Chapter 30 Declan
DECLAN
It's day four of this bullshit, and I'm about to lose my goddamn mind.
The worst part isn't the pain. It's not the stitched-up wound in my side or the way my ribs still hurt when I breathe too deeply. It's not the bruises or the dizziness or the fucking pills Nina keeps pushing like candy.
It's waking up and knowing she's already gone.
Every morning since the fight, I open my eyes and search the room, not for my gun, not for my phone, but for her. But Lyra's never there.
My ribs scream in protest as I straighten up, the bandages pulling tight across my side.
The kitchen is empty now, but the scent of her lingers.
Sweet and pure, that strange combination that's become like oxygen to me.
She was just here. Again. Always one step ahead of me, always making sure we don't cross paths.
I only get traces of her.
She's around. But never with me.
It's like being haunted.
Except she's alive.
Just, not mine.
Her coffee mug sits on the counter across from me, still warm, half-full.
Her lipstick mark on the rim, pale pink and barely there, is obvious to me.
I want to throw the fucking thing against the wall, watch it shatter like whatever this is between us.
Instead, I turn away and replay the conversation I had with her this morning.
"Declan." Her voice cold, professional. Too fucking professional. "I need to check your bandages."
I laid there, shirtless on the bed, while she worked, her fingers quick and impersonal against my skin. Nothing like before. Nothing like when she touches me and I feel it everywhere.
"Healing nicely," she said, stepping back immediately, putting distance between us. "Try not to exert yourself too much."
"Hard not to exert myself when I'm constantly chasing a ghost around my own house," I snapped.
"I'm not a ghost. I'm right here." Her voice had that hard edge, the one she uses when she's lying to herself.
"Are you?" I asked. "Because it seems like every time I walk into a room, you've just left it."
Her jaw tensed. "I just thought it'd be easier this way."
Easier.
Right.
I put my coffee down and get up. I walk down the hall, holding my side with one hand. The pain's sharp today, but I ignore it. Somewhere in the house I hear her laughing with Nina, and I get more upset than I should.
She can laugh with Nina but can't even look me in the eye?
I take a seat in a chair and grab my iPad. A text pops up. It's Shane.
I'm having him look into a few leads we got about this Phantom King, but I'm not in the mood to deal with that shit right now, so I ignore it.
I'm too tangled in my own head to care about business.
My father would be ashamed. Callum would be disappointed.
But fuck them both. Let someone else handle the family drama for once.
I'm alone for about twenty minutes when I hear footsteps. I look up, hoping it's her, and to my surprise she turns the corner, sees me, and doesn't back away.
"Hey," I say, voice low.
I nod, acting upset, but hoping she'll stay. Maybe talk. Maybe apologize for that shit she said the other day.
"I was thinking," she starts, keeping her eyes on the ground, "we should probably try to settle into a routine again. I saw there's a tournament coming up. Are you planning to have your fighters compete?"
"I wasn't planning to," I say, shifting in my chair. "But if you're asking, maybe I will."
She nods, not looking at me. "I'll make sure the medical kits are ready, just in case."
She goes to turn and then stops.
"I've also been thinking. I might look for a new apartment," she pauses. "In a better part of town. Thanks to you, I can afford something nicer."
It feels like a slap I saw coming too late to block.
"I see," I say. "If you need the money, I can…" I trail off and clear my throat. "I'll make sure there's work for you."
Even now, I stop myself, trying to cater to her needs, her wishes, when I feel like she's stepping all over mine.
Lyra doesn't look at me when she walks away. And I don't stop her.
She acts like I'm just a phase she's already moved past.
Like we were some fever dream she's finally sweat out.
I shake my head.
I wasn't going to have my team in this tournament, but now they need to be. I send a message to my new trainer, letting him know.
I laugh as I hit send. I'm doing this just so I can pay a woman who won't even give me the time of day right now.
I get up, wanting to leave the room that now smells like her.
I make my way to my office, each step reminding me that I'm not healed and that it's not the physical pain that's driving me crazy.
I drop on my couch in my office, wincing as the movement pulls at my stitches. My phone pings with an incoming FaceTime. It's Keira.
I grab my laptop on the table and open it.
A few seconds later, her face fills the screen. Her hair is pulled back, makeup halfway done.
"You look like shit," she says, greeting me.
"Thanks. Always good to hear from you too."
She studies me through the screen. "What's up? You're all twitchy. Someone piss in your coffee?"
"I'm fine," I say, rubbing my face. "Tired. Busy."
"Doing what, brooding?"
"Trying to think."
"Ah." She rolls her eyes. "By not focusing on recovering. Not calling Lyra. Not texting anyone. Not returning my calls. Just sulking?"
I glare at her. "She's still here."
"She is? After everything?" Keira perks up. "Interesting."
"She's not like that."
"Like what? Naked in your bed? In a sexy nurse costume taking care of you?"
I scowl. "She's distant. Awkward. Keeps checking my bandages and leaving before I can say anything. Today I noticed she made me coffee. I thought maybe we'd talk. But no, she starts asking about fighter tournaments, moving into her own place, like we're back to being work colleagues."
Keira lifts a brow. "You're not?"
"I don't know what we are."
"And it's bothering you?" she asks.
"Of course it's fucking bothering me. She's—" I stop, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding even more pathetic.
"Okay, so you care about her," Keira says softly. It's not a question either.
I don't answer, which is answer enough.
Keira sighs. "Maybe this isn't such a bad thing, Dec. She comes with a lot of baggage, and we've got other things to focus on. Like another hit."
That gets my attention, but I keep it locked up. "More feathers?"
"Yeah. Callum's handling it for now, but he's freaking out. Running things is new to him."
I nod absently. "Shane's following up on some leads. Give me another week and I'll be back at it."
Keira stares at me through the screen, her eyes narrowing. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"
"I am."
"Bullshit, I can tell. You can lie to others, but not me," Keira says and shakes her head. "I doubt your lack of focus and overall demeanor are just about your injuries, so have you told her?"
"Told her what?"
"Your favorite color. Jesus, Dec, how you feel about her."
"Well," I sit up straighter, "I mean, yeah."
She rolls her eyes. "Like, in your own weird Declan way, or like a human being. Did you say the words? 'Lyra, I like you, I want this to work, please stop being a stubborn ass and let me in.' Something like that?"
I shift uncomfortably and exhale. "Kind of. Fuck, I don't know. I said enough."
She nods. "And? She didn't feel the same way?"
"I don't know." I rub my chin, frustration building. "I got mad. We haven't really talked about it."
"But she's there," Keira points out.
"Yes, but not like you think. She avoids me, looks lost, not present. I don't know, and I can't exactly chase after her right now." I gesture to my side.
"But she's still there?"
"Yes, she did say she wants to just work, get a new place."
"But she's still there, you idiot."
"You keep saying that."
"Dude," Keira says, leaning into the camera, "what woman do you know who isn't into a man would stick around like that? I mean, there's these things called hotels, Declan. There's these buildings where—"
"I know what a fucking hotel is."
"She cares for you," Keira says firmly. "A lot more than you realize, so either you man up and fucking confront her, or take it as a sign to move on."
I stare at my sister's face on the screen. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it, then."
"How? She says she can't give me what I want?"
Keira nods. "What is that?"
"A baby?"
"Okay, I can't fully unpack that right now, but, Declan, do you want to be a father right now?"
"No."
"Okay, so shut up. We've got a lot of more important things right now. We need you focused 100%. I need you focused 100%. So, you need to make a decision and make it right."
She glances at something off-screen. "Anyway, I've got to go. First charity event of the season, and one of our closest partners is hosting it, so I've got to get ready."
I nod absently, processing what she's saying and how I feel about Lyra.
"And I can tell you're not even listening to me right now so bye."
"I am."
"No. You're thinking about her. Handle it. I love you, bye."
The screen goes dark as she hangs up, leaving me alone with my thoughts. If I do tell Lyra how I feel, really tell her, she'll just reject me. Bring up this whole "I can't give you what you want" shit again. But the truth is, I want her. Want her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
Look at me. I'm mad, pining. And not once have I thought about kicking her out. I'm upset, but it's because I'm hurt. I want to pin her down and tell her she's enough. More than enough. That she's everything.
Fuck this.
I push myself up from the couch, ignoring the pain that shoots through my side. I've been shot, stabbed, beaten half to death more times than I can count. This? This is nothing compared to the thought of losing her before I ever really had her.
I move through the house and find her in my library, curled up in one of the armchairs, a book open on her lap. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she looks fucking beautiful like always.
She looks up as I approach, and for a split second, I see something flash in her eyes, something that looks a lot like what I'm feeling. Then it's gone, replaced by her mask.
"Declan." She closes the book. "Do you need something?"
"Yeah," I say, my voice firm. "I need you to stop avoiding me in my own house."
She stands, the book clutched to her chest like a shield. "I'm not avoiding you. I've been checking your bandages, making sure you're healing properly."
"You know that's not what I mean."
She tries to step around me, but I block her path, ignoring the twinge in my side.
"Move, please."
"No."
Her eyes narrow. "You're going to tear your stitches."
"Then you'll have to fix me again, won't you?" I take a step closer. "Since that's all you want to do now. Fix me and run."
"I don't want to have this conversation."
"Too bad. We're having it." I take the book from her hands and toss it into the chair she was just in. "You don't get to decide we're nothing after everything that's happened."
"I never said we were nothing." Her voice wavers slightly. "I said I'd work for you. That's something."
"Fuck that." I move closer, backing her against the bookshelf. "You're running. Again. And I want to know why."
"I told you why."
"No, you gave me some excuse about not being able to give me what I want. But you never asked what I actually want."
Her chin lifts, defiant. "Fine. What do you want, Declan?"
"You." The word hangs between us, raw and honest. "Just you. Not some imaginary future with kids and white picket fences. Not some perfect woman without scars or past trauma. You, Lyra. Exactly as you are."
She shakes her head, but I see the water gathering in her eyes. "You say that now, but—"
"No." I place my hand on the shelf beside her head, caging her in without touching her. "Don't tell me what I'll feel or think in the future. You don't get to decide that for me."
"I'm trying to protect you," she says.
"From what? Being happy?" I lean closer, my voice dropping. "Or are you just protecting yourself from getting hurt?"
A tear slips down her cheek, and it takes everything in me not to brush it away. "Both," she admits. "I don't know how to do this, Declan. I've never had anything good that wasn't taken away."
"So you're taking it away first?" I ask. "Before someone else can."
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't have to. Her eyes tell me everything.
"Lyra." I say her name like it's the only one I know. "I've killed for you. I've bled for you. Your damn blood is coursing through my veins right now. Do you really think I'm going to walk away because you can't have children? Do you think so little of me?"
Another tear falls.
"What about," I wince as I adjust my hand against the bookcase, keeping her put, "what about focusing on what you can give me, what you have.
Before you, life was meaningless. I thought my place was to serve my family, and since it could never be in the way I wanted, I lived like life was a joke.
Cash, women, fighting, it's all just to feel alive, to feel something.
But you," I pause, shaking my head, "you turned all that upside down.
Suddenly, what meant everything to me meant nothing.
You, being near you, with you, protecting you, making love to you.
I could spend my whole life just doing that, and feel like I've won.
You made me realize that by not being what I thought I wanted to be, I could become the man I was meant to be. "
I shift and take another step, reach out, and cup her face, finally allowing myself to touch her. "Let me prove it to you. Let me show you that you're enough. More than enough. I love you, and I'm not going to ever stop."
She leans into me and starts crying.
"I'm so scared, Declan," she admits, and it might be the most honest thing she's ever said to me. "What if it doesn't work and you change your mind?"
"What if it does work and I don't?" I counter. "What if this is the one good thing neither of us has to give up?"
Something shifts in her expression, a crack in the armor she's been wearing for days. I lean in, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted to. She doesn't.
Our lips meet, soft at first, then deeper, harder, her hands wrap around me, careful of my wound but still pulling me closer.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. I rest my forehead against hers, unwilling to put any more distance between us than necessary.
"So stay," I say simply. "Not as my medic. Not as my employee. As my person."
She takes a shaky breath. "Okay," she says. "In truth, it's all I ever wanted because," she pauses and looks up at me, "I love you too, Declan. More than anyone ever could."