12. Declan #2
Jude cranes his neck to see. “Wait, did one of you do that? That’s actually cute.”
Soren looks around at all of them, his eyes wide. “There wasn’t anyone here.”
Knox, who’s been quiet, studies the carving. “That’s done by hand. The knife work is good.”
Soren runs a thumb over a smooth wing, and his whole scent seems to soften, a hint of lavender cutting through the smell of beer and lime.
“Secret admirer,” Jude declares.
“Or a stalker with a whittling hobby,” Shay says, finally moving closer to the booth. The words are dry, but his voice has an easy warmth in it that I haven’t heard all night. It’s not for me.
Soren looks up at him, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Shay agrees, and for a second, he almost smiles.
The whole group closes ranks around the little bird, talking over each other.
Jude wants to know if there was a note. Benji thinks a note is creepier.
Milo says it depends on the handwriting.
Callum just watches them all with a quiet smile.
I watch Shay lean against the booth, his shoulder brushing Knox’s, looking like he belongs there.
He’s part of it. I’m just behind the bar.
He stands apart from them all. He’s watching his friends, wearing that careful mask he uses on customers, but I know him now. I see the tightness in his shoulders. The way his eyes track Jude’s laugh. He wants to be in the middle of it. He’s just terrified of what it costs.
He feels me looking. His head turns, and his gaze locks with mine across the room. This time, he doesn’t break away. It’s a challenge, or a question, or maybe just exhaustion.
Then Diego yells something from the door, and the connection snaps. Shay’s face goes blank again. He’s gone.
The rest of the night is a blur of pulling pints and taking credit for things Shay did.
It’s a good night. A great one. The numbers will be solid.
The rent is just a number again, not a death sentence.
He gave me that. He’s propping the whole thing up, and the second he’s sure I can stand on my own, he’s going to walk.
By the time the last stragglers wander out, my bones ache. Diego shoots the deadbolt home with a triumphant thunk. “That’s a wrap.”
A ragged cheer goes up from the staff.
Tessa lobs a bar towel at his head. “Chairs, asshole.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He just grins and starts flipping stools onto tables.
The squad lingers, buzzing with that happy, wired exhaustion that comes from showing up for a friend. Milo gives me a quick, fierce hug. “You did it, Declan.”
“We did it,” I say.
He smiles and looks over my shoulder. “You both did.”
Shay is by the register, sliding papers into a thin black folder. He doesn’t look up.
Callum claps my shoulder. “Good night, man.”
“Thanks for everything.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.”
On his way out, Benji points at the wall of framed coasters. “You take down my art, I’m sending a lawyer.”
“You told me it was stupid.”
“It is stupid. It’s also a priceless collection.” Knox just hooks an arm around his waist and steers him out. “Night, Declan.”
Jude is the last one left, which is never a good sign. Rhys has a hand on the small of his back, ready to extract him.
Jude looks from me, to Shay, and back again. “Good luck,” he says, and it’s for both of us.
“Get out,” Shay says, his voice quiet. He keeps his eyes on his folder.
Jude’s mouth tightens. “Shay, man—”
“I said get out.” He looks up then. His eyes are flat. Cold. He looks right through his friend.
For a second, Jude just stares, his face stripped bare. Then he lets Rhys guide him toward the door.
The lock clicks.
The silence rushes in, huge and empty. All I can hear is the low hum of the coolers.
The place is a wreck in that perfect way that means success.
A sea of empty glasses, crumpled napkins, coasters stuck to the bar top.
The new green sign reflects off the wet wood, making the whole room look unfamiliar.
Shay snaps the folder shut. “That went well,” he says, his voice perfectly even.
My laugh is just a noise. A short, ugly sound in the quiet room. “Did it?”
He finally looks at me. His face is pale with exhaustion, the skin around his eyes tight. “The numbers beat projections. Socials are up. You have enough data on the promo menu to make the cuts.”
He’s giving me a report. After all this, he’s giving me a fucking report.
I just stare at him until he shifts on his feet.
“What?” he asks.
“That’s it?” My voice is low. “That’s what tonight was?”
His expression goes blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All night,” I say, gesturing to the empty room. “People were congratulating us. Calling you my partner. You just stood there.”
“I was working.”
“That’s bullshit.”
His eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “This wasn’t just a business arrangement.”
He sets the folder down on the bar. The movement is slow, deliberate. Controlled. “I worked my ass off for this.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t imply I’m treating it like a one-night stand.”
The accusation cuts deeper than I expect. “You were in my bed on Sunday, Shay. You built a nest out of my clothes.”
“Don’t,” he says, his voice tight.
“You marked me.”
“Declan.”
“I told you I loved you.”
For a second, something flickers in his eyes. Hurt, maybe. Then it’s gone, and the wall is back up, thicker than before.
“You said a lot of things,” he says, his voice quiet and cold. “That doesn’t mean I signed a contract in my sleep.”
The air leaves my lungs. I feel nailed to the floor. “Is that what you think this is? That I want to own you?”
“I don’t know what you want.” The words crack, just for a second, and he swallows hard to get them back. “You keep talking about taking care of me like it’s some kind of gift.”
“It is.”
“For you,” he shoots back.
“For us.”
He lets out a bitter little laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know how to do ‘us,’ Declan. There’s you, and your bar, and your whole life, set. And there’s me. The kid with the binder, trying to prove he’s useful enough to stick around.”
My throat feels tight. “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” He points a sharp, trembling finger at the new sign glowing behind the bar. “I fix your business. I make myself indispensable. And in return, I get to stay upstairs and not feel like a charity case. Like some twenty-one-year-old omega you took in because you were lonely.”
The heat that pushes through the hurt is sharp and ugly. “You think that’s what you are to me?”
“I think that’s what happens.” His voice is flat. Dead.
“I’m not him, Shay. I’m not Darren.”
The name lands like a stone. His whole body goes rigid, his face wiped clean of everything. He just stares.
“I know,” he says, but the word is hollow.
“Do you?” My own hurt makes me cruel.
His eyes are too bright. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Tell the truth?”
“Use her against me.”
“I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on in your head.”
“Well, you don’t get to!” The crack in his voice is real this time. “You don’t get to listen to one phone call and act like you have a right to any of it.”
“So you’re just going to shut me out?”
“Yes.”
The quiet finality of it hits me harder than a shout. “Then why are you still here? Why come back at all? Why build a nest in my bed if you were just planning on leaving?”
His breath hitches. “It wasn’t fake.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I told you,” he says, his voice a rough whisper. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?” I demand, stepping forward again. “You can’t want me? Is that it?”
He finally looks up, and his face is wrecked. “I can’t need you, Declan.”
The words don’t make sense. They are a rejection of the one thing I know how to give. Something inside me snaps.
I slam my hand down on the bar.
The sound cracks through the empty room, sharp as a gunshot. The wood vibrates under my palm.
Shay flinches.
It’s not a startle. It’s a full-body recoil, violent and absolute. He stumbles back a step, arms wrapping around his middle as his shoulders hunch to his ears. His eyes are wide and blank, staring at a spot somewhere over my shoulder. He’s not here anymore.
The anger vanishes, leaving me cold and sick. My palm stings, a distant throb. The echo of my hand hitting the wood rings in my ears. All I can see is him, staring through me, gone.
And I’m the one who did it. I can’t take it back.