Chapter Forty-Three
Declan
I leave early. It’s not like I’m much use after watching the music video for a second time. Or maybe a third. And now, every time I blink, all I can see is them.
No matter how many times I tell myself it’s just a performance, a PR stunt, it doesn’t feel that way. The image is etched behind my eyelids, my stomach still churning as I pull into my parents’ driveway.
I force a deep breath before calling out, “Hey, Mom.”
“In the kitchen, sweetie.”
Sticking my head into the living room, I nod at my dad, elbows braced on his knees as he watches some English soccer game on TV, his new obsession.
“Who’s playing?” I ask, glancing at the screen.
“Newcastle, Liverpool,” he replies, barely taking his eyes off the men running around on the pitch.
I stand there for a beat, watching as one of them misses a goal by mere inches, Dad’s arms flying up in the air in dismay before I duck back out and head down the hallway. I don’t make it far before something small and loud barrels into my legs.
“Boo!”
My little sister’s laughter fills the hall as she clings to me, the bundle of energy cracking through my shitty day. Stumbling back in mock defeat, I scoop her up, tickling her ribs until she shrieks.
“Gracie, you’re supposed to be eating your dinner,” Mom calls out from the doorway, watching with a smile. “You’re done early.”
“The bar was quiet,” I lie, setting Grace on my hip. Her tiny arms loop around my neck, her fingers tugging at the hair sticking out from under my beanie.
Grace studies me, lips curling into a pout too similar to Mom’s. “What’s wrong with your face?”
Glancing at Mom, I let out a dry laugh, then set Grace down beside her chair, watching as she sits back at the table. “Blame our parents, kiddo.”
She lifts a dino nugget and bites the head clean off, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. Slowly, she chews, her gaze locked on mine the entire time. “Daddy says to eat the heads first so they don’t feel anything.”
Mom chokes on her water. “He said what?”
“Kid, that’s creepy,” I tell her, fighting a laugh.
Grace giggles, wiggling her tiny butt in her chair, loving our reactions, but her smile fades as quickly as it came. Her dark eyes, the same shade as mine, narrow with the kind of curiosity that’s too perceptive for a four-year-old.
“Why’d you look sad?”
Jesus Christ.
Even the kid can read me.
Mom clears her throat, guiding Grace’s chair back and kissing the top of her head. “Why don’t you finish your dinner with your dad, sweetheart? Let me and your brother talk.”
Grace shrugs and grabs two more nuggets off her plate before skipping down the hall.
The kitchen falls quiet as Mom sets two glasses on the table, and for a second, it looks like she’s going to grab the whiskey—God knows a Cooper related-conversation could use it—but instead, she slides water toward me.
“I think from the look on your face, we should start with something that won’t make whatever’s going on worse,” she says, settling into the chair opposite me. “Spill.”
I stare into the glass for a second before sighing. “Cooper’s in town.”
“First time in years, isn’t it? Did you see him? Holly said—”
“I didn’t know he was here.” I rub the back of my neck, hating how defensive I sound.
“I still don’t understand what happened between you two.” She sighs, shaking her head.
“Mom.”
“I know, I know.” Leaning back, she holds up her hands. “You don’t want me getting involved. You’re a grown-ass man and can deal with it yourself. But still. I’m here if you need to talk.” Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, her face softens. “How are you feeling about him being here?”
“Levi’s got tickets to his show tonight.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Oh. That’s good, right? You thinking of going?”
I shrug, staring at my glass.
“I assume your hesitation has something to do with that new music video?”
My head jerks up. “How did you—”
“Oh, please. It’s everywhere. And I have eyes, Declan. It was rather…spicy.”
“Mom.”
“Alright, alright.” She covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. “I’ll stop.”
Groaning, I rake a hand down my face. “I don’t know if I should go.”
She softens, sympathy tugging at her features. “When was the last time you saw him perform? Before he left, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then maybe you should. You’ve always been proud of him.”
“I was— I am,” I say quietly. “It’s just… It’s been, like, years since I’ve seen him, Mom. We don’t talk. He wouldn’t even know I’m there.”
“Nonsense. You two grew up together. I know things fell apart, but what you two had doesn’t just vanish. I know you still care about him.” Mom reaches across the table, her warm palm covering mine. “Honey, fame’s a demanding bitch. It eats up everything. Doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you.”
I don’t answer, because we both know he could shoot off a text if he wanted. Silence is still a choice. And that’s the part that scares me the most. Maybe he hasn’t forgotten me; he just moved on instead.
Squeezing my hand, she stands. “Text him. Go to his show. It’s been too long since you did something for yourself.”
I watch her move to the sink, stomach twisting once again as I pull out my phone.
His name is still there, buried under years of silence.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I could text, just a few words, a simple hey, heard you’re in town.
But instead, I lock it down and ignore the weight in my pocket.
Maybe later.