Chapter 36
CHARLIE
The hot water and steam can only wash away so much. Sweat, dirt, makeup.
The fear isn’t coming off; it won’t fade away.
After I towel off, the bathroom mirror is covered in condensation. I don’t make any effort to wipe it away. I don’t want to see how I look; I know it will only amplify the dread brewing inside.
I finger-comb my hair and assume I look presentable enough. Declan has already seen me at my worst.
Putting on the baggy borrowed clothes reminds me of all that has happened this evening and all the things before it.
In the weeks since I started working for FIRE, I have been bugged, shot at, locked in a storage unit, and tonight – well, who knows what might have happened if Declan hadn’t shown up.
Blaed didn’t say or do anything specifically threatening, but he planted a tracking device on me a month ago.
Who’s to say what else he might have done? If not tonight, then another time.
My glasses are all steamed up, but when I exit the bathroom they demist. The air-conditioning is on full blast, my skin hot from the shower, so it’s a welcome change. I know this evening I’ll need an extra blanket or two, though.
As I enter the main living area, the smell of garlic and cheese hits me. My mouth waters and my stomach grumbles. Declan’s handgun is on the table in the living-room area. I didn’t even know he had one on him. I guess he’s always been discreet about it.
“I found some cauliflower-crust frozen pizza,” Declan announces. He is in the kitchen and has taken off his button-down shirt, leaving him in a tight white T-shirt that is tucked into his slacks. His lean but firm arm muscles are on display. If I thought he was hot before, he is volcanic now.
And I . . . am a walking pile of laundry. I consider if I should dig for a better-fitting set of clothes when my stomach turns again. “You could have said cardboard-crust frozen pizza and I would have eaten it gladly,” I admit.
Declan smiles at me as I sit on one of the barstools by the kitchen counter. The clock on the stove tells me it is about to strike midnight.
Declan offers me a bottle of water and a paper plate with freshly cooked pizza. We eat in silence, Declan leaning on the counter across from me. His mind is busy; he is thinking through all these shreds of information that barely amount to any substantive clues.
“Thank you,” I say after I have one piece of pizza in my stomach. Declan looks up at me as he takes a sip of his water. “For saving me earlier,” I clarify.
He gives me a nod and says, “We’re a team.” I guess that’s his way of saying “you’re welcome.”
“Yeah, we are. Aren’t we?” I reply, not sure what I want him to respond with.
“This is a lot. I didn’t have to deal with all this in my first month on the job and I knew what I was signing up for,” Declan says.
I shake my head, because he did have to deal with an explosion killing his mentor and almost finishing him off as well and I don’t think there is an appropriate amount of time for that either. “I think this is the part where I question if this job is worth it.”
Declan splits the rest of the small pizza between us. “I understand the fear, the danger. But we have to think about those weapons, how many people could be hurt, could die. We have to help.”
My mind pictures the crowds that will be at the World Games.
I used to envision them chanting my name as I crossed the finish line.
Now I can only hear the phantom screams of how they’ll react to an impending terror attack.
This threat is so heavy. “Do you sometimes think someone else should save the day?”
Declan gives me a devilish smirk. “No.”
Of course not. Declan Davidson is a good guy through and through. Even if some of his intentions lead him to be a little overprotective.
I offer to clean up and Declan settles onto the couch to sleep. It doesn’t look at all comfortable.
“Are you OK over there?” I ask.
“We’re locked in for the night,” he tells me before locking his eyes on mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod and turn off the lights in the kitchen before climbing the metal stairs. The entire safehouse is dark, save for the small amount of light coming from the digital clocks in the kitchen and the loft.
I get under the unfamiliar covers of the bed, cocooned in these oversized clothes. Exhaustion demands my full attention. Declares how worn down I am. “OK, goodnight,” I call out.
From below, I hear Declan’s voice. “Goodnight, Ross.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
I’m back at the World Games trials. My legs are sculpted, my body ready.
The starting gun fires and the race begins.
But I am stuck. I try to move, but nothing happens.
The other runners round the oval and I’m standing in the way.
They crash into me, as if they can’t see me.
I’m on the ground, trampled under their racing spikes.
I try to roll away, to escape. But I’m frozen. Immovable.
I jolt awake with a scream. I can’t see anything in front of me, but I can tell I’m not at home. I hear movement nearby. Feet on concrete, then a rattle on metal.
“Charlie?!” Declan calls out in the darkness. My eyes adjust and I see him reach the top of the stairs.
I’m still gasping for air as I cover my face, embarrassed that my bad dream disturbed Declan, who was already going out of his way to be nice and sleep on a tiny couch because I’m too scared to function right now.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, shaking my head. I try to steady my breath, but I find myself still heaving for air.
Declan crosses over to me, setting his handgun on the bedside table as he passes. He must have grabbed it when he heard me cry out. Declan is now wearing only his undershirt and boxers. Right. He probably waited to change until I went to sleep.
Declan sits on the bed next to me and wraps an arm round my shoulder.
“It’s OK, sweetheart,” he says, his lips on the crown of my head.
My senses register everything while my eyes still adjust in the dark.
Declan’s cologne isn’t that strong, but his skin is warm against mine.
His firm arm muscles hold me as if I am about to crumble.
My body sinks into his. I can’t hold this fear and tension when he touches me. It melts away.
“It was just a nightmare,” I explain. “I feel so ridiculous.”
“Stress is dangerous to our bodies and our brains,” Declan offers as an explanation.
“Yeah, but could my stress dreams just be public speaking while naked? Or my teeth falling out? Something embarrassing but not terrifying?” I say, trying to make light of the situation.
“My nightmare is that I’m back in high school and I have to take a final exam I’ve never studied for,” Declan confesses as his thumb rubs my shoulder.
“Nerd,” I tease him.
“I mean, I would have aced it, but still stressful,” Declan adds. I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Always so confident, always so cocky,” I mutter.
Soft lips press into my hair. “You wouldn’t want me any other way, sweetheart,” Declan says. He’s right. And without realizing it, my breathing is normal again, my nightmare forgotten.
I want to apologize for being weak, for being scared.
I’ve told myself a million times that I’m strong.
I was an elite athlete. I’ve tackled endless doctors’ appointments to finally get the correct diagnosis.
I moved across the country to start a new job and a new life.
I know I’m tough and brave. So why is that feeling abandoning me now?
“What’s it like to be fearless?” I ask him.
“I’m not fearless,” Declan says. “I always run toward danger, to help, to fix things, to make it right. In most cases, that’s not fearless or even brave.
It’s foolish.” His words are soft, the gravel in his voice gone.
After a deep breath, he admits, “Actually I’m terrified.
Because I finally have something to lose.
” As he says this, he wraps his other arm round me.
I am so safe, caged in his arms. I pull away enough so I can lift my head.
My lips find his instinctively, as if we are magnetized.
His warm mouth, his strong arms, they are all I need.
All I want. I make a silent wish. Please don’t let this be a dream.
His kiss is soft and sweet, caring. He is holding me like I am something to be cherished.
But my mind is confused, even if my body knows exactly what it wants and what to do.
I let out a weak laugh. “I thought . . . I thought the other day after you saw me so sick and weak . . .” I wince, thinking about how pathetic I must have appeared.
“I thought . . . you had put me in the friend zone.”
“I tried to. I needed to. I really should,” Declan says, his arms releasing me.
I nod. I shouldn’t have said anything.
Then Declan’s hands find mine, our fingers interlacing. “You understand the danger of being with me. Of how I have been burned and betrayed. These people will stop at nothing. I could never forgive myself if they hurt you to get to me. If I lost you too.”
I nod again, unsure if he can see me. I know this is the most generous way he can let me down easy. Logically.
“If I were a stronger man—” Declan cuts himself off and squeezes my hand.
“I respect your boundaries,” I tell him, reminding myself that I need to be strong as well. “Declan, you have a rule. I don’t like it. I hate it.” I look down at our hands. “But I respect it. I’m not the kind of person to try to make you something you don’t want to be.”
“Charlie . . .”
The way he tenderly says my name has me fighting back the emotions storming inside me: how much I want him; how much he means to me.
Declan disconnects our hands so he can tilt my chin upwards.
His eyes lock on mine and I feel too exposed.
Like he can read every thought in my mind right now. But I’m unable to look away.
“For years, I had this rule and infatuations came and went. The truth is, no one has ever once tempted me to break this rule like you have. It’s more than how much I want you.
It’s how much I want to be with you at the office, on missions, even after this career is over.
” As he says it, I can see it all. Work, life, cycling, running, cooking, all the exciting and mundane things. With Declan.
“Charlie, my rule means nothing against the truth I feel when we’re together.
The truth that says we are a rule that can’t be broken.
That we belong together no matter what.” He is saying the most beautiful things.
I want to beg him to stop. Because I’ll cling to them.
I’ll recite them to myself as I pine for him.
This is worse than him freezing me out. If he is going to say we can’t be together, I’d rather be put out of my misery.
Tears are coming, but I have to fight them back. I refuse to appear even more fragile.
“I’m weak for you, Charlie,” he whispers, and my heart begins to race.
He moves his hand from my chin, his fingertips tracing a delicate line along my jaw until he wraps his hand through my hair.
He is holding my face so we are eye to eye, making sure I hear him, see him.
“I will tear down every wall, break every rule to get to hold you. To be with you.”
Spellbound, I don’t dare look away from him. Declan releases me and I let out a whimper, disappointed he didn’t kiss me.
“After seeing Castillo flirt with you, I was frustrated, offended on your behalf. But I knew we had our roles to play.” Declan pauses.
His firm hand starts to move in my hair.
Massaging my scalp, soothing me. But it is also a possessive action, one that sends heat to my belly.
“Tonight, seeing you with Blaed, I almost ran over there and clocked him for daring to be near you.” He shifts away from me, his hand leaving my skin.
He sits forwards on the edge of the bed.
I should be scared by his confession. But I can’t be scared by it when that same feeling fueled him to protect me.
I reach out and touch his hand, the same way I did when he told me about the Osaka mission in the storage unit.
No one should have to feel alone when they admit their darkest memories or thoughts.
“You deserve something less complicated. Someone who doesn’t put you in harm’s way,” he mumbles.
“Life is complicated, life is dangerous. Every relationship is a risk, a leap. You’re the one I want to jump with,” I tell him.
Declan squeezes my hand and lifts it to his mouth, giving it a gentle peck. Then he moves his lips to my wrist, my arm. It’s so good and so right. I sigh as each kiss lands on my skin. This is absolutely what I want and need right now.
I utter the same word he said back in Copenhagen after our first kiss.
“More.”