Chapter Twenty-Six Colin
Chapter Twenty-Six
Colin
“This list is quite extensive,” I say, scrolling through the website on my phone that Declan sent me this morning.
“Extensive is good,” he replies.
It’s our last day in Amsterdam, and while the week has been filled with all of the sex and time with Declan that I have wanted, we’ve decided to slow things down on the kinky exploration.
At first, I was disappointed—no, devastated. But he’s right. I’m not ready. Not if he can’t trust me.
So it was his idea to find one of these lists online, things that a couple could do in the bedroom, and I would fill it out for him, or I guess for anyone. That way, boundaries are set in place beforehand, and it would potentially prevent anything harmful from happening.
“I mean, how do I know if I don’t want…” My voice trails off before glancing around to be sure nobody can hear us on our walk. “Fisting,” I whisper, “until I’ve tried it?”
Declan laughs. “That is where safe words come in handy, Shakespeare,” he replies. “Because you don’t want to be in the middle of that and decide you don’t like it without a way of expressing it.”
I heave a sigh. “True. Best strike it through for now.”
I scroll through the rest of the list, feeling a bit bittersweet about it. As exciting as some of this is, I realize that a lot of it would require something Declan and I don’t have—time.
“I wish you could come to California,” I say, knowing how reckless it is.
“I would,” he replies, which takes me by surprise.
“You would?”
“It’s just that my family’s going through a lot right now, with my brother and the house. We’re still struggling,” he replies. “I think we still need to be near each other, and I don’t want to leave them.”
“I understand.” Even though I hate it. I hate that grief has caused more than pain. That it’s maimed his entire life and future. “Maybe I could make it back to London more,” I say in a hopeful tone.
“No. Your career is about to take off, Shakespeare. That should be your priority, not time with me.”
I know he’s right, but it still hurts.
“Now finish that form, because I want to show you something before I take you back to the houseboat. We still have one last night together.”
I’ve never felt more motivated to fill out a form in my life, so I do as he says. We’re walking slowly down a quiet side street as I scroll through the list, being a bit more conservative as I click the items that I feel quite confident I wouldn’t say no to.
As usual, he holds me by his side, keeping me from walking into traffic. Just as I finish the list, he stops at a doorway down a quiet street.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“I want to show you something,” he replies, “but I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it.” His expression is stern, which makes me laugh.
“What are you talking about?”
“I have never brought anyone here, and I haven’t even told anyone about it, okay? So it’s just you.”
He seems almost nervous, which is strange for Declan. He’s always so confident and relaxed around me, but it’s almost like he’s looking at me for comfort.
“Just me? What on earth is this?” Then I read the inscription on the door. “An art gallery?” I ask.
“Come on,” he says with a sigh. Then he opens the door and ushers me inside. There’s a prickle of excitement under my skin.
A handsome man with curly hair and a sharp suit greets us at the door. With his hands behind his back, he nods toward Declan as he says, “Afternoon, Mr. Barclay.”
“Afternoon, Karl,” he responds.
“What is going on?” I ask in confusion.
“Please have a look around,” the man says, “and let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Karl,” Declan replies as he rests a hand on the small of my back.
Then he leads me gently through a door of the gallery, and I scan the room, confused.
We’ve been to a fair share of museums this weekend.
We saw the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum, so I’m a bit perplexed as to why we’re at this small gallery with artists I’ve never heard of before.
“Like I said,” he mumbles, “don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Make a big deal out of what?” I ask, but then we turn a corner, and there it is. Or should I say, there I am?
“Just be glad I didn’t use the naked one on the couch,” he whispers in my ear, but I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m speechless.
To anyone else, they might not recognize that the man in the painting is me, but I know because I recognize the moment. It was a midnight coffee shop with intimate lighting. I’m slumped on a green velvet sofa, a drunken smile on my face as I hold my hands over my eyes, laughing behind my fingers.
Declan’s paintings have such unique qualities.
The way he captures light and emotion, the way I can feel what he’s feeling as he paints his subjects.
And yet, I’ve never seen this painting before.
He must have done it from memory of that night.
The one where I got too drunk, and he sacrificed whatever meaningless hookup would have awaited him to take care of me.
The night we shared cappuccinos and secrets.
The night he became my best friend.
It was always significant to me. I had no idea it was so significant to him.
“Declan,” I whisper. “How? Why?”
“The guy who owns this place,” he says, “is a friend of a friend, and he asked for a piece of mine to feature, so I gave him this one. It was hard to part with.”
“How come you never showed me this?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I was embarrassed, I guess. I didn’t want you to think it was weird of me to paint you that night, but I just remember it so vividly that it was easy.”
I take a step forward and read the inscription next to the painting: A beautiful man in warm light. A smile stretches across my face.
“You think I’m beautiful?” I ask, turning toward him with a coy smirk. Normally, I’m the one blushing, but this time, I notice a rosy tint on Declan’s cheeks as he grins and shakes his head.
“Of course I do,” he replies, trying to remain casual. “I wouldn’t enjoy fucking you so much if I didn’t.”
I think he means it to be a sort of cool and macho answer, but I see right through it. Because the fact that Declan and I have sex with each other is about a lot more than him thinking I’m beautiful. He knows it, and I know it.
“Wait, is this your first artwork in a gallery?” I ask.
He presses his lips together tightly before nodding. “Aye,” he mutters.
“And you showed me?”
“Who else would I show?” he asks as if to say no one is more important to him.
Reaching over, I interlace my fingers with his as I press my lips to his cheek. “Thank you,” I say.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he mutters. “But you’re welcome.”
* * *
I’m lying naked between Declan’s legs, my face resting on his stomach as he brushes his fingers through my hair. It must be three in the morning, but I can’t sleep. Even after nearly two hours of sex, I’m wide-awake.
And clearly, so is he.
I think we’re both just trying to prolong the inevitable and soak up every last second that we can.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I whisper.
“You’ve got your mouth just inches from my cock, Shakespeare. I think we’re past having to ask that.”
With a quiet snicker, I continue. “That day in the pool, you said you weren’t straight. So what are you?”
“What am I?” he replies with a tilt of his head. “A drunk. An idiot. A horny Scotsman.”
I laugh before twisting a patch of his chest hair. He howls as I add, “You know what I mean.”
“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “To be honest, Shelby, I don’t know. I’ve never found my attraction as something easy to define, but I’ve always wanted you. You, the person. You, the man. Do I need a label for that?”
A smile splits across my face as I softly spin my fingers across his chest. “No, you don’t.”
We’re silent for a moment before I add, “Does your family know? I mean…would they have a problem with you and another man?”
His jaw clenches for a moment. “No. They just want me to be happy. We all do.”
“And your parents?” I ask, uneasy about bringing them up since I know it sometimes sends Declan into a dark place.
“They would have loved you.”
My chest warms as I stare up at him. As I rest my face back on his stomach, I think about how unfair it is that Declan was blessed with such a happy family only to have them taken so tragically. And yet, my father abuses his with deception and lies.
More than ever, I want to be someone significant to Declan. I want to patch the hole their deaths left behind.
And I think about the painting he showed me today. How clear that moment was for him. How perfectly he recreated it.
“Why is it that you can paint some things from memory so vividly?” I ask.
“Some moments just stay in mind, I guess,” he murmurs.
“Like that night at the coffee shop?”
“Aye, Shakespeare. And that night in the pool. And that night in your room in Dublin. And the beach in California.”
I rest my chin on my hands and stare up at him through the dim light through the windows. “So just me then?” I ask coyly.
He smiles. “You, yes. But not just you.”
“Oh? Is there someone else?” It’s a playful question with a hint of worry hiding underneath. Does Declan ever care about anyone as much as he cares about me?
“I remember my parents vividly,” he says in a melancholy tone.
“How old were you when they died?” I ask.
“Thirteen.”
“It’s quite impressive that you remember them so well,” I reply, gently running my thumb along the soft skin of his stomach. “Will you tell me about them?”
It’s not that I’ve never asked or wondered in all of these years, but Declan has never been so open. It feels as if the doors to an estate with treasures inside have been briefly opened. Any small piece of Declan is like gold to me.
“My mother was very funny,” he says with a crooked smile.
“She had wild hair like Killian, but it was warm like Anna’s.
She was such a good mother, and she loved us all very much.
That manor was our whole world, and she never wanted to leave it.
She would say that she had everything she could ever need there. ”
I squeeze him tighter, noticing the hint of moisture in his eyes as he stares absently into the darkness of our room.
“Will you take me there?” I ask.
“I wish I could,” he replies.
“Why can’t you?”
He strokes my hair as he stares into my eyes. “Because I’m afraid if I take you there, I’ll never want to leave.”
“That’s okay,” I whisper. “I’d stay. I’d stay with you anywhere.”
He heaves a sigh as he replies. “I know, Shakespeare. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I swallow the emotion building in my throat. “Tell me about your dad.”
“My da was a very serious and strict man. But he had a soft side. He loved animals, and he was always gentle with us. He loved my mother more than anything, though. I think she understood him like no one else could.”
“They sound lovely,” I murmur. “You must miss them very much.”
“I miss…” His voice trails, and he freezes for a moment, swept up in his own emotions. Paralyzed by them. “I miss the way things used to be. When life felt normal. When the sun would shine, and the future felt bright.”
“The future can still be bright, Declan,” I say, reaching for his hand. “This doesn’t need to hang over you forever. You can still be happy.”
“How?” he asks. “I can look happy. I can pretend. But I can’t feel it anymore, Colin.”
Tears prick my eyes as I crawl up and lie closer to him. Bringing his face to mine, I kiss his lips gently. “It breaks my heart to hear you say that. I just want you to be happy.”
“These summers with you make me happy,” he replies.
“Then, let’s spend all year together, Declan,” I say.
Hope, like a flood, courses through me as I stare into his eyes. And when he doesn’t immediately shut down the idea, I nearly get swept away by it.
“I’ll come to London. I can work from there,” I say, touching his face. “And you can live in London. It’s close enough to your family, right?”
“Shelby…”
“Just listen,” I beg. “Let me help you. There are therapists who deal with these things. You don’t have to live this way. I’ll be your sunshine.”
When he blinks, a tear slips down his cheek, and I lean forward to kiss the track it leaves behind. Then I kiss his lips. And when I pull away, I wait for him to tell me how this plan won’t work. How we can’t be together all year.
Instead, he whispers, “Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask excitedly.
“Aye.” He nods. “But only if you’re certain you can still work from London.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Then I kiss him hungrily. This feels like everything I’ve ever wanted is finally within my grasp. Not only will I have all of Declan all year long, but I can finally help him get the care he needs. I can be there for him the way he’s always been there for me.
“It’ll be like old times again,” he mumbles against my lips.
I smile for a moment before the words sink in, and I feel my smile fade. Old times.
I don’t want it to be like old times. Is that what he thinks this will be? Roommates? Friends again?
Pulling back, I stare into his eyes, searching for a sign that maybe I’m wrong. I misheard him. That’s not what he means.
But I don’t dare question it. Because this moment is too delicate, and if I ask for too much, I could lose it all.