Chapter 10 #2
I help him up, loop my arm through his and guide him inside.
His steps are uneven but steady enough that I just have to keep him upright.
The couch by the window still has the makings of my makeshift bed, so it’ll have to do.
He settles on top of the blankets in a semi-upright position.
His dress shirt is dirty and stained, his pants wrinkled.
His dark hair is ruffled and he leans back against the couch, on the brink of sleep.
He looks nothing like the man I’ve come to admire over the years. Or at least, the man whose game and skill I’ve admired. Now, he’s going through something that I can’t explain.
Without thinking, I reach out and brush the hair from his forehead. It sticks to his wound, tugging slightly, and his eyes open suddenly. With him this close, I can see the golden flecks I saw before.
I stare into the depths of his eyes for a second longer, wondering what has him running…what has him hellbent on destroying himself. He shifts and the spell breaks. My gaze flicks to the cut above his eye which needs attention.
Swallowing, I move away from him, heading to the kitchen to find my first-aid kit.
“Why are you helping me?” Declan’s voice comes from the living room as I rummage in my cabinets for the kit.
I don’t actually know why.
After what happened tonight at the gala, I shouldn’t want to help him.
It should make me feel justified in leaving him on the bar floor and turning my back.
But I couldn’t. Because in my heart I know helping is the right thing to do.
Nobody should be left alone when they’re facing something difficult, when they’re bleeding or barely standing.
Not even Declan Murphy.
It’s been clear for a while now that he’s going through something. And instead of helping him, I judged, I quipped, I used him as my verbal punching bag…while everyone else sat back and waited for him to implode.
Heading back into the living area, I sit on the couch next to him. His head is leaning on the back of the couch, his eyes not leaving me for a second.
The living room is silent, save for the noise of the city filtering in from outside, and Declan’s slow and steady breathing as he continues to watch me. Opening the alcohol swabs, I turn to him and lightly dab at the wound above his eye.
He winces and pulls away.
“Don’t be such a big baby.” Reaching out, I dab at his cut again in an attempt to thoroughly clean it. “You’ve had worse than this.”
“How would you know?” he asks, a small frown between his eyes.
“I know,” I whisper.
I’ve always watched him play. This little cut is nothing compared to the hits he’s taken. His first season in the league he dislocated his shoulder on the ice and he was back in the third period.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he says.
“I just did.” I discard the dirty swab and open a new one. His cut doesn’t look too deep, but it’s still going to leave a mark.
“No, the other one. Why are you helping me?” he asks again, his voice quieter, yet insistent.
I can’t manage to meet his gaze, instead I continue to clean his wound, keeping my eyes trained on the cut and what needs to happen to fix it. Because, I don’t have an answer that won’t sound strange.
Because I can see that something is off.
Because God wouldn't let me leave you on that floor.
Because I want to be better, to be kind, to stop hiding behind judgment.
And maybe it needs to start with you.
When I don’t answer him, he reaches up and lowers my hand from his wound. His grip isn’t rough, just enough to force me to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry about what happened at the gala,” he whispers, his voice low and raw. “It shouldn’t have happened. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into the middle of my mess.”
The memories flick through my mind. Champagne spilling down my dress, Melissa staking her claim, the flashing cameras capturing all of it, the pity in EJ’s eyes.
My throat burns with humiliation and anger.
I didn’t even want to be there in the first place.
Then to find out EJ only dragged me there because he felt sorry for me?
“Don’t mention it,” I say, yanking my hand free and rummaging in the kit for some anti-septic and a small bandage.
“It’s not nothing.”
“I didn’t say it was nothing, I said I don’t want to talk about it.” I grab the salve and apply it to his wound with a bit more pressure than necessary.
He winces, followed by a smile and a spark in his eyes. “I can handle your anger, Snowflake.”
The words shouldn’t make me pause, but they do. My anger and offense has been my shield when it comes to him, perhaps a way to keep a safe distance from someone like him. The fact that he can take it, or even seems to welcome it, unsettles me more than if he’d snapped back.
The corner of my mouth lifts in a smile before I can stop it.
“A second ago you were complaining about the pain? Now you’re all strong and hulked up?”
He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What can I say? You reminded me that I’ve gone through worse.” Then his gaze holds mine a fraction too long, the teasing fading into something else. “Besides…your anger feels a whole lot better than your silence.”
A small blush creeps across my skin, and I’m suddenly grateful that the overhead lights aren’t switched on, just the lamp in the corner.
“Are you moving?” he asks, with what I can swear is a hint of disappointment in his voice. Maybe it’s late, I’m tired and imagining it.
“Not sure yet,” I say with a shrug before carefully applying the butterfly bandage to his wound. It looks so much better. This is something I can fix, unlike the rest of him. Or me.
Getting up, I get him some pain relief and water. Before second-guessing myself, I grab a bucket and bring it along to the living area too.
“Here,” I say, handing him the medication and settling the bucket next to the couch on the floor. “Drink this and then get some sleep, Murphy.”
With a slightly awkward nod, I turn to head to my room. He grabs my hand, warmth moving through me as those golden flecked eyes fill with sincerity I’ve never seen from him before.
“Thank you, Avah.”
For a moment, I just stand there caught in his gaze. Then I squeeze his hand. “Good night, Declan.”
Turning away, I head to my room and try my best not to dwell too much on the fact that I have Declan Murphy sleeping on my couch.
My mom’s saying echoes in my mind: ‘Don’t give an undeserving person time in your life, your mind, or your heart.’
But right now, I can’t help but wonder who am I to decide who deserves my time or my help. Is that not up to God?
Declan may have been on my mind for a while and somehow he’s slipped into my prayers. And perhaps that was God’s decision too.
At least I know my heart is safe.
* * *
The next morning, I’m up early.
It’s Sunday morning, and I told Hannah and Lucas I’d go to church with them today. I need it more than ever. I have to refocus. I need to get back to base. It’s like I’ve been rocked off my axis with my visa, my job…and last night with Declan.
I haven’t had the guts to open the NHL app and read the headlines this morning. I don’t think I should. My life is already going up in flames, I don’t need to add fuel to the fire.
What I need is stability. And there’s nothing more solid than the God who spoke the universe into being.
Father, I need Your help to refocus. To get back on track. To put my heart and my life back together again.
Taking absolutely longer than necessary, I shower and get ready before heading into the living room. I still can’t believe I let Declan into my house last night. In doing so, I let him in on a part of my life I’ve kept hidden.
He may have been a bit out of it last night when he asked me whether or not I was moving. However, this morning, there’s no way he’s going to miss it. The boxes are stacked against the walls. You’d have to be completely blind to not notice it.
Which means I’m telling EJ what’s happening, whether I’m ready or not.
I’m still angry at my brother. Deep down I know he only meant well, but that doesn’t take away from this feeling that he thinks I’m incapable of taking care of myself.
I might be his little sister, but I’m an adult.
When I finally walk into the living room, Declan is still sprawled across the couch, still asleep. His chest rises and falls steadily, his dark hair mussed and falling over his forehead. For a moment I just watch him.
And I don’t know what to make of it.
He doesn’t look anything like the man who pushes every button I have, who strings along women, who makes headlines on a daily basis. Instead he looks…tired. Human.
The gurgle of the coffee machine breaks the silence, and Declan stirs. A low groan rumbling from his throat.
“Oh no…” he moans and I can’t resist looking over my shoulder as he sits up and assesses his situation. “What the…”
He lifts his gaze, confusion shifting into recognition as the previous night comes rushing back to him. He lifts his hand to his eye, as if confirming the injury.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, turning back to the coffee machine. Grabbing two cups and some pain relief from the cupboard, I look back to him again. “I’m guessing you’d like some caffeine?"
The couch shifts beneath his weight as he gets up and walks to the kitchen, raking fingers through his hair.
“I might need all of it,” he says, his voice still gruff with sleep. Seeing him like this feels strangely intimate and I fight the blush creeping up my neck for some reason.
Turning around to meet him, I hand him pain relief and a glass of water.
“This might help too,” I say, gently placing it in his hand. His fingers brush my hand and he looks up at me.
“You’re a Godsend, Snowflake,” he says before taking the medication.
If you only knew how God insisted last night.
I turn away from him, pouring two cups of coffee, switching mine to a travel mug instead.
Being this close to Declan is throwing me off.
Last night when he was intoxicated and half-conscious, it didn’t feel like I had anything to lose.
But now that he’s sober and clearheaded, it’s like we’re back on even ground.
And right now, he’s too close and too big here in my kitchen.
Plus, the faint smell of bourbon still lingers.
“I’m heading out in a few minutes.” I hand him his cup of coffee, lifting my travel mug as if to prove that I’m not lying.
“Where are you going?” he asks, taking a sip. “Do you have any cream?”
“I’m going to church,” I say, moving to the fridge and getting the cream before handing it to him.
“Mm,” he says, suddenly staring into his cup with a frown on his face.
“Your truck is still at the bar. But you can shower here, I’ve got some of EJ’s clothes in there you can borrow. My phone’s on the counter, if you want to call anyone. An Uber or whatever.”
“I’ve got my phone—”
I turn away from him, the tone in his voice suddenly digging too deep. I helped him, I did what was right and now…I need to leave.
“Just lock up behind you when you go,” I say, grabbing my bible and moving toward the door.
“Avah, wait—”
Before he can say anything else, I close the front door behind me. Leaning against it, I breathe through the mix of relief and nerves. He’s awake, he’s breathing, he’s still Declan.
With a sigh my gaze lands on my car parked on the street. I forgot I can’t drive it after Declan threw up in it. And I didn’t take the keys.
Great. I basically left the man my phone, my apartment, and my car.
At least I have my coffee.
This is New York, I’ll be able to find a taxi in a few minutes. But there’s no way I’m going back in there with Declan Murphy.