Chapter 29 Lyra
LYRA
Keira's hand remains firmly around mine as we walk through the sprawling mansion. My legs still feel wobbly, and I'm grateful for her support, though I'd never admit it.
"They moved him," Nina calls out to us, and we stop and turn to face her.
"What? He didn't like laying on a table?" Keira says and winks at Nina.
She smiles and stops right in front of me and looks at me. "I'm so happy you're awake, dear. We were worried," she says, glancing between Keira and me. "Mr. Killaney is in the east wing guest suite. The one with the balcony."
Keira nods. "Thanks, Nina. We'll take it from here."
Nina hesitates and rubs my arm. "Do you need anything else? Some food, perhaps?"
The mention of food makes my stomach turn. "No, thank you. I'm fine for now."
We continue down a hallway. I'm not sure where I'm going, but Keira knows exactly where the room is.
"Here we are," Keira says finally, stopping before a heavy oak door.
She pushes it open and ushers me inside. The room is spacious and bathed in soft light from table lamps. A king-size bed dominates the space, and in it lies Declan, propped up against a mountain of pillows, his torso wrapped in bandages.
He looks pale, much too pale, but his eyes brighten when they land on me.
"Found her," Keira announces, then squeezes my hand once before letting go. "I'll leave you two alone," she says and turns to me. "Try not to let him do anything stupid, like move."
I watch as she walks out, the door closing behind her, leaving Declan and me alone for the first time since the ambush.
"Hi," he says softly, like he's been waiting hours just to say that one word to me.
His smile, weak but real, hits me. It's one thing to be told he's alive, that he's okay. It's another to see him, breathing and conscious, his green eyes fixed on me with that intensity I've come to know.
"Hi," I say, smiling.
"Come here," Declan says, holding out an arm.
I move toward him without thinking, drawn by the gravity of him, of us. When I reach the edge of the bed, I hesitate, afraid to hurt him.
"I'm not going to break," he says, reading my mind as he so often does. He pats the edge of the mattress beside him.
He reaches for me and I fall into his arms carefully, wrapping myself around him without jostling his side. I breathe him in, still warm, still here.
I pull back just enough to sit gently on the edge of the bed, still holding on to his hand like I might lose him again.
"You're okay," I say, tears threatening to fall. "You're really okay."
Declan smiles and brushes the top of my hand he's holding with his thumb, and just like I've done many times since arriving here, I let myself believe this could be real, what we have.
He looks at me with a crooked half-smile. "So you like me so much you decided to put your blood in me? Is that it?"
I laugh through the lump in my throat and wipe my face. "Least I could do. You know, not letting you die and all."
The humor fades from his face, replaced by something deeper, more intense. "Thank you, Lyra. I mean it. Having you in me like this, it hits deep."
I try to smile, but it wavers.
"It's not that big of a deal. They would've done it at the hospital," I say, "if you had just let them take you there."
"I knew you could do it," he says firmly.
"And it is a big deal. If I'd been told Callum or Keira gave me blood, sure, they're family.
But you? You didn't have to. You could have said fuck it, I can't do it, and no one would have known what to do.
You did what you didn't have to, that means something to me.
" His fingers tighten around mine. "Now I'm never letting you leave my side. "
The warmth that floods through me at his words is immediate and overwhelming.
For a moment, I'm swept away by it, by the possibility of belonging somewhere, with someone.
But then Callum's cold warning and Keira's protective stance flash through my mind.
Their voices merge with the doubt that's always lived inside me, the certainty that I don't deserve happiness, that everyone close to me gets hurt.
My defense mechanisms snap into place like a shield, and I pull back slightly, the panic crawling up before I can stop it.
"Declan," I say, squeezing his hand. "About us. Me here, all of this. I think maybe I got a little carried away."
He lets go of my hand and tries to sit up and immediately winces, his face contorting in pain.
"Please, stay still," I say, pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder.
"What are you talking about, carried away?" His voice is sharp with confusion.
"You and me," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "This, whatever this is." I gesture between us. I look down, unable to meet his eyes. "I mean, what do you want? Huh? Probably a future. A family? A wife? A happily-ever-after? Because I can't give you that."
His expression hardens. "Says who?"
"My body." I hesitate, my chest tight. I've never told anyone this, not willingly. "I never told you, but I can't have kids. A doctor told me years ago," I say, and wipe a tear from my eye, "and honestly, it never bothered me much until now." I finally look up at him. "And it's not fair to you."
Declan's face is stone, processing. I watch him, bracing for disgust, pity, or worst of all, that horrible soft understanding that precedes goodbye.
He reaches out and grips my hand again.
"That's okay," he says finally. "I didn't fall for your womb, Lyra. I fell for you. For your fire. For the way you stood up to me when no one else would. For the fact that I felt like I couldn't have you until I proved I could keep you."
I shake my head, not allowing myself to believe him. "You say that now, but I know how your world works. Heirs, family line, it's important. You'll need children one day, and it'll end much worse than if we just slow things down now."
"You think I care about any of that?" he says quietly at first, then louder, anger creeping into his voice. "You think I'd let something like that make me walk away from you? How could you fucking think that?
I can't answer him at first. I can't find the words to explain the emptiness I feel about not being able to provide him something, something I've never wanted to have with anyone before.
"I'm just being honest,” I finally say.
"No," he snaps. "You're running."
I pull my hand back, wiping my face.
"Look, I just," I bounce my leg up and down, trying to organize my thoughts.
"I mean. I don't deserve any of this stuff.
This isn't my life, not the one I should get after everything I've been through.
And you don't deserve someone like me. You're an amazing man, Declan, and I can't give you what you're giving me. "
"But I'm telling you, I don't care and you do deserve these things, Lyra. You're not some broken woman. Yes, you had a terrible past, but that doesn't define you."
I stand up, needing distance. "We should just stop pretending now. I'll be—"
"What the hell did you just say?" His voice cuts through the room, sharp and dangerous.
"No, I don't mean I—"
"Who's fucking pretending here?" He struggles to sit up straighter, ignoring the pain it clearly causes him.
"It's just. Look at you." I gesture to his bandaged body. "Is this because of me?"
"What? No?"
I give him a look, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"Seriously? Right after being shot at a train station, after killing the Albanian Don, for who? Me."
"This isn't connected to that," he insists, but I don't know.
Fuck, Callum is in my head. He's right, though. In the end, I can't make Declan happy, and like Keira said, be either in or out.
"I just, I just think it's best if I go back to just being your nurse," I say. "I'll help you get your strength. Work with your fighters. Keep things professional. You're my boss. I'm your medic. That's it."
His expression hardens, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "So that's it? You're just going to fucking leave?"
"No. That wouldn't be fair. You've risked so much for me. I will stay. Like I said, I'll help you, your fighters, but as friends. No more, you know. And no more buying me things or treating me special. Save it for someone who deserves it. I can stay in a spare bedroom."
"If you're going to walk away from this like it meant nothing, then go." His voice is cold now, the warmth from earlier completely gone.
"I just—"
"You've said enough. Leave."
I stand frozen, caught between the urge to run and the desperate need to stay, to explain that I'm doing this for him, not to him. But the words won't come.
I turn and walk toward the door, each step feeling like I'm wading through concrete.
"Was it just about the money?" he asks. "Did you even have feelings for me? Or was that fake, too?"
I hang my head, pausing with my hand on the doorknob. I turn to speak, to tell him that of course I felt something, that I still do, that this is killing me, but he takes that chance away.
"Never mind. It doesn't matter, get out."
The finality in his voice shatters what's left of my composure. I slip through the door and close it behind me, leaning against it as the first sob tears through me.
I press a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the sound. I'm an idiot. I know it's the right thing, but it feels like I'm dying. He does deserve everything I can't give him, and clearly people around me continue to get hurt. Callum was right: just do my job, get money, and move on.
In the end, Declan will be happier; I probably won't be, but a blissful life is never in my future anyway.
I push away from the door and start down the hallway, vision blurred by tears. I keep telling myself it's the right thing, but that doesn't stop this ache in my chest; god, it feels like I just tore out my own heart.
Because the truth is, and I now know more than ever, I love him.
But love doesn't erase danger or give you the ability to do things you can't.
It sure as hell doesn't undo the damage I've already caused him.
And once again, I ruin the one good thing I ever had.