Chapter 8
Declan
I had to pull away from Lena before I did something I know I shouldn’t.
Something my body is begging for.
But she’s untouchable, and that’s what made me step back.
She made me dinner.
And yeah, to most people, that might seem like nothing.
But to me?
It’s everything.
No one’s ever done that for me. Not really.
Sure, I was fed as a baby, at least I think I was, but even as a kid, I was rummaging through cabinets, stealing scraps, surviving off whatever I could find.
The kind of childhood I had? It would break even the strongest of men if they let themselves think about it too long. That’s why I don’t. I keep it buried. Locked down.
But it’s also what built me.
It’s what made me into the man I am today.
The man who found family in Wesley.
Who found a purpose in Shattered Souls.
So yeah, Lena standing in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, and putting a hot plate of food in front of me?
That hit a place in me I didn’t even realize was empty.
Which is exactly why I made her sit with me while I ate it.
A little domestic, a little dangerous.
“This is really good,” I tell her, mouth half full and soul rattling in my chest.
She smiles, shy, like she doesn’t realize she just redefined what home feels like for me.
“It’s just spaghetti, but thanks,” she says, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt that’s far too big for her.
God, she’s beautiful.
Soft where I’m hard.
Warm where I’ve always been cold.
There’s so much I want to say.
So much I could say.
But I swallow it down like the last bite on my plate and lean back in my chair, arms crossed, needing distance.
“I’m sure you’re exhausted. It’s been a long-ass day,” I say, voice low. “I’ll take the couch tonight. You can have the bed.”
“Absolutely not,” she snaps, brows pulled together like she’s ready for a fight.
I chuckle, needing the sound to lighten the war waging in my chest.
I get up, rinse my plate, and drop it in the dishwasher.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” I say, needing to get away before I do something I can’t take back.
I leave her there, lingering in the kitchen. A temptation I don’t know how much longer I can resist, and head to the bathroom.
My mind is still spinning.
Everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours feels like a goddamn storm and I’m stuck in the eye of it.
I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower.
The water is hot, too hot, but I don’t care. I need it to scald away the tension pulsing through my veins.
I brace my hands against the tile wall, letting the steam wrap around me like a blanket I don’t deserve.
But no matter how hard I try to clear my head, she’s still there.
Lena.
The curve of her smile.
The fire in her eyes when she argues with me.
The way my shirt falls off her shoulder, exposing soft, smooth skin that I’ve imagined touching a thousand times too many.
She’s not a girl anymore.
She’s a woman, a beautiful, smart, stubborn woman, and I’m starting to lose the battle of pretending I don’t see her that way.
I shouldn’t want her.
I can’t want her.
But I do.
I always have.
And right now, standing under this pounding water with nothing but the thought of her burned into my brain, I know the truth.
Lena is the one thing in this world I’ve always craved.
And no matter how hard I fight it, no matter how many lines I try not to cross, she’s the one thing I might not be strong enough to walk away from.
Frustration takes over like a goddamn freight train, slamming through the fragile calm I’ve tried to hold onto. With a sharp twist of my wrist, I shut off the shower. The pounding of the hot water did nothing to cool the fire burning through me. If anything, it made it worse.
She’s leaving after the fight tomorrow. She’ll go back to her life, wild and chaotic, filled with color and noise and energy I have no business chasing. And I’ll return to mine, structured, brutal, and lonely as hell. Just the way it’s always been. Just the way it’s supposed to be.
This thing between us, whatever it is, it’s not real. Not permanent. It can’t be.
I step out of the shower, water trailing down my skin as I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist. That’s when I realize it, my dumbass forgot to bring clothes. I’m not used to having someone here. Especially not someone I’m trying desperately not to fantasize about seeing me naked.
Hoping she’s still in the kitchen, I crack the bathroom door open and listen. Nothing. I make a quick dash to my room, towel clutched tight, and breathe out in relief when I see it’s empty. Thank fuck.
I yank open my drawer and grab a pair of boxers and gym shorts, pulling them on fast. Two layers, just to be safe. Not that it’ll help with the way she’s been invading my thoughts, wrapping herself around my self-control like a damn vice.
The day’s exhaustion slams into me all at once.
My limbs are heavy, my head foggy. I grab a pillow, ready to make good on my plan to crash on the couch, but I don’t even make it out of the room before I feel it, her presence, soft but certain.
A warm pressure in the air that instantly tightens something low in my gut.
“I said absolutely not,” Lena says, her voice soft but strong, steel wrapped in velvet.
I turn, pillow still in my hand. “I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch.”
“I’m a big girl, Declan. I’ve slept on plenty of couches. Don’t be ridiculous.”
I arch an eyebrow and walk over to the dresser to set down the pillow. “And I’m a decent human being who doesn’t let a woman sleep on a lumpy-ass couch while I take a bed.”
She moves to the opposite side of the bed like she belongs there. I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth.
“I’ve slept on worse. I’ll be fine,” she insists, grabbing one of the pillows.
“Damn it, Lena,” I snap, yanking the pillow right out of her hands. “Can’t you ever just do what you’re told?”
She doesn’t even flinch. Her chin lifts like she’s daring me to say something else. “I do what I feel is right at the time. I’m not taking your bed.”
The anger I’ve been swallowing all night starts to bubble up, mixing with something else, something dangerous. “Lena, fuck! Just sleep in the goddamn bed!”
“Declan, shut up!”
My eyes narrow, and for a second, the silence between us crackles. If anyone else had told me to shut up like that, I would’ve snapped. But this is her. She’s different. She gets away with things no one else can. Not because I let her, but because I want her to.
“We are grown-ass adults,” she goes on, her voice calmer now, but still firm. “Stop arguing and demanding things of me like you get to control every damn thing I do. We can both sleep in the bed. You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine.”
She yanks the blanket back and slips beneath it like she owns the place, like she’s done it a hundred times before. She stares at me, challenging me with just her eyes. “You can keep being a stubborn jackass, or you can get some much-needed sleep.”
It’s a bad idea. It’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my life.
But I walk to the other side and climb in anyway.
She lets out a soft laugh, smug and adorable and absolutely maddening. “See? You didn’t spontaneously combust.”
She rolls onto her side, her back to me, and I turn to face the opposite way, because facing her, facing this, is too damn much.
But even with her back to me, I can feel her. I can smell the shampoo in her hair, can hear the soft rustle of the sheets every time she shifts. Every nerve in my body is aware of her like a live wire crackling just beneath my skin.
And I hate how right it feels. I hate how much I want to roll over, pull her close, and pretend just for one night that she’s mine.
But I don’t.
I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, while every fantasy I’ve buried claws its way out of the shadows and taunts me. I shove them back down, one by one.
Because Lena’s not mine.
And she never will be.