Chapter 9
Declan
Drinking himself to excess had been a mistake.
When he didn’t immediately pop out of bed for his usual early morning workout, Zoe took it upon herself to wiggle over to his side of the bed for a chat.
Spotting a camera pointed at them, Declan understood this was an opportunity for screen time as a couple.
‘Hello,’ he muttered hoarsely, rearranging his body so Zoe could lay her head on his chest.
‘Hello,’ she echoed, with a soft smile.
‘How are you this morning?’
‘Absolutely knackered.’
‘I think I know something that could help,’ she said, her dark brown eyes wide.
She leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on his forehead.
It was a compelling scene: the big, burly boxer with his tiny girlfriend fretting over him.
The audience would love it.
‘All better,’ Declan declared.
‘You should patent your healing technique; you’d make millions.’
Zoe giggled, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head.
‘Well, the second step to this ancient healing ritual,’ she said, playing along and looking over her shoulder at him, ‘is piping hot tea.’ She raised an eyebrow.
‘God, yes, please,’ Declan said, pulling himself out of bed and hoisting her into his arms, bridal-style.
She shrieked with laughter.
‘Shall we?’ he asked, ignoring the pounding behind his eyes.
They walked out to the kitchen like that, greeted by hoots and hollers from the others.
‘Oi,’ Jack called over to them, as Declan placed Zoe gently on the counter.
‘You two tying the knot, then?’
‘If we do,’ Declan called back, ‘would you officiate?’
Zoe hopped down and pushed him towards the others.
‘Go on, wifey can make the tea this morning,’ she said, winking.
Declan laughed, heading to a daybed occupied by Holly, Maeve and Oliver.
‘You up for being my best man?’ Declan asked Oliver, sitting next to him.
Maeve glanced between them, confused.
‘Am I missing something?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Oliver cut in, slinging his arm over Declan’s shoulder.
Declan ignored a stab of discomfort, reminding himself that he was allowed to touch Oliver now that it was for the show.
‘Declan and I are mates, didn’t you get the memo?’
Oliver gave a fake smile and made his eyes wide, like a hostage being held against his will.
‘We talked it out like men,’ Declan agreed.
‘I conceded that the better man had won the girl,’ Oliver said solemnly, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
‘Fancy a workout, mate?’ Declan said, conscious of the cameras.
Zoe came over, handing a steaming mug to Declan.
She perched herself next to him on the daybed and took a small sip, nodding expectantly towards the weights.
Working out together had become part of their routine, but Declan didn’t want to leave Oliver.
‘Wait, Zo, why don’t you put us through one of your bootcamps?’
he said, knowing she wouldn’t refuse – it was the perfect opportunity to promote her channel.
‘What?’ Zoe asked, taken aback.
‘You know, like your videos,’ Declan explained.
‘Tell us what to do, critique our form, be our drill sergeant.’ Zoe looked unsure, but Declan could tell she just wanted to be convinced.
‘You’ll get to boss us around; it’ll be fun.’
‘It could be a competition,’ Holly added.
‘Yes, Holly!’ Declan said, pleased the idea was catching on.
‘Er, do I get a say in this?’ Oliver asked.
‘No.’
Oliver laughed good-naturedly.
‘Oh, it is so on, King.’
Declan looked to Zoe again, and she finally nodded, conceding.
‘I actually have the perfect outfit for this,’ she said earnestly, and the others laughed.
Fifteen minutes later, Declan and Oliver were standing side by side on the grass, yoga mats in front of them.
Zoe stood on the patio stairs, with two cameramen trained on the developing entertainment and the rest of the contestants gathered to watch.
‘All right, boys,’ Zoe called in her trainer voice.
‘We’re doing a circuit of three minutes for each exercise: squat switches, step-back kick-ups, burpees and a two-minute plank.’
She nimbly showed off each move as she explained it.
‘On your marks, get set… go!’ She blew on the whistle Paige had scrambled to find for her.
Declan fell quickly into the exercises, enjoying the familiar burn.
It was simple enough, but it had been a long time since he’d competed with anyone, and Oliver was fast.
‘Oh, come on, Decs,’ Jack shouted.
‘You can do better than that! Chin up, mate.’
Declan gave him the finger mid-squat.
‘Why are you so good at these?’ he shot at Oliver.
Oliver laughed. ‘Sometimes at rehearsal, they’ll make us carry the girls on our shoulders.
This is nothing.’
‘All right, stop!’ Zoe called out.
‘Two breaths, then start the kick-ups… Go!’
Oliver was killing him, his long legs kicking high into the air in perfectly straight lines.
Declan, who struggled with tight hamstrings, was having difficulty getting his leg levelled above his hips.
‘This is embarrassing, King,’ Holly called.
‘I thought you were a pro.’
‘I’m not a kick boxer,’ Declan said between breaths.
‘I could still knock any of you clean out, so watch it.’ None of them appeared to be sufficiently intimidated by his threat.
‘Last ten seconds,’ Zoe called out, chipper.
‘Babes, keep your back straight, you don’t want to hurt yourself.’
Owen and Jack cackled, and Declan squashed down murderous thoughts.
‘Okay, stop.’
Declan sucked in a breath.
He had thought he’d been staying in pretty good shape, but he was now mentally restructuring his workout routine to make up for the complete ass-kicking he was currently experiencing.
‘Ready for burpees?’ Zoe asked.
‘Go!’
Finally, Declan had the upper hand against Oliver, and he felt giddy watching him struggle.
‘Come on, Oliver,’ Niall called.
‘You’ve got this, boyo!’
‘Thirty seconds,’ Zoe said, pacing between the two men.
‘Nice, Decs!’
‘About time you caught up,’ Oliver said, grinning.
Declan grunted, deciding beating him would be the best comeback.
‘Okay, finished,’ Zoe said.
‘Now the plank.’
Declan and Oliver fell to the ground, facing each other and pushing onto their forearms. ‘Butts down, laddies,’ Owen called, and Declan could’ve hit him.
There was a dull ache in his wrist from the strain.
‘Thirty seconds left,’ Zoe called.
‘Good form, both of you.’ Declan tried to focus on his breathing and keeping his core tight.
‘And… done,’ Zoe said, blowing her whistle.
Declan’s muscles screamed at him to release the position, but Oliver was still holding himself up.
‘All right, all right,’ Jack shouted.
‘Stop showing off, you two. Some of us are not Greek gods.’
Oliver huffed out a laugh but didn’t concede, so neither could Declan.
The two boys stared at each other, their bodies shaking with effort.
A bead of sweat fell from Oliver’s brow and Declan traced it as it slid down his cheekbone before getting caught between his lips.
Declan stared at his mouth, feeling a burning in his core he desperately tried to convince himself was part of the workout.
‘Jesus,’ Holly said, exasperated.
‘Why don’t you both whip it out and spare us the dramatics?’
Declan adjusted his position to get a better grip on the mat, willing Oliver to concede, but something in his wrist gave and a searing pain shot up his arm.
He fell to the ground, Oliver following him a split second later.
Niall and Owen ran over and grabbed Oliver, ceremoniously tossing him into the shallow end of the pool.
He sprang up a moment later, shaking his hair out.
Declan got up to offer him a hand.
‘Good one, yeah?’
Oliver grinned, the sunlight making him so brilliant it almost hurt to look at him.
He reached out and took Declan’s hand, a gleam in his eyes.
‘Don’t—’ Declan started, but Oliver was already pulling him into the pool, the cool water soothing his overheated body.
‘Get out!’ Paige barked.
‘You’re still mic’d.’
They pulled themselves out, dutifully handing over their now water-logged microphones.
Paige’s expression softened into a wry smile.
‘But good stuff, keep it up.’
Oliver and Declan traded amused looks as Brian delivered a bored lecture about the importance of maintaining the equipment.
The crew arranged a neon party for the Lovers the next night.
Brian had provided Declan with a neon pink tank top, yellow sweatband and miniscule bright green workout shorts.
Dressed and ready, Declan sat in the girls’ dressing room as Zoe painted intricate designs on his arms and legs.
The producers had given them Day-Glo paint, and the cameramen were manoeuvring to get shots of each couple painting one another.
He looked over at Niall and Stella, and he could see how it could make for cute content.
Niall was gazing at Stella adoringly as she carefully painted kitten whiskers on his face.
‘There,’ Zoe said, surveying her work with pride.
Declan smiled at her and reached for the paint to return the favour, but she stopped him.
‘Actually, do you mind if I do mine myself? I kinda have a vision for it.’
‘Oh,’ Declan said.
‘Of course. Honestly, I’d prolly make a mess of it.’
He stood. ‘I’ll get out of your way, then.’
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
When he walked into the bedroom, he encountered a lone Day-Glo’d Oliver deciding between two equally horrific patterned shirts.
‘Have you thought of burning both and going topless?’ Declan asked, sitting on Oliver’s bed.
Oliver rolled his eyes, shrugging a black shirt with neon green parrots over his head and smudging the purple paint on one cheekbone.
‘You’re hopeless,’ Declan said, with an exaggerated sigh.
He stood and wiped at the smudge with his thumb, his other hand grasping Oliver by the back of the neck to hold him still.
His grin faded slightly as he noticed how close the two of them were standing.
Close enough that he could see the small flecks of gold in Oliver’s eyes, could smell pine and amber on his skin.
‘Er – sorry,’ he said, backing off.
‘Thanks,’ Oliver said easily, glancing around the room for a cameraman that wasn’t there.
He turned back to Declan with a guarded look.
‘Is it fine now?’
‘Yes,’ Declan said, looking Oliver over.
The producers had given him a similarly short pair of neon shorts, and his exposed legs were strong and lean, freckles sprinkled across pale skin.
He was wearing a glowstick necklace around his head, casting his face in angelic light.
‘Shall we?’ Oliver asked, holding out his elbow.
Declan smiled and looped his arm though Oliver’s as they walked out onto the patio.
The others trickled out of the villa soon after, and music started booming over the loudspeakers, an indication for the festivities to begin.
Declan didn’t think he’d ever get comfortable dancing in such a small crowd, but it was easier now that he knew everyone better.
He was surprised by how comfortable he felt with them – he didn’t take to people very quickly, and had few friends as a result.
Georgia had once accused him of keeping the world at arm’s length, and it wasn’t untrue.
But he laughed along as Jack and Owen attempted a breakdance fight for a few frantic minutes before settling into a two-man conga line.
Declan slung an arm over Niall’s shoulders and grabbed Oliver’s waist as they jumped around shouting out the lyrics to the Dua Lipa song playing over the loudspeaker.
The girls were hand in hand, swinging each other around.
It was absolute chaos, and Declan couldn’t imagine it would look good televised, but he figured there must be some magic in the camera angle.
They danced for hours before Brian finally told them they had enough footage and the whole group sighed with relief.
The night wound down, the girls slipping off their heels and dipping their legs into the pool to soothe their aching feet.
Declan and Oliver took it upon themselves to make tea for everyone.
Oliver looked as tired as Declan felt, struggling to keep his eyes open as they waited for the water to boil.
‘All right?’ Declan asked, putting a steadying hand on Oliver’s bicep.
He nodded. ‘Exhausting, isn’t it?’
he said as the kettle beeped off.
He poured the water, passing the steeping mugs off to Declan, who set them on a tray.
As Declan carried the tray across the patio, he noticed Jack and Imogen sitting in a secluded corner, while Holly and Owen snogged on the couch swing.
He didn’t interrupt either pair, pleased that his mates seemed happy.
Instead, he walked towards Zoe and Maeve, who were lounging by the pool.
Zoe gave him a grateful look.
‘Thanks, babes.’
Declan kneeled to pass the last mug to Maeve.
She took it from him, muttering her thanks as she gazed across the pool sombrely.
Declan wondered whether she and Oliver were on the rocks somehow.
He walked back, intending to ask Oliver about it, but he found him perched on the counter with his head back and eyes closed, asleep.
‘Oliver,’ Declan whispered as he drew closer.
Oliver made a soft noise in the back of his throat.
‘Hey, you’ve got to wake up.’
He reached out and grasped Oliver’s shoulder, shaking him slightly, and his eyes finally opened.
‘I think we’ve probably only got a quarter of an hour before they let us go to bed,’ he said, removing his hand.
‘Come on, let’s have a chat.’
Oliver blinked at him, bleary-eyed.
‘Tell me more about boxing.’ His voice was low as he lifted Declan’s bad wrist and then let it drop.
‘I know that’s the only reason why I won yesterday.
It’s still hurting you, isn’t it?’
Declan nodded, even though he didn’t particularly want to talk about it on camera.
But Oliver had asked, and Declan desperately wanted to give him whatever he asked for.
The gnarled skin where the sutures had been was stark against his otherwise unblemished arm.
The doctors had inserted three pins to hold the remnants of his wrist together.
Even now, months later, when he couldn’t fall asleep, he thought he could feel where each individual piece of metal had punctured bone.
‘They told me I was lucky,’ he said, ‘that for an older man it would’ve been a career-ender.’
He didn’t feel lucky, or young.
He felt ancient, like his body was settling into the years of beatings it had taken.
He sat beside Oliver on the counter, swiping the last mug of tea.
‘I’ve been boxing since I could stand,’ Declan found himself saying.
‘My dad was a boxer, pretty famous in his day. He taught me and my brother everything he knew.’
‘Your brother’s a boxer too?’
Oliver asked.
Declan nodded.
He was both surprised and pleased by how little Oliver knew about him and his family.
It was the reason, he thought, that Oliver had always treated him like a normal person and not an icon.
‘My brother’s ranked eighth in the UK.’
The ranking had been his before his loss to Alexei.
It marked the first time his younger brother had ever outranked him.
Declan had never been able to match Aaron’s sheer power, instead winning matches with a combination of strategy and dumb luck.
Together, they came close to the formidable boxer their dad had been; as individuals, they both fell just short and were desperately trying to make up the distance.
‘So it’s the family business.
Sounds nice,’ Oliver said, grabbing the mug out of Declan’s hands and taking a sip.
‘Do you love it?’
Declan didn’t know how to answer.
Fighting was all he knew; everything he’d got in life was brought forth by sheer force of will, early mornings and late nights training with his dad.
Everything was to make him proud.
‘It’s been good for me,’ Declan said finally, not sure how else to put it positively.
‘I’m good at it. And I’m lucky.
My dad didn’t have it nearly as good.’
Oliver watched him, lips slightly parted, and Declan didn’t think before continuing, ‘Boxing was his way out. He fought like he needed it, like it was the only thing he could do.’
‘What about you?’ Oliver asked.
‘How do you fight?’
‘Like it’s all one big game.’
And it was true; Declan’s life had always felt unreal, like it was happening to someone else – none of it mattering much, and none of it touching him any deeper than the bruises that formed on his skin.
‘What about your mum?’ Oliver asked.
‘What does she think about boxing?’
Declan always dreaded the inevitable question; it was the one answer he’d never mastered.
‘Not sure. I haven’t spoken to her since I was eight.’
‘Oh,’ Oliver said, his eyes suddenly more alert.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not something I talk about much,’ Declan said, trying to sound casual but not quite managing it.
He’d seen his dad take many beatings, but the day she had left was the only time Declan had seen him truly defeated.
As a much weaker man, Declan suspected he’d never recover from that sort of heartbreak.
Oliver seemed at a loss for words.
‘That must have been really hard on you and your family.’
‘Yeah, it was. But he’s fine now.’
He reached over to grab the mug from Oliver, fingers accidentally grazing the back of his hand.
‘What about your family, are they all dancers?’
Oliver didn’t say anything for a moment, uncomfortably examining the contents of the nearly empty mug in Declan’s hands as if it held the answer.
‘No,’ he said hesitantly, ‘I only started dancing because my sisters were taking a class. Mum was pregnant with my brother at the time and there was some complication. She was in hospital a lot and I was stuck watching my sisters dance twice a week. Finally, the instructor took pity on me and asked me to join in.’
‘And you loved it?’
He nodded.
‘For the first time, I knew what I wanted. I went home from that class and planned my whole future out. I don’t think I’ve felt so sure of myself since.
No one else around me understood it, but I just knew.’
Noticing the wistful look on Oliver’s face as he talked about dancing, Declan knew he’d never felt that sure of himself.
He found himself trapped by Oliver’s gaze, noticing the scatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, then the blood pounding in his own ears.
There was no looking away.
‘Sounds nice,’ Declan said, unable to do anything but echo Oliver’s words.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ Oliver said.
‘My parents didn’t understand why I wanted to stick with it after my sisters quit.
They didn’t have the time or money, so I did it all myself.
I paid for classes, trained obsessively, got myself to London…’
Oliver’s eyes had gone glassy in the low light of the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry,’ Declan said, ‘that you had to do it alone.’ Oliver ducked his head and Declan’s heart clenched.
He wanted to say something to get Oliver to look at him again, but the moment had passed.
Brian’s bored voice sounded over the loudspeaker.
‘All right, Lovers, get some sleep.’
‘Thank God!’ Niall cried, grabbing Stella and running towards the villa.
Oliver slipped off the counter, and Declan followed him silently.
As Declan lay down next to Zoe, he noticed a smudge of Day-Glo above her eyebrow.
‘You missed a spot,’ he said softly, rubbing his thumb over the paint.
‘Thanks,’ Zoe said, looking at him expectantly.
There was a beat, and then her gaze dropped to his lips and she leaned in.
‘Uh, good night, Zo,’ he said, awkwardly kissing her cheek.
He pulled the covers over himself, knowing he’d messed up – he should have just let her kiss him; he had pulled away without thinking.
He tried not to look over at the bed next to his, where Oliver slept.