Chapter Fifteen Declan
Chapter Fifteen
Declan
The cake-tasting incident with Colin stays with me all afternoon. He and Pierce have gone into the city for the rest of the day to do some shopping for the wedding, and I’m too worked up and irritated to relax.
I’ve crossed off everything I can on that stupid fucking list of Anna’s, so now I want to let off some steam.
I head up into my studio, my hands moving erratically as I select a playlist from my phone and connect it to the Bluetooth player. Classical music is blaring so loud I can’t hear myself think, which is exactly what I want.
All day, I feel like I’ve been plagued with memories. Remembering moments from uni or one of our summer trips afterward. Tender moments. Sexy moments. Funny moments. All of them are like a virus, only making me feel like shit. I’m mourning the loss all over again, and it vexes the hell out of me.
Why does it have to hurt so much when a friendship ends? Until Colin, I had no idea what it felt like. Does this one hurt more because of those lines we crossed? It was nothing more than some benefits of our friendship, no strings. Or at least I thought.
Maybe if we had never made things physical, we’d still be friends. The memories wouldn’t likely have been half as good, but he’d be more than a memory. And I wouldn’t be so fucking mad.
Trying to distract my mind, I put on my apron and slice a large chunk of clay from the mass on the table, covering the rest with thick plastic once I’m done. I take so much satisfaction in slamming the clay on the wheel that I do it twice.
If Colin were here, instead of with his fucking fiancé, he would say that I only spin pottery when I’m angry. Just the same as how he’s pointed out that I paint when I’m sad, I sketch when I’m content, and I sculpt when I’m horny.
It makes me even more irate to think about him pointing that out—like I need that sort of self-awareness. I was just fine before I knew that.
I douse the clay with water and start forming it into shape without any plan in mind.
It topples in my hands more than once, and not because I’m clumsy when I’m mad, but because I like it when it breaks.
I take some strange enjoyment in seeing how perfect I can form this vase or bowl or cup or whatever the fuck it is, just to break it down to a clump of wet clay again.
Is this what Colin did with me? He built me up year after year after year, only to break me down again.
Or is that what I did to him?
“Declan!” a deep voice hollers at me through the music. I don’t have to turn to see my brother standing in the doorway to know he’s there.
“Fuck off,” I grumble to myself, focusing only on the clay on the wheel.
Killian smacks me across the back of the head before punching the off switch on the speaker so the room goes instantly silent save for the sound of the pottery wheel spinning.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m not allowed to be in a bad mood in my own bloody house?” I reply, chucking a piece of wet, muddy clay at his face. He dodges it, and it instead splatters against the ruined black canvas.
“How’s the wedding going?” Killian asks, ignoring my tantrum.
“Piece of cake,” I reply.
“Anna told me who it was.”
“Of course she did,” I mutter to myself.
My brother’s features harden for a moment, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he meanders around my studio, and I struggle with the desire to toss him out and tell him to fuck off again.
If anyone would understand the need to brood alone, it’s Killian. He spent nearly a decade in this house without ever leaving. He buried his problems in sex and alcohol until an American woman came along and gave him a reason to give a shite.
“So what was that like?” he asks. “Seeing your old mate again.”
I shrug. “It was fine. We’re not friends anymore, though.”
“Right,” he mutters as he rubs a hand over his beard. I hear the concern in his voice, but I don’t look up from the wheel as I form another vase, only to shove it down into a messy heap.
“What?” I growl.
“Let’s call off the bet for this wedding,” he says, stepping closer.
“What?” I reply with shock.
He grabs a stool from the other side of the room and drags it close to me. As he places it on the floor and drops his ass on the seat, I slam the hunk of clay against the wheel again.
“Killian, stop looking at me like that,” I bark. I despise his pity, and I refuse to accept his concern. I am fine. Nothing is wrong with me other than a sour mood and a bloody bad week.
“Listen, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. But I’ve been a stubborn arse too, and I nearly lost the love of my life because I was too proud to admit when I needed help.”
I wipe my clay-covered hands on the front of my apron. I’d rather eat this clay before having this conversation with my brother.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, trying to force my voice to stay light. “One of the grooms just happens to be someone I knew from uni. That’s all. We don’t get along great now, sure, but I can still manage this wedding, and I am not going to just forfeit this deal.”
“The deal is off.”
My foot releases the pedal of the wheel, and I stare up at my brother with vitriol. “No, it’s not.”
“Why are you being so bloody stubborn about this?” he asks.
“Because if I let you call this deal off, then you’ll be making something out of nothing, and this thing between me and Colin really is nothing. The sooner I prove to you and Anna that I can do this, the sooner I have this house to myself.”
Killian nods, listening to my tirade before replying. “You know what…”
I let out a sound of frustration. “What?”
“I think you should do this wedding. The wager is back on.”
My teeth grind as I glare at my brother. He’s being condescending, but right now, I couldn’t give a shite. As long as he gives me what I want, I don’t care how he talks to me.
Crossing his arms, he tilts his head back and stares at me as if he’s so bloody wise. Makes me want to punch him in his ugly face. “You sound like me.”
“Ugh,” I groan as I bury my clay-covered fingers in my hair. Ignoring me, he continues.
“I thought I knew what I needed too. So I put up a wall between me and my wife. I wouldn’t let her in. Then, when I did love her, I was too fucking stubborn to tell her. And I nearly lost her.”
“You’re an expert on love and marriage now, is that right?”
He shrugs. “I consider myself a bit of an expert now, yes.”
“I promise you that’s not what’s happening here.”
“Okay,” he replies nonchalantly, and it boils my blood.
Instead of arguing, I roll my eyes and get back to work on the wheel. Killian stays quiet for a while as I work. This time, I’m molding and forming the mass into something without letting it break.
“You used to make art out of whatever you could when you were a kid. I remember you painting on the dinner table with your food when you were a wee babe. And whenever I’d pick on you, you’d get so cross with me, you’d lock yourself in your room and draw for hours.”
“What’s your point?” I mumble under my breath.
“You had an outlet when Mum and Dad died—a healthy one. You were only a kid, and you painted every second you were awake. For weeks on end, that’s all you did.
You painted animals and landscapes and food and whatever you could think of.
Anna had to start throwing the paintings in the bin because she didn’t know what else to do with them. ”
“What is your point, Killian?”
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he speaks sternly.
“My point is, Declan, that connecting with other people has never been your strong suit. It’s okay; it was never mine either.
We’re both charmers, charismatic for a moment when it suits us best, but the walls would go up as soon as anyone dared get too close. ”
The wheel slows, and the vase built between my fingers stays upright, but I don’t take my eyes off it.
“The difference is that I put real walls up, and I closed myself in this house for six years because I was so afraid of feeling anything for anyone ever again. But you, you went out into the world, and you met the one bloody person who made you feel safe, and you held on to him for eight years.”
“He was just my friend, Killian.”
“I believe you,” he replies. “I’m just afraid that you’re lying to yourself, and you lost the only person you ever let love you. And it hurts a lot fucking more than you’re willing to admit.”
It feels like the wind is knocked out of me. Suddenly, I want to tell Killian to fuck off and get out of my house even more. I don’t need him and his cruel observations.
So I don’t let people get close to me. It’s no wonder after everyone in my life has either died or abandoned me.
Our parents died in a crash. Killian retreated from the entire family. Lachy ran off to the States as soon as he could. Anna was the only one who truly stuck around, and even that filled me with guilt for what she sacrificed.
Colin truly was the only person I let in, and look how that turned out.
“Even more reason for me to do this wedding,” I mumble angrily. “To prove that I’m fine. That I’ve moved on, and I’m happy for him.”
Killian leans back as he puts his hands up in surrender. “If you say so, Declan.”
“Go back to your wife, Killian,” I say.
“I’m going,” he replies, standing from the stool and walking to the door. “I’m just glad you’re fine. Bye, Dec.”
I listen to his steps retreating down the stairs while I sit in silence and stare at the vase on the wheel. It turned out perfect. All I need to do is grab the wire and cut it loose from the base.
But I don’t. I step on the pedal and watch as the motion forces the vase back into a shapeless clump of nothing.