Catching Serenity (Serenity #4) (25 page)

QUINN LAYS ON
the cluttered wood floor of the warehouse. Around him are sketches—drawings of Rhea that are a cruel reminder. Images that I will not see, that force my eyes close as I lean over him.

I told him not to move.

I want to take this time. I want to take and vanish and diminish everything.

He lets me.

We are naked and wet, from our sweat, from our tears and I do not feel pleasure in this.

There is only the sound of our bodies, the low grunts, the heady call of need and desire.

There is no love here because it has been stolen from us.

She took it with her.

And so I sob, taking him inside me, straddled across him, not asking permission.

I take.

He lets me.

THERE IS A
mirror hanging above the table that holds the guest sign-in book. It’s the first time I’ve bothered to look at myself in two days. My hair is completely black now. Not even the smallest hint of pink can be found among all that straight, thick hair. Autumn offered to braid it for me this morning. My friends had barged into my apartment because I hadn’t bothered to charge my cell. Because when your world has fallen apart around you, it is your friends, your family, that keep you from slipping between the broken crevices. Autumn is that for me, she and Mollie and Layla.

“Leave it,” I’d told her, too exhausted to care that I look a mess. Layla, wobbling toward me, dared me with a glare to reject the simple black dress and heels she’d held in front of me.

“Put this on. No arguments.”

Pregnancy has made her assertive.

“You ready?” Autumn asks, holding my hand to pull me away from the mirror, to allow the long line of guests to write their names in a book Aunt Carol will likely never read. I had not wanted to be with the family when they viewed the body. I hadn’t been ready, but now with Autumn, Mollie and Layla standing sentry, my legs don’t wobble quite as much and the fierce tremble in my fingers isn’t quite as bad.

Still, as my friends lead the way into the nearly empty room with low lights and muted swags, that nervous feeling takes hold and something burns and coils in the pit of my stomach. Declan, Donovan, Vaughn and Joe stand when we walk in and I barely notice those somber expressions, the worry and concern that pulls their mouths down.

“You can do this,” Autumn whispers and for a second I believe her. For a second more I want to believe her.

“Okay.” Only Autumn hears me and as we step closer, I tighten my hold on her fingers. “Okay,” I say again, coming closer to Rhea.

Nothing could have made me ready for the sight of her in that coffin.

Autumn catches me when my knees give and Layla and Mollie stand at my back and side as I stare down at the little girl I still love.

Carol had done as Rhea wished. She is finally the fairy she’d dreamt of being. Vivid colors cascade around the room, the coffin. The entire space has been transformed into a Technicolor vision—blues and greens, purples, all so brilliant they reminded me of a sunrise in spring, the backdrop of a vibrant field of lavender. And in the center, surrounded by all that color, by of flowers and cards, sprays that carry images of fairies and superheroes and versions of comic book characters, rests Rhea in a silver coffin.

She is dressed in a beautiful fairy costume of soft blue with a green tutu skirt, a flowing cascade of matching ribbons that fall around her from waist and to hem. On her face is the mirror image of the make-up Quinn had given her just days ago—swirls and loops of white, blue and green, accented in silver and gold, arching around her pink dusted eyelids and gemstones near the corner of her eyes with a flare of colored glitter sparkling around her eyebrows and across her forehead.

Rhea is an ethereal character out of one of her more creative comics—both woodland nymph and powerful sorceress. She would have found herself beautiful, just as I always had.

“You’re colored up, kiddo.” She always wanted to be. She wanted wings that stretched and grew. She wanted lights and colors and the brilliance of magic to pump from her veins. She had that now. She had it all.

My friends hold me up as I cry. The tears come uninhibited. They should. We are in the midst of our grief, surrounded by the warmth of love. Now is the time for tears. I watch Rhea through the blur of moisture with my best friends tending to me, making certain that I feel every emotion this day requires. Today, I will not allow myself to be numb. I will not allow myself to forget.

After a time, with the strength I borrow from my friends holding me, I notice the book next to Rhea in the coffin. It lays by her hand, between her body and the padded fabric; a thin, colorful book that I know. I take it, flip through the pages as
Omnigirl
and
Sovereign Smash
battle
Death Doctor C
and his engine of darkness. Rhea flies, fights alongside Quinn, a powerful team ridding the world of those who would see the cloud of illness come to children—those who would fill small veins and bodies with medicine that harms, not heals. This was their work. This was their legacy. Partners in crime working to make this small dream Rhea dreamt a reality.

“It was here when they opened the coffin,” Carol says, standing behind me with her arms around my waist. “I don’t know how he got it in there.”

“He has ways,” I offer, rubbing my thumb across the glossy pages. “He has so many ways.” I slip the sketch book back into the coffin, making sure it is at Rhea’s side, so she can have it with her, always.

Carol’s attention is divided by her friends and those that have come to pay their respects. Cavanagh is a small town with a generous heart and it seems that all of those generous hearts have come to say goodbye to a sweet girl they didn’t know. The crowd increases and I reluctantly leave Rhea’s side, to get lost in the shuffle of well-wishers, in the mass and ceremony meant to send her onward.

Before I know it, I’m standing at the graveside. Around me, the crowd is silent, heads bowed as the priest offers final prayers, but I do not follow the others. My gaze slips around the solemn faces, searching, greedy for a glimpse of his features. But Quinn isn’t here. I stand alone as we leave Rhea behind.

DARCY AND GEORGIE
are at my feet as though they know there has been a great loss. I don’t move them when I lean back on the swing and the huge bullmastiff lifts his head, moving on his belly to rest his chin on my bare feet when Autumn comes outside to join me.

It is nearly ten at night. Inside my parents’ home my family recalls the short lived, precious life we celebrated today. Mom has brought out pictures. Carol has allowed this, letting her big sister tend to her, reminding her that she is not the only one feeling this loss, even though hers is the keenest. I suspect that is why Autumn has followed me out here as well.

Well. That and the bottle of Jameson’s she hands off to me.

“It’s yours. Your dad thought maybe you’d like one of your own.”

“Thanks,” I say, scooting over when Autumn sits next to me. Darcy doesn’t move from my feet and my best friend picks up Georgie, scratching on the bridge of her nose until the dog collapses on her lap.

“Declan says Quinn has gone AWOL.” My face nearly buzzes from the stare Autumn gives me. The way she watches, how closely she monitors my reaction tells me all I need to know about why she mentioned Quinn. She knows. And she’s known me long enough to understand when things are being bottled up tight.

The whiskey is smooth, holds a bite when I swallow and as I pass the bottle to Autumn, I half expect her to refuse the drink. But then I glance at her, nodding once and she takes two gulps, one right after another.

“How long?” she asks, resting the bottle on her knee.

She should run a booth at a fucking carnival, I swear. Ten bucks to slip past the well layered walls I constructed to keep the world out of my head. Autumn navigates them with little effort. “A few weeks, but even before then there was… something.”

My best friend leans on her side, watching and the guilt I feel for not relying on her is heavy on my chest. “You didn’t tell me.” Autumn brushes my hair off my shoulder, looking past the fence line as we swing.

“Did you really want to know?” Darcy grumbles when I turn. His whines are low when I pull my feet from under him and onto the swing in front of me. “Me? And Quinn? I got the feeling he was the last person you thought I should end up with.”

Autumn doesn’t abandon her long stare beyond the fence, remains calm, cool. “I make no judgments, friend.” She lets Georgie jump down, finally handing the bottle back to me. “Am I to take it that he showed you a side no one gets to see?”

“Oh I imagine a lot of people, a lot of women, have seen that side.”

“And?”

I take a drink, sinking further against the back of the swing. “We both wanted to forget ourselves. It hurt too much… Rhea…”

Autumn pulls on my wrist to hold my hand. “And he helped you forget?”

“For a little while.”

“And now?”

The day, the raw emotion that keeps me open and exposed only intensifies when Autumn’s hold on my fingers tightens, as she watches me as though expecting me to fall apart completely. She won’t let me, pulls me toward her to rest my head on her shoulder so my tears are hidden.

“Don’t tell Declan,” I say when enough emotion has clogged my sinuses. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right. He’d only see it as Quinn taking advantage.” Autumn’s nails against my scalp are soothing, lulling. “Seems hard not to given what he’s shown us of who he is.”

“He’s scared,” I say, wiping my face dry. “Even Rhea knew that, but I think he loved her. I know she loved him and he made her happy. At least for a little while.”

“Did he make you happy, friend?”

I can’t look at her directly. Autumn has a way of seeing the things I keep hidden from the world. With one glance she could pull all of my secrets to the surface. The silence deepens between us, and like the friend she is, she lets it. Moves on.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says, voice dropping.

“Does this have anything to do with New Zealand?”

She sits up, taking the bottle from me when I try to take a sip. “How did you know about that?”

“Sweetie, seriously? Where are we?” When she refuses to give me the bottle, I sit back, waving off her surprise. “People talk at McKinney’s, especially when they think no one is listening, and you know Sam hears everything.” When Autumn looks as though she might lose her temper, I shrug, stopping her with a shake of my head. “Tell me what this means.”

“Declan and I… well, probably Dad as well… well, we…” She picks up the bottle, polishing off a quarter before she finishes. “We’re going with him.”

“I figured as much.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“Why not?” I grab her hand, squeezing it. “You and Declan, friend, from day one I knew you’d follow him anywhere, and players like him don’t stay stuck in small towns. Not this small town, anyway.”

“You don’t have to stay either. You can come with us.”

“That’s your dream, sweetie. He’s your tomorrow.” I nestle next to her, letting my best friend hold me. “I need to find my own.”