Chapter 25 #2
I grab a tray, load it with soup, a dinner roll, and salad, and walk toward the far end of the room where we’ll have the most amount of privacy for whatever it is Declan wants to say.
He mirrors me—protein-heavy plate, extra fork like he’s about to duel someone with it.
We sit.
There’s a beat of silence while we both unwrap napkins and fiddle with our trays.
Declan exhales first.
“Look,” he starts, eyes on his plate instead of me. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
I wait.
“My tone was out of line.”
Duh.
“I appreciate that,” I say carefully, choosing my words. “But you weren’t out of line—you seemed angry.”
He shrugs. “None of this is about you.”
“You keep saying that.” Yet here we are.
“Because it’s true.” His spoon scrapes against his soup bowl. “I care about you.”
There it is: same line, different phrasing.
“I know you do,” I say evenly, breaking off a chunk of my roll and buttering it to keep my hands from ringing his neck.
“I want you to be safe.”
God, give me a break. Lord, give me the patience to sit through this apology-turned-lecture from him.
“You keep circling back to the same line, over and over—be careful, be cautious, don’t trust him,” I say, mimicking his deep voice. Huff. “You sound like a broken record.”
His expression flickers—guilt, frustration, something else.
“I’m your brother,” he says, as if that explains everything.
“Yes,” I reply. “You are. And I love you for that.”
I hold his gaze.
Neither of us breaks—another thing we did as kids: staring contests across the dinner table. Silent wars over who would blink first. Who would cave first…
We eat.
The food goes down my throat like it’s lined with sandpaper.
My brother isn’t apologizing for interfering in my relationship. He’s only apologizing for the volume and tone and intensity at which he delivered the warning.
“I’ll work on my delivery,” he says at last.
I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Great. Can’t wait.”
Declan watches me, eyes scanning my face as if seeing me for the first time. Or maybe he’s realized I’m not twelve years old anymore.
“So, Blaire and I were at the game the other night, and we couldn’t have been the only ones watching you and Aaron square off during warm ups.” My fork hovers over my salad. “Want to explain what that was about?”
He shifts in his chair. “He started it.”
I laugh. “You sound like a child.”
Honestly, he should be embarrassed. Instead, he narrows his eyes, scowling.
“Jules, I’m serious.”
“Yeah. That’s the problem.” I stab a piece of lettuce. “You’re acting like a damn fool over something I don’t understand.”
He leans back, folding his arms.
“Blaire said men only fight about three things—money, control, and women.” I push a tomato around my plate. “So, which one of those is it?”
Declan’s eyes flash.
Ahh.
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice. “Is this about a girl?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Declan.”
“It’s not what you think.”
I almost laugh. “You have no idea what I think.”
I think my brother is petty and jealous and acting like a giant baby because someone on his team is dating his younger sister. And this back and forth is exhausting.
“It means,” he says, jaw set, “I’ve spent my whole life making sure no one takes advantage of you.”
“I don’t need—”
“And he—” Declan cuts in, voice tightening.
This time I do laugh, setting down my utensils and wiping my mouth with a napkin.
“Aaron Bishop? Taking advantage of me? That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever freaking heard,” I snort.
Declan is not amused.
“Do you know…” I continue. “The day I got my job offer, I was out with Preston, and he was such an asshole I walked out on the date, and the first person I bumped in to—literally bumped into on the street—was Aaron.” I inhale a deep breath, ready to confess my sins to my brother.
“And I invited him back to my place, because he’s my Hall Pass, and I figured I’d never get another chance. ”
Declan blinks at me. “What do you mean, he’s your Hall Pass?”
“It means that if I ever get the chance, I would slee—”
“I know what a Hall Pass is, Juliette. Why the fuck is Aaron Bishop yours?”
The cafeteria noise hums around us, but our table feels isolated.
“Please, lower your voice.”
“Since when?” he demands.
I shrug, suddenly aware that this is the most honest I’ve ever been with him about anything remotely sexual. “Since college,” I say casually. “Blaire and I made lists. He’s at the top of mine—not that it’s any of your business.”
His expression darkens. “College?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
What a dumb thing to ask. “Because he’s hot.”
And he’s unattainable.
My opposite.
Not the kind of man I have any business dating.
I am a moth to a flame…
“Juliette.”
“What?” I throw up my hands. “He’s hot. He’s talented. Driven. He has that whole bad boy thing going on, but he’s not a bad guy. It’s so attractive.”
Declan’s jaw ticks.
“And you, what? Ran into him and decided to sleep with him?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
“Jesus Christ.” He is staring now as if he’s never seen me as someone capable of having a one-night stand. The idea is inconceivable to him. “I can’t listen to this.”
I laugh again. “I haven’t told you any details—and you can relax, because we didn’t have sex.”
He wasn’t interested in me then.
But he is now.