pulling me toward him.

It only lasted a moment, but it was a moment that stretched, one that seemed to slow into forever until I suddenly remembered who had hold of my mouth. It was a realization that Quinn seemed to have at the same time and he pushed away from me, grunting again before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as though my taste insulted him.

I barely noticed when he walked away. The shock that came into me then, wasn’t from the sting on my lips left by Quinn’s kiss. It wasn’t the anger that left me speechless. It was the fact that I had liked it. His kiss has set something loose in my brain, and, various other tantalized body parts. And as his footsteps clicked against the concrete as he retreated, a singular agenda pulsed in my brain like a neon sign: Get him to do it again.

DEAR GOD, DECLAN
Fraser was a ridiculous drunk.

This entire night would have been more enjoyable had we been watching a real rugby match and not just the local feed for regional semi-pro squads playing the Rugby Sevens.

“Ridiculous fecks.” That’s what Declan decides is the appropriate insult to sling at the two squads in the last match he actually watched. This, according to the Irishman, was nothing like “real” Sevens competition. “Not even playing in the right bleeding month, for feck’s sake!” The Sevens were usually held later in the year for the international squads, two teams pitted against each other for quick fourteen-minute matches. It’s the roughest, quickest matches you can watch and is a true display of real athleticism and teamwork.

The squad from Jefferson County and the pathetic redneck squad from Mississippi weren’t performing up to Declan’s liking and so the cable access feed got muted in exchange for beer pong. Joe’s house had been taken over by the CPU rugby squad and it was well past eleven when the squad’s captain, Declan, decided he needed several shots to erase the piss poor playing he’d just watched.

“Tequila?” Donovan asks, fighting both Declan and Vaughn for the bottle—it seems like the entire squad had ended up in the kitchen, where the entire center island was covered with bottles and plastic cups.

“Who’s up then?” Declan asks, tilting it toward Mollie and Autumn.

I bypass the offered shot glass, handing it over to my best friend. Seeing his girlfriend down the drink then quickly suck on the lime, Declan forgets he is hosting his squad in the eager hurry to have a go at Autumn’s neck.

“Fecking hell, love, you’re sexy.”

And… that little praise and the Irishman’s mouth descending on Autumn’s neck is enough to make Joe retreat to his bedroom and the entire squad to leave the kitchen.

Mollie crinkled her nose and the way Vaughn tugs her out of the room, tells me I’ll likely not be seeing them the rest of the night, not if the Marine’s groping hands are a clue to his plans.

Across the kitchen island, Donovan glances at me, rolling his eyes at how Declan and Autumn carry on before he snags the tequila. “Later, Sayo. I’m going to crash in the den.”

And then I’m alone with the happy couple, itching to be rid of them as well. I have plans for that spare bedroom that won’t stay empty all night.

“Um, guys?” I say, looking away from the couple as they block my exit from the kitchen. Declan fondles Autumn, hands firmly on her ass and she returns the attention, shoving her hand under his shirt, raking her nails across his chest before she uses her free hand to flirt her fingers against his waist. She is at his zipper before I can clear my throat.

“Autumn!” I shout, breaking their contact with my sharp yell.

“Oh, Sayo, sweetie, I’m sorry,” she says, doing a poor job of getting Declan’s lips from her neck. “Do you… you want something to…”

“Ugh, Autumn, take it to his room. The crowd is thinning and you guys are blocking my escape.”

“Autumn my love, is it
sometime
yet?” Declan whispers against Autumn’s skin and I roll my eyes, pushing them aside when Autumn giggles at him.

I wait for Declan’s bedroom door to close, and move purposefully towards Quinn’s empty bedroom, only to find a couple making out in the hallway. I tap the guy on his massive shoulder. It’s Sona Pulu, a new Wing recruit from
Samoa
who is sweet if not a little thick, especially when it comes to girls. He’s not yet cottoned on to the notion of rugby groupies and is currently tangled up with Lizzie Hamilton, a sophomore Cockie, (Cavanagh Cocks groupie), who spent all of last semester trying to get into Donovan’s bed.

“Sorry Sona, party’s over,” I tell him, shrugging when Lizzie frowns at me.

“We can’t just borrow…” Lizzie nods toward Quinn’s room and I laugh.

“Not unless you want a very grumpy Irishman kicking you out when he gets home. I nod toward the door and Sona smiles as Lizzie pulls him out of the house.

Not including Donovan, only two players are left from the party, both passed out in the den. Joe slips back into the kitchen, but only to retrieve a bottle of bourbon that he tucks under his arm. I watch him from the dining room entrance and wait to hear his bedroom door shut before I beeline toward Quinn’s bedroom.