Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Atlanta—Present Day
Declan poured coffee from the communal pot into a nondescript mug. Todd had looked at him strangely the first time he’d returned to his office with a cup of coffee from the employee kitchen. Normally, he would demand Todd go to a coffee shop, rather than drink the overcooked coffee from an employee lounge. But Declan liked the idea of accidentally running into Olivia when she made one of her many cups of tea throughout the day.
By eleven, Declan noticed the small pink teacup with the green leaf saucer was still sitting in the same place as when he came in early that morning.
Did she have a meeting out of the office? Declan scowled. He was acting like a teenager, hoping to get a glimpse of his crush. Frowning, he went back to his office and tried to concentrate. Olivia had a scheduled meeting with him in an hour. He could wait an hour, he thought, tapping his pen restlessly against the desk.
However, thirty minutes later, Todd appeared in his doorway. “Mr. Bloom, I’m sorry to interrupt. Ms. Adler won't be able to make it to your meeting today. She apologizes for the short notice.”
“Why not?” Declan ignored the disappointment spiking in his chest.
“Melissa, her receptionist, said Ms. Adler caught that flu going around. She will most likely be out for several days.”
Declan's brows drew down. “She’s so sick Olivia already knows she’ll be out for several days?”
Todd stared at him like he wasn’t sure how to respond. Declan scowled when his assistant shut the door. He rolled his shoulders, hoping to shed the unpleasant feeling inside him. He stared unseeing at an email and twirled his pen between his fingers.
Olivia was sick. And alone.
The urge to check on her was overwhelming, and Declan didn’t question why he didn’t even try to resist.
“I'm not feeling well either.” He tossed the comment over his shoulder as he strode past Todd, slipping into his coat. “Clear my calendar for the next few days. I’ll be available on my cell phone.” Declan paused and turned back. “Find out the best restaurant within ten miles for soup and bread, and place an order for chicken soup. Text me the address.” He would have sworn Todd smiled, but that would have been completely out of character for his assistant.
Pulling into Olivia’s driveway, Declan smiled as he took in the Tudor style home. With a giant container of chicken soup and the still-warm bread in his hands, Declan rang the doorbell with his elbow. A buzzing drew his gaze to his feet where a takeout bag was surrounded by flies. Dread sent an icy trail down his spine. He jabbed her doorbell again.
After several minutes of silence, Declan rang the bell a third time, his pulse picking up speed. Something was wrong. Ears straining, he thought he heard movement from inside the house, but he wasn’t sure. Declan frowned and stepped back, looking up at the facade as if he could see inside. He walked down the steep driveway to peer into the windows set high on her garage door. Concern had his heart pounding when he saw her BMW parked inside.
Is she too sick to come to the door?
The dark clouds above finally delivered on what they’d been promising, but Declan ignored the freezing drizzle. This time, he followed the doorbell with several hard knocks with his fist.
“Go away, Declan, I’m sick,” Olivia’s muffled voice sounded through the door.
“I heard.” Declan hesitated for a moment, wondering if he was making a fool of himself. When he heard she was sick, he wanted to see her. Now, standing on her doorstep uninvited, his hands full of food, he had his first doubts.
“I brought you food.”
“It’s not a good time, Declan.” Something in her voice had his intuition pinging. His eyes fell to the bag of takeout covered in ants at his feet. A knot formed in his stomach. That bag had clearly been sitting there for a while.
“Let me in, Olivia. I won’t stay if you don’t feel well enough. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
The silence stretched, and he scowled at the door. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you sick before. It’s raining, and the bread is getting cold. You aren’t seriously going to risk ruining fresh bread, are you?”
Still nothing. Declan’s concern turned to a full-fledged alarm.
Why wouldn’t she open the door?
“Just open the door. I want proof you’re actually sick and not shirking your responsibilities.” Declan forced a chuckle, but she didn’t answer.
“Open the door,” he demanded in a hard voice, and he swore he heard her sigh through the wood. “Open the fucking door, Petal, or I'm going to kick it down!”
Her security system beeped, and then the deadbolt turned. But when the door swung inward, Olivia swiftly turned away from him to type in the code to rearm the system as he shut the door behind him.
She wore a thick terry-cloth robe, and with her back to him, Olivia waved an arm toward the kitchen visible through the doorway.
“Thank you for the food. You can put it on the island.” Her voice sounded scratchy.
Something was off.
Why wouldn’t she face him? Did Olivia think he cared if she had a red nose and dark circles under her eyes? She could be covered in measles, and Olivia would still be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Declan followed her hunched shoulders the few short steps through the doorway that opened into a spacious kitchen and living area. He took in the space with a glance, and his breath caught.
Massive dark wood beams soared above the twenty-foot great room walls, which were painted a soft, creamy off-white. A deep camel-colored leather sectional faced the enormous fireplace, with a television mounted above the mantel.
Olivia fussed with something on the kitchen counter, and Declan stepped further into the room. There was a thick, knit blanket thrown over one arm of the sofa, and a book lay face down on the small side table. A small, distressed wood table sat in front, displaying a stack of poetry books next to a candle. A wingback chair, placed beside the sofa, was upholstered in a muted floral fabric, and pillows with a matching print were strewn on the floor and over the sofa.
Declan licked his lips. Had she intentionally chosen the pieces to mimic those in the cottage, or had something deeper drawn her to recreate a place where they had been so happy?
His throat ached, and Declan laughed to cover the feelings crashing over him. “Still reading Blake, huh?” Declan picked up the open book.
Olivia’s head was bent, hands braced on the island as she stared at the food he brought. But she didn’t respond to his teasing the way he hoped.
“Sorry, I know you’re feeling lousy.” Declan shifted on his feet.
Why won’t she look at me?
“Can I make you a cup of tea?”
Olivia sniffed, and if possible, her stance stiffened. Declan joined her in the kitchen and placed his hands on the opposite side of the island, imitating her pose.
“Do you need medicine? I can go—” His heart wrenched at the unmistakable sight of a tear splashing on the marble, swiftly followed by another, and then a steady flow. He rounded the island to her side, but she shook her head violently, her thick hair swishing side to side. Declan’s chest cracked open as hers heaved with silent sobs.
“Ah, Petal. Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything.” Declan reached to pull her into his arms, but she flinched away, turning her back again.
An alarm rang loud and riotous in his brain, and his stomach clenched. “Petal… Baby… What’s wrong?”
Declan saw her shoulders rise and fall with a shuddering breath, and then Olivia straightened and turned to face him.
The world stopped on its axis, and his breath seized in his lungs. Every cell in his body screamed in denial. Her blue eyes were glossy, but the tears no longer fell. Declan instantly registered her swollen, split lip and the bruises on her face.
Pain like he’d never felt before split his ribs, and the monster inside him howled for vengeance. Olivia maintained eye contact with him, her wet eyes daring him to pity her. He raised trembling hands to lift the sides of her hair away from where she had shielded the swelling and bruises on the side of her face.
Calling on every ounce of his control, Declan kept his voice low. He didn’t want to frighten her with the violence raging inside him. A chill dark emotion settled over him.
“Who?”
Olivia’s eyes slid away. “No one. I slipped, coming down the steps. I’m embarrassed for anyone to see me.”
“You can either tell me, or I can figure it out. It’s up to you.”
She scowled at him. “This is none of your business. I fell. It’s not a big deal.”
Declan couldn’t completely hide the tremor of rage in his voice. “Someone hurt you.” Declan stopped as bile rose in his throat at the words, and he swallowed hard. “I need you to tell me who it was.”
“Leave it alone, Declan. I didn’t ask you to come here. Don’t show up now, acting like you have some right to my life because we fucked a lifetime ago.” Her voice broke as she threw his words in New York back at him.
The cord on his self-control was becoming dangerously frayed. Declan hadn’t lied when he said he would do anything for her. And what she needed right now was for him to pretend to be human—to be the man she needed—deserved. Even if he wasn’t.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Declan agreed. “I’m the one who let you down. I'm sorry.”
Olivia blinked at him, his words clearly not what she’d been expecting.
Declan kept his voice calm, even though the tempest inside him was storming almost beyond what he could contain. “You were at that political event last night.” He set his jaw, grinding his teeth to keep from yelling. “Did one of those bastards do this?”
He was going to destroy whoever it was. He didn’t give a fuck who it was or the influence they had. They were a dead man.
“Declan, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“There is a time element, baby. There could be other consequences if…” Declan choked on the words.
Olivia’s eyes widened. “He didn’t rape me. He was angry about being thrown out of his country club and thinks I’ve ruined his life.”
The truth dawned on Declan with crystal clear clarity, immediately followed by the knowledge of what he was going to do to her ex-husband. Declan clamped down on his control. “This isn’t the first time Kyle hurt you, is it?”
She blanched.
“Olivia?” But her expression had become frighteningly blank, as though she’d retreated to a place she wouldn’t let him follow. Fear scored painfully through his veins.
Declan took a step back and inhaled a deep breath. “You’re right. This is your business. If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”
Olivia’s eyes shifted, watching him warily as he pulled the large container of soup from the bag.
He forced his jaw to unlock. “Where are your pots?”
Olivia didn’t answer at first, so Declan turned toward the cabinets, so that she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see the monster that had slipped its leash. He was going to peel Kyle Armstrong’s skin from his body an inch at a time.
“Bottom cabinet next to the stove,” Olivia said quietly, and Declan exhaled a heavy breath.
Revenge would have to wait. Right now, Olivia was all that mattered, and he needed to take care of her. Declan didn’t understand why Olivia was protecting the man, but he wouldn’t push.
Not yet, anyway.
Declan busied himself emptying the container into a sauce pot and turning on the flame. Plucking a wooden spoon from the ceramic container on the counter, he stirred the heating liquid. Slow even circles while he reined in his temper.
The last thing Olivia needed right now was his anger after facing… His stomach turned over at the thought of her alone and afraid with that bastard.
“You don’t need to do this, Declan.”
“I know.”
There was a pause. “Why are you here?”
He stirred the soup.
One circle, two circles… Breathe.
Why was he there?
“Declan?” Olivia’s voice was barely above a whisper, and like the final piece of a puzzle, his life snapped into place. Declan exhaled a long, slow breath, and for the first time in over a decade, he felt the vise around his chest ease.
“Because this is where I belong,” he said simply, not turning around.
Olivia’s breath hitched audibly.
Declan didn’t regret the words.
He should have kept her safe. The whole reason he’d walked away from her, broken both of their hearts, was to keep her safe. Protect her from him and the monsters in his world.
The whole time she’d been alone with a different kind of monster.
Declan closed his eyes, regret and fury coursing through him. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.
“What?”
Declan turned to face her, his eyes locked on hers. He saw the hope and vulnerability reflected back at him, and hated himself for being the reason she ever doubted how he felt.
“Do you remember telling me that maybe someday we would find our way back to each other?” Eyes wide, Olivia’s lips parted, but she nodded. Declan’s lips lifted. “Someday is today.”
Olivia stared back at him, frozen. Declan swallowed over the lump in his throat. “I know you might not be ready to jump back in. I have a lot to make up for, and it will take a while for you to trust me again… to forgive me.”
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, and her cheeks were pink. “What about Fiona? You’re engaged.”
Declan shook his head with a smile. It felt like blinders had fallen off of him, and for the first time, he saw his life clearly. “No. We’re not. She planned on using me the same way I was going to use her, but I never actually asked her.” Declan knew how cold it sounded. But if Olivia chose him—if she gave him another chance—she needed to understand who he was now.
A tremulous smile tipped her lips. “I guess I should feel bad for her.” Olivia’s smile widened, then winced, bringing her fingers to her wounded lip. “But she is a super bitch.”
“My sister agrees with you,” Declan said wryly.
“Wise woman.”
“Please don’t tell her. She’s a bit too full of herself these days,” Declan joked, determined to keep the mood light, but relief filled his body at an alarming rate, making him slightly lightheaded.
“Bowls?” he asked, when the soup bubbled.
Olivia pointed at a cabinet and moved to the refrigerator to retrieve a slab of butter.
“Is that Irish cream?” Declan eyed the dish.
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s addictive.”
Olivia sliced the bread and slathered the pieces with the Irish butter while Declan filled the bowls and carried them to her kitchen table.
Aware of Olivia’s every careful movement, and how she limped a little across the room, his rage coiled tighter inside him.
Olivia raised her spoon and winced at the first swallow, her hand rising to her throat before dropping it again. The neckline of her thick robe had shifted, and he could see the unmistakable outline of bruises in the shape of fingers across her porcelain skin.
Declan must not have done as good a job hiding his response as he thought, because Olivia lay her hand over his white-knuckled grip on the spoon.
“It’s okay.”
His jaw worked. Fuck, now she was comforting him ? Declan mentally added a few more hours of pain to what limited time Kyle had left.
“It’s not,” he managed in a strangled voice. “But you don’t have to talk about it.”
Olivia set her spoon down and stared at him. “I don’t want you to think I am some kind of victim. Like I’m weak and can’t protect myself.”
Declan’s mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, and he released his tongue. “I would never think you are weak, because you aren’t. He is a bully and a coward. None of that is a reflection on you.”
Her lips pursed, and two lines formed between her brows. “It wasn’t always like this. I left after he really hurt me. We kept the separation hidden for a year, but I knew?—”
The spoon bent in Declan's hand as he struggled to fill his lungs. “After he really hurt you ?”
“I’m trying to explain.” Olivia’s shoulders slumped. “When it got physical, I mean… really physical… I left. I knew it would only get worse from there. He was starting to lose control.”
“What does really physical mean?” Declan’s voice vibrated with suppressed fury. The fact she believed there were degrees broke his heart.
Olivia sighed. “It’s in the past.”
“It’s not in the past.” The tether on his self-control snapped. “He assaulted you last night . It’s been two years since you left him. Fuck. ” Declan ran a hand over his face as a realization hit him. “You have had to work with him every day. Why didn’t you leave Armstrong?”
Her chin tipped up. “You know why. That company is more mine than it is his. Kyle wasn’t going to take that away from me too. Besides, you’ve met Kyle.” She grimaced. “He isn’t really a nine-to-five kind of guy, so I didn’t have to see him often. The year we were separated was the hardest because it was a secret. The year after I filed for divorce, it was easier because I didn’t have to put on a show anymore. Pretend that breathing the same air as him wasn’t repulsive.”
Olivia wouldn’t have to worry about that for long, Declan vowed to himself. “Why didn’t you file for divorce right away?”
“Two years ago, when he… I left. He stayed in our house, and I rented a condo. Richard had just been diagnosed, and I didn’t want to add to his stress, so we agreed to pretend we were still together.” Declan stared at her in disbelief. “It wasn’t like we were a couply couple before that. Everyone knew our marriage was basically over after the first year or so.” Her eyes hardened. “They just didn’t know why.”
He did a quick calculation. “If you didn’t love him, why did you stay?”
Olivia’s back stiffened. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” Declan shook his head. “God knows you’ve never been afraid to tell me how you feel.”
Olivia stared at her bowl. “It’s different with you.”
Her words went a long way toward dampening his anger. “Yeah?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know it is. With Kyle, with my family, even my friends… They all assumed the reason the marriage failed was something I did, or wasn’t doing. I’m a bit of a workaholic in case you haven’t noticed,” she said wryly. “My friends were work friends. I couldn’t exactly confide in them what was happening at home. Kyle is very good at showing one face to the world, then twisting my words to make me look like I am a ball-busting shrew. Which coincidentally fit perfectly with how my family already thought of me.”
Declan remembered how Olivia told him she’d never fit in with her family, but he hadn’t realized the extent of how disconnected she felt. How isolated she was.
“When I tried to tell my parents, or even Jessica, what was happening… that I was unhappy…” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t know if it’s that they didn’t believe it—Kyle does a fantastic job of the ingratiating-golden-boy routine—or if they didn’t want to believe it. I was finally married, and my parents were thrilled. According to them, it’s a woman’s true purpose. And Jessica is Kyle’s cousin. Plus, if I’d left, I would have lost everything I’d worked for.”
“You didn’t want to go somewhere else?”
“I thought about it a lot. Richard is very conservative, and Kyle had already spun the story that I was to blame for our problems. I couldn’t be sure that one of them wouldn’t say something to a potential employer, and I would be seen as damaged goods.” Olivia frowned unhappily. “Can we please not talk about this anymore?”
Declan reached for her hand, turning it over, and traced over her palm with his thumb. “Of course.”
“Thank you for bringing me soup.”
“You told me chicken soup was your favorite.”
Her brow furrowed and then cleared, her eyes stared into his. “You remembered that?”
Declan lifted her hand to place a kiss into the center of her palm. “I remember everything. I always have, Petal.”
“Then why?—”
Declan pressed another kiss to her hand, trying not to smile at how her eyes narrowed. That bastard may have hurt her, but he hadn’t crushed her.
“I will tell you. I promise. But first, let me take care of you. I need to take care of you.”
Olivia stared at him for a moment, and then with an almost imperceptible nod, she picked up her spoon with her free hand and began eating her soup, while he held her other. Declan’s shoulders relaxed. The storm that had loomed all day finally broke, and rain lashed at the tall windows along the back of her house.
“I need to tell you something.” Declan heard the thread of anxiety and fear under her words, and braced himself for whatever fresh horror she was about to share. “I think I might have killed Kyle.”
Whatever it was Declan thought Olivia was going to say, that wasn’t it. “You think you did?”
Olivia’s face paled. “I stabbed him… He ran out… I thought the police would come.”
That’s my girl.
Keeping his expression reassuring, Declan squeezed her hand. “If Kyle went to a hospital, the police would be here by now.”
Olivia looked thoughtful. “Then he’s dead.”
She didn’t seem particularly bothered by the idea.
Declan shook his head slowly. “Not necessarily. He could have patched himself up, or gotten a friend to. You don’t need to worry.”
“I don’t want to go to jail.” Her haunted eyes met his, and he squeezed her hand again.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t seem worried that I might have killed someone in my kitchen.” Olivia’s eyebrows pinched together.
Declan held her gaze, letting her see the truth. “Some people deserve to die.”
For several long beats, they held each other’s gaze, and he watched as she processed what he’d said. He could have wept with relief when she finally nodded.
“I agree.”
Later, when Declan cleared the dishes and put them in the sink, he noticed the glint of something tucked in the corner of the backsplash above the counter. He picked up a bright blue porcelain handle, turning it over in his fingers. His eyes flicked to the empty hooks in front of him.
“Can I make you a cup of tea?”
When Olivia didn’t answer, Declan took a deep breath, vowing to stay calm. The broken end of the shard stabbed his palm, but Declan welcomed the sharp pain.
That piece of shit broke her tea cups.
Declan forced a smile and lifted his chin at the storm outside. “Do you have whiskey? This feels more like a whiskey night.”
The relief in her eyes that he wasn’t going to press the issue had the vise back around his chest. Declan pocketed the shard of porcelain, noticing the smear of his blood on it, and turned to run his hand under the water. There would be a lot more when he was done.
“It isn’t night,” Olivia pointed out. “It’s barely late afternoon.”
Declan shrugged, and she quietly laughed, walking past him to open a cabinet. He closed his eyes as her delicate rose scent swirled around him.
He hadn’t quite figured out how he was going to make it all work, but he would never leave her again. Declan planned on waking up with her smell on his skin and the taste of her on his tongue for the rest of eternity.
“Jameson?” He inhaled the woody aroma of the glass she handed him.
Olivia’s eyes twinkled as she clinked her glass against his. “A cocky Irishman once told me it’s the only whiskey a true Dubliner would drink.”
“Sounds like a wise man.”
“Hmm.” Olivia took a small sip, staring at him over the rim. “Not so much. He’s made a lot of really stupid choices.”
Declan set his glass down and settled his hands lightly on her hips, not sure what other bruises she might be hiding.
“He is a wise man, because he knows he is going to do whatever it takes to make up for all the hurt he’s caused.” Declan leaned forward and kissed the uninjured corner of her mouth, encouraged when she didn’t pull back.
“It may not be as easy as you think.” She arched a challenging brow at him.
“I’m sure it won’t, Petal, but it sure as hell will be worth it.”
Declan brooded in the darkness, while Olivia snored quietly, cocooned in the thick blanket in front of the fire. He had suspected the truth weeks ago, at the meeting where he took over, but he had done nothing about it. He’d assumed that since they were divorced her immediate threat was gone… that Kyle’s punishment could wait while he dealt with everything else.
Images of Olivia’s bruised face and the fingerprints on her throat flashed over and over in his mind. The bridge of his nose stung, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He’d let her down.
Leaving one hand resting over her as she slept peacefully, her head on his thigh, Declan pressed the fingertips of his other to his brow. Hard. His breathing fractured as he imagined the scene the night before. Declan tipped his head back, pain ripping through his chest. He had been so worried about keeping her safe from his world he hadn’t looked hard enough at hers.
Rage bubbled inside him and Declan tried to concentrate on the silky feel of her hair as he softly stroked her head. A futile attempt to calm himself and find reassurance that she was safe. Here. With him.
The light from the fire was too low for him to make out her injuries, but Declan knew they were there. Branded into his brain forever.
I could have lost her.
His petty revenge on Kyle had made things worse for Olivia. He should have expected that Kyle would turn his wrath on her. Declan had failed her like everyone else in her life.
Never again.
“I’m sorry, Petal,” he whispered, bending to kiss her hair, before carefully slipping out from under her head. Declan wasn’t sure why Olivia had accepted him back into her life so easily, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue.
Earlier, they’d taken their whiskeys to her sofa, and Declan laid a fire, covering her with the blanket as she snuggled against his side. He’d held her in silence, watching the fire and listening to the storm rage outside. With his arm around her shoulders, his body felt truly at peace for the first time in twelve years.
“I missed you.” The words were barely audible over the storm and the crackling of the fire.
“I missed you too.” Declan pressed his lips to her temple and inhaled. “I’m never letting you go. That ‘maybe’ we talked about is now ‘absolutely.’”
Declan tensed, waiting for her response. He wanted to believe that if Olivia said she didn’t feel the same way anymore, that she couldn’t forgive him, he was noble enough to let her go. To let her find the life she deserved with a man who wouldn’t always have a target of one type or another on his back.
But Declan wasn’t. He was a selfish monster.
Olivia set her glass on the table and snuggled into the space between his shoulder and chest. “Hmm. Your ‘absolutely’ sounds a lot like ‘about damn time’ to me.”
Declan huffed a laugh before pressing his cheek to her hair. He didn’t move for over an hour, content to hold her in his arms while she slept.
Now, he impatiently paced her garage, waiting for the call to connect. As necessary as this phone call was, he was anxious to get back to Olivia. Declan snorted, imagining what his family’s reaction to all this would be.
“What do you want?” Alex Kovalyov sounded irritated.
Despite his urgency, Declan couldn’t help but needle the Russian. “Maybe I just wanted to talk.”
“You’re the least social person I know. What do you want?”
“I need Kyle Armstrong picked up. Unless he’s already dead. In which case, I need the body to disappear.”
“What exactly am I supposed to do with him?”
“Take him to one of your places.”
“I don’t have places,” Alex said curtly.
“Suit yourself. Wherever it is your brother has people taken. And I need it done as soon as possible.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll owe you,” Declan said without hesitation.
“It’s not as much fun when you give in easily,” Kovalyov complained.
Over the last twelve years, he and the Russian had traded favors back and forth—a fucked-up friendship of sorts. Because of that, Declan let Kovalyov hear the seriousness in his voice. “It’s important. Let me know when you have him secured. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“You’ll come? Personally?”
“Yes.”
“How extraordinary.” Alex hummed his amusement. “This sounds important. Might be worth two favors.”
“Fine.”
There was a pause, and Declan could practically feel Alex’s surprise. “What did he do?”
“He put his hands on someone he never should have even looked at.”
Declan heard a low growl and knew Kovalyov understood. “He was married to Olivia Adler, correct? Didn’t you carry her out of an event last month?”
Declan’s jaw locked. “I didn’t realize you read the gossip blogs or that you were such a fan.”
“Someone’s testy tonight.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Call you when it’s done.”