Chapter 29
Javi, Present
I’m not sure if it’s real this time. Something is telling me to be careful… but I don’t want to.
Declan is mine.
We didn’t say those words. But I couldn’t spring everything on him all at once. It would’ve scared him off. I saw in his eyes that he was still so nervous to even admit that he felt something for me too.
I know that I thought this one other time before. I remember how that ended.
But this will be different. I don’t know if I’m being an idiot right now, but I just can’t walk away again. He feels too good.
And honestly, I lied to him. I don’t like him. I love him.
But again, I couldn’t say that to him. He’s too skittish right now. And maybe I am too.
He seems really unsure of himself as we walk out of the woods, hand in hand, toward my house. It’s something I don’t often see in Declan. Hints of something vulnerable underneath. He’s usually very good at covering it all up with his hard exterior.
I stop him, grabbing his hands and turning him toward me. “Hey. Are you okay?”
He takes a deep breath, stretching a tight smile onto his face. “Ha! Yes. Of course.”
I nod, but he immediately shakes his head vigorously in return.
“Okay. I’m lying. You caught me. No. No, I’m not okay.
This is your mom that I’m about to meet.
This is very important.” His eyes widen while he lets out a quiet, terrified gasp.
“What if she doesn’t like me? Most people don’t like me, Javier. ”
I grab onto his face, trying to soothe the shakiness in him. “Mi amor, she will like you. And even if she doesn’t, it doesn’t really matter. I’m the one who’s going to be with you.”
His shoulders ease a bit. “That’s sweet.” He pauses, staring lovingly at my face. “I wish it helped more, but it really doesn’t.”
I throw my head back and let out a laugh before reaching for his hand and continuing our walk to my house.
We round the corner, crossing over my driveway until we’re walking up the cement pathway to the front door.
Out of the corner of my eye, movement across the street draws my attention.
Carter stands there, poised midair like he was in the process of getting into that stupid Audi he has. His stare is blank, roaming all over us to take in what he sees until he reaches our hands and stops, holding his eyes where they’re joined.
It might only be a second, but it feels too long. And then he looks up at me. Our eyes connect and he fucking smirks.
I’m instantly sheeted in a coat of fucking anger, which I don’t want to feel right now. This is supposed to be a happy moment. A good moment. And here he is to ruin it again.
“Fuck, that hurts,” Declan hisses as he pulls his hand free from mine.
I whip my head in his direction. “What?”
“You fucking squeezed the shit out of my hand.” He cradles it to his chest. “Are you alright?”
“I—”
The squeal of tires interrupts us. We both look across the street to see Carter’s car racing off down the street after backing out from his driveway.
“I’m good,” I say. Taking his hand in mine, I gently kiss the top. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?”
He narrows his eyes but still says, “Yes.”
I try not to read too much into his expression, but he looks even more uncertain than he did before. He hasn’t said anything else, but I can sense he’s waiting for a comment or something from me.
I do my best to squash whatever I’m feeling as I lead him to the front door.
Spices that I haven’t smelled since the last time Scott was out of town smack me in the face as soon we’re inside. It’s warm and comfortable.
I wish Scott was gone so I could have this safe feeling all the time.
“?Ma!” I call out as I pull Declan from the entryway and toward the kitchen.
“Ven acá, papi.”
We come around the corner to find my mom facing away from us and stirring something in a pot on the stove.
She talks to me without turning around. “La cena está casi lista. Tráeme la—” Her eyes widen when she turns around and sees us.
Smoothing her hair down, she adjusts the baggy T-shirt she’s wearing and walks over.
“I’m so sorry,” she says to Declan and then turns to glare at me.
“My son did not tell me that I was having company over. I was not prepared.”
“Sorry, Ma. This is Declan.” I place my hand on his lower back and inch him forward. “Declan, this is my mom, Natalia.”
He fumbles through some words while my mom crosses her arms.
“Yes, I’ve seen you around. It’s so nice to meet you, Declan,” she says cautiously while he stands awkwardly.
She takes all of him in—her eyes wandering from all the intricate and unique parts that make him Declan Turner.
He’s wearing sweats and a loose-fitting neon purple top that hangs off one of his slender shoulders.
His eyes are lined with some shimmering gold dust shit.
I don’t know what he did exactly, but his eyes pop and sparkle.
My mom flicks her eyes at me. “?Y quién es—Sorry. English. And who is Declan, papi?
Declan shakes his head, holding his hands out in front of him. “Oh, no. You don’t have to speak English just for me. I may not understand you, but it’s so nice to listen to. And this is your home.”
My mother smiles widely, walking over to him with outstretched hands that she uses to cup his face. “?Que precioso!” she squeals as she lightly smushes his cheeks together, then looks at me. “?Tu novio?”
I nod in return. We didn’t talk about it. But, fuck it. It’s what I feel.
She squeals again, kissing us both on the cheek and muttering more Spanish before turning back to her cooking.
Declan faces me once she’s out of earshot. “What just happened? What did you say that made her so happy?”
I shrug, pulling some plates out of the nearest cabinet and beckoning him to follow me to the dining room table. “Not much. I said that you were my boyfriend.”
His beautiful gray eyes practically jump out of his skull. “Y-Your boyfriend? Am I?”
I shrug again, trying to act nonchalant despite the fact that my heart is running around my chest like it’s on fire.
His face stays in a state of shock as we both set the table and take our seats. I squeeze his hand next to me in an attempt to calm him down, but he just gives a half-hearted smile as Mom walks the few serving dishes over and sets them on the table.
“I’m so glad you moved in next door, Declan,” my Mom says with a kind smile on her face as she pours herself a glass of water. “Nancy and Harold are the nicest people.”
He shakes himself out of his stupor and smiles at her as I take his plate and pile it up with everything. “They really are. I’m lucky they picked me.”
I put his plate back in front of him and start serving myself as my mom scoffs and waves her hand at him. “Luck? Who wouldn’t pick you? I don’t even need to know you. Javier has excellent taste. I know you’re a good soul.”
His cheeks flame red while he tries to suppress a smile. “Oh, I don’t know…” The sentence drifts off into nothing as he carves out a chunk of the mofongo and shrimp with his spoon.
He puts the spoonful in his mouth and freezes for a moment, then slowly starts to chew. His eyes widen as he sits back in his chair. “Oh my god. This is amazing,” he mutters as he takes a much bigger bite, quickly followed by another until his cheeks are round and full.
My mom and I snicker as we watch him struggle to swallow it all down. “Are you good?” I ask with a light laugh in my voice.
He manages to swallow what was in his mouth and breathily pants at us, “Yes. I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just so good. I’ve never had anything like it.”
I can tell my mom is falling in love with Declan—maybe even more than me by looking at her giddy expression. “I’m so glad you like it, Declan. You should come over in the morning. I’ll make mallorcas for you.”
I tsk in her direction, a playful smile on my face. “Mallorcas? Those are my favorite. I’ve been asking you to make some for forever. Then you make them for him and not me?!”
She reaches over and gives me a light smack on the arm. “?Cállate, Javier! Be nice to him.”
“I am nice to him.”
“Then you be nice to me.”
Declan lets out a little peel of laughter before asking, “What are mallorcas?”
“They’re like a sweet breakfast bread topped with powdered sugar. So fucking good,” I answer him.
That earns me another smack on the arm and a quick reprimand to watch my mouth.
“That sounds really good,” he says as he takes another massive spoonful.
“They really are. It’s been so long since I had them. I used to eat them practically every morning in Puerto Rico.”
He looks at me after managing to choke everything down. “How long did you live there?”
“Until I was four. Then Scott came along.”
A noticeable damper falls over the table at the mention of his name. I can feel my face draw down into a miserable expression as I glance up to see the same one on my mom’s.
I’m the first to step out of the temporary storm, bringing up something random about school, and soon the conversation continues moving on. We talk the rest of the meal about miscellaneous shit that is meaningless, and yet everything about it is meaningful. So normal and happy.
Then in the morning, Declan comes back over and inhales two freshly baked mallorcas while the three of us sit and chat in this perfect little bubble I’ve found for myself, hoping it’ll never pop.