Chapter 5 #2
“Okay, deep breaths. Deeeeeep breaths,” I coach myself. “I need grounding. I am grounded. I am so grounded I’m practically dirt.”
I nearly upend the vegan leather mini bag grabbing my affirmation deck. The matchbook sized cards stick to my sweaty fingers as I shuffle and draw one at random.
You are exactly where you’re meant to be.
With an outraged gasp, I shake the card at the sky. “Oh, that’s hilarious.”
Declan exhales sharply through his nose. “You done?”
“No, I’m not done! We just got magickally thrown into a Burning Man meets Ren Faire hellscape.” I gesture wildly at the silk-draped tents and endless dunes. “And you’re standing there like it’s just another day.”
The sun beats down on us as Declan slides off his black jacket, hooks it on one finger, and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ve had worse first dates.”
“If you were one of my clients, I would tell you that this situation requires energetic recalibration,” I continue, voice rising with each word, “major chakra balancing, some sort of divine offering, not…dissociation.”
“I’m not going to start panicking, Amanda.”
“Well, good for you, Declan. I guess I’ll panic for both of us.”
I hurl my crystal down in a burst of melodramatic rage, immediately regret it, and dive into the sand after it.
“Somebody’s gotta lose their shit while the emotionally unavailable hero with the perfect jawline makes unhelpful little quips and stares out at the horizon,” I mutter, digging frantically through hot, grainy earth.
Declan crouches beside me with aggravating grace, then plucks the rose quartz from the sand with two long fingers. “I would hand this over, but you insulted my emotional depth.”
“It’s not an insult,” I grind out, snatching it from his grip. “It’s a coping mechanism.”
We’re nose to nose now. A dry breeze drags hot fingers across my skin. Sweat soaks through his button-down, and it clings to his chest, outlining the smooth slopes of muscle. Not that I notice. I don’t. I’m not looking. He’s the worst. The absolute worst.
He tilts his head, his throat moving with a swallow. “You’re scared.”
“And you’re not?” I fire back.
“I don’t have the luxury of fear.”
“Oh, puke.” An incredulous bark of laughter flies past my lips.
“That has to be one of the most emotionally constipated lines I’ve ever heard.
You’re literally proving my point in real time,” I say, jabbing a finger in his direction.
“I thought we got past all this bullshit, but I suppose that was just a continued effort to get into my pants.”
“It didn’t seem like I would have to make much of an effort.”
My jaw drops. “You know women are allowed to change their minds between hot DM banter and the actual act, right? And maybe I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been so, I don’t know…” I shrug and tilt my chin. “Impossible to talk to.”
I drop back onto my heels, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“There was a second at Ember when I thought we were the same. That you were nervous about seeing me, about everything going perfectly. That you and I were just two kind, sweet people hiding behind hyperconfident personas we built to survive dating apps.”
Wind tugs at my hair as I shake my head. “But I was wrong. You are exactly how you seem online—intense and damaged and moody—which is great for a fantasy and great for a meaningless fling but not great for this.”
His dark eyes narrow, brows knitting. “Not great for what?”
“For actually finding a solution,” I snap. “For talking through something. For doing more than growling and glaring and moving your eyebrows in place of real communication.”
A muscle ticks in his temple. “You say you’re kind, Amanda, but you’re not. All you’ve done since we landed…wherever this is, is tell me what a dick I am.”
“I wouldn’t tell you what a dick you are if you weren’t being such a dick.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Same.”
The sky is an impossible stretch of color, but I can’t look away from him. Our breathing syncs in ragged pulls as we stare each other down. A bead of sweat slips along the hollow of his throat, tracing a path along his skin before vanishing beneath the open edge of his collar.
Bastard.
“This is a test,” he says, rising to his full height and looking down his ridiculously straight nose at me.
The wind stirs, lifting a curtain of saffron silk from a nearby tent. It twists overhead in a hypnotic spiral, gliding through the dry air like a warning inked in color.
I rise too, a little less gracefully, my heels immediately sinking into the sand.
“A test,” I deadpan. “Right. What kind of test physically snatches you off your feet and spits you through a flaming portal into…whatever the hell this is?” I fling my arms wide.
“Face it, Declan. The universe has kidnapped us.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you listening to yourself?”
“Are you looking around? That is a camel.” I motion to the snotty animal leaving fat footprints in the sand. “A camel. The universe is mad at me and—” A terrible thought slams into me, and my stomach flips. “Oh shit,” I whisper, clutching the rose quartz to my chest. “This is a test.”
He exhales, voice flat. “The universe is probably trying to see how long it takes before you manifest a nervous breakdown.”
“See? You’re a dick. That is dickish behavior. Which is really hard for me to say out loud because I’m all about love and light.”
“That was hard for you?”
“Yeah. Really, really hard. Had to work it around in my mouth for a while before I could get it out.”
Declan smirks. “I’d like to see what else you can work around in your mouth.”
“Ugh. Gross. And typical. Gross and typical.” I roll my eyes, but the protest sounds flimsy even to me. We’ve said filthier things to each other over DM back when it was a game, a fantasy I invited.
But somewhere between the Wheel of Fortune stalking me and watching my own patterns play out at Ember, I’ve figured out that there’s a lesson to be learned here.
Maybe if I’m a better person—less impulsive, less chaotic—it will finally stop shitting all over me.
So I’m making a quiet little vow to act like the kind of person good things happen to. Fake it till I fucking make it.
His expression shifts, the humor on his lips flattening into a thin line. “Typical?”
“Yes. Typical.”
“You knew exactly who I was on the app.” He takes a step closer. “I never once promised you anything else, and now you’re pissed I’m not handing you some different version of myself because we’re finally standing in the same place.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off with a curt, “It’s my turn.”
“Your turn for—”
He presses a finger to my lips like he’s hitting a mute button.
Rude.
“To read you. To tell you what I see.”
Before I can protest, he catches my hand, yanks me closer, and unceremoniously lifts my palm.
“You liked the fantasy. No.” He drags his finger along the line that swoops down beneath my index finger and trails all the way to my wrist. “You begged for it. For me.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t—”
“It’s still my turn,” he cuts in, gaze pinned to mine.
I go quiet, the words dying in my mouth.
“Now we’re here, in person, and suddenly you’re furious I’m not soft. That I’m not sweet. You want to punish me for being the man you wanted when it was safe, when it wasn’t real.”
Heat prickles across my skin as he drags me closer.
“But here’s the thing. The ‘universe’”—he lifts his free hand and makes actual air quotes—“doesn’t give handouts. You can tell yourself you’re changing or evolving, being a better person to reap the rewards, but it’s all bullshit. You’re lost. Waiting for someone else to decide for you.”
My skin goes hot, shame rushing up my neck like a rash. I’ve spent years building this glossy, mystical armor he’s ripped off in one motion, leaving me exposed…pathetic.
My vision tunnels. My ears buzz. I can’t breathe past the thick knot in my throat.
“You’re not some empowered woman, Amanda. You’re a scared little girl.”
The slap cracks through the air before I register raising my hand.
Decan exhales through flared nostrils and takes the blow, nodding like it confirms something he already suspected.
I yank my other hand from his, drop to my knees, and start scooping my things from the sand. All of it is gritty and sun-scorched and mostly useless.
“I’ll figure this out myself,” I mutter, half to him, half to the blazing, sandy nothingness that stretches away from the tents. “I don’t need you. I’ll figure out where we are and how to get home. Alone.”
I clutch my bag to my chest and pivot toward the row of tents when a dark shape slips between those farther down the stretch of sand. Another follows, drawing closer.
Someone’s coming.
I freeze, my hot skin cooling with an icy rush of adrenaline. My fingers tighten around my bag as my heart kicks my ribs.
I glance over my shoulder at Declan. He stiffens, jaw tight, body coiling with tension. Without a word, he jogs forward and steps into the slim shadow of a nearby tent. He lifts the edge of the silk, gestures once, and disappears inside.
I duck in after him just as voices draw closer and footsteps crunch over sand.
The silk rustles on the far side of the tent. A shadow looms tall and thin, pausing just outside the entrance. The fabric twitches, and a hand slips in, fingers adorned with thick gold rings.
“Let us see what the sands have delivered.”