Chapter 27
Declan
Two Weeks Post-Finale
Declan breathed out slowly, trying to keep calm as he watched Imogen pace in front of him.
The door behind her led to a room filled with dozens of reporters – all of them waiting for him.
‘Can you not?’ Georgia said, not unkindly, to Imogen.
Imogen whirled around, eyes wide.
‘Sorry,’ she said, quickly sitting on Declan’s other side.
‘Didn’t even realise I was doing it.’
Declan grimaced.
‘It’s okay,’ he said.
‘To be honest, I didn’t notice.’
‘It’s going to be all right, Decs,’ Georgia said.
‘Yeah!’ Imogen agreed.
Declan looked between them.
‘You guys don’t need to be so nice to me,’ he said finally.
‘Nonsense,’ Imogen responded, as Georgia said, ‘Oh, piss off.’
Declan huffed out a laugh and the girls grinned at each other.
He’d been nervous to introduce Imogen to Georgia when they’d first got back to London, but he needn’t have worried.
They were thick as thieves now.
It had been an interesting couple of weeks.
He and Imogen had exited the plane with the rest of the couples to find Georgia waiting for them.
Declan hadn’t even attempted to play coy, spilling his guts about everything on the drive back to his flat.
Georgia hadn’t looked surprised by any of it; she’d simply turned to him and asked, ‘What now?’
Which was how Declan found himself wanting to completely upend his life.
He stood and pressed his suit jacket down, easing imaginary wrinkles.
This was what he wanted.
He hadn’t spent the past two weeks in prep meetings with his manager, agent and father on a passing whim.
He wanted this, even though it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever done.
His dad opened the press room door, slipping into the hallway with Declan’s brother at his side.
His eyes were kind when they met Declan’s.
Jim had been understanding when Declan had told him his plan to retire and come out in one fell swoop.
He hadn’t been disappointed, like Declan had expected.
He had simply asked if he was sure, and had hugged him after hearing that he was.
‘All right,’ his dad said, laying a hand on his shoulder.
‘They’re ready for you.’
A near-blinding cascade of camera flashes went off as Declan entered the room.
‘Hello, everybody,’ he said, leaning in to speak clearly into the microphone.
‘Thank you for coming.’
He was met with silence as the reporters poised their pens.
He saw a few lean forwards, their phones held out to record.
‘Right, well,’ Declan said, glancing at his hands.
Imogen had suggested he bring notecards and now he wished he had listened to her, if only to keep them from shaking.
‘I’ll be retiring from boxing effective immediately.’
A massive roar of questions followed.
He held up a hand for quiet, pointing at a slim woman in the front row.
‘Declan,’ she began, ‘you’re still a relatively young athlete – why retire at this age?
Is it because of the injury you sustained earlier this year?’
‘This has nothing to do with that.’ Declan rolled his left wrist to display a full range of motion.
‘Boxing is just no longer my main interest. I’ve got other priorities.
Plus,’ – he caught his brother’s eye at the back of the room – ‘I want to give Aaron a fighting chance in the ring.’ Aaron grinned.
The joke got him a few laughs before more hands shot into the air.
Declan pointed to a stout man towards the back.
‘What are your plans for retirement? You mentioned other priorities; will you be pursuing another career?’
Declan thought for a moment.
‘I have no set plans at the moment, and I reckon I’ve earned a bit of a break.
My priorities are personal.’
That caused a murmur among the crowd.
Another woman raised her hand, and Declan nodded at her.
‘You were on the latest season of Summer of Love , where you met and were romantically connected with’ – she consulted her notes – ‘Imogen Vichare. Does she have anything to do with your shifting priorities?’
Declan chuckled.
‘No, I’m sorry to say she does not.
Imogen and I are not dating,’ Declan said, for the first time looking directly at the cameras lining the back wall of the room.
‘We were never dating. It was all for the show.’ Another flurry of hands shot up, but Declan ignored them, clearing his throat.
‘Which brings me to my next announcement,’ he said.
‘And I want to be clear: I’m choosing to tell you this not because I think you’re entitled to know, but because I’m tired of keeping it a secret.’
Declan glanced over at Georgia, standing with his dad, his brother and Imogen.
He couldn’t read her expression with the lights glaring on him, but if he had to guess, he’d say she looked proud.
He took one final deep breath in and said, ‘I’m gay.
I never found that relevant to my career, so I didn’t share it publicly.
For any of my fans who are disappointed, I can honestly say I don’t care.’
There was a brief moment where no one said anything.
Declan could see the red blinking lights of the cameras at the back of the room.
He cleared his throat again.
‘And I won’t be taking any questions about this, because, frankly, it’s no one’s business.
So, um, thank you.’
Declan pushed the button for the fifth floor, staring at his blurry reflection in the lift’s doors and trying unsuccessfully to convince himself he wasn’t nervous.
Besides a string of exclamation points from Holly, a mind-blown emoji from Jack and a long text from Niall about his commitment to allyship, none of the other contestants had reached out to Declan after his press conference.
It didn’t do much to calm his nerves now that he was seeing them all again, and that wasn’t even the night’s main source of anxiety.
The lift dinged, and Declan could hear the low murmur of the party from the hallway.
He knocked, steeling himself.
The door swung open to reveal a beaming Maeve.
She had curled her hair and wore a champagne slip dress, and looked much livelier than she had on the show.
Declan supposed they’d all got worn down by the end.
‘Hi,’ she said, hugging him tightly.
‘I’m so glad you could make it.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Declan responded, handing over the bottle of wine he’d brought for the occasion.
‘I wouldn’t miss this.’
He meant it. When Declan had got the text from Maeve suggesting a reunion, he had hoped it would give him the opportunity to make things right with Oliver.
Maeve looked as though she knew exactly what he was thinking.
‘They’re straight back,’ she said, stepping aside.
The flat was nice: modern features with clean lines, but filled with colourful knick-knacks and art pieces Maeve must have collected on her travels.
‘There he is!’ Jack yelled when Declan stepped into the living room.
‘Man of the fucking hour.’
Declan was immediately engulfed in a hug.
‘Welcome to London!’ Declan said, scanning the rest of the room over Jack’s shoulder.
Holly was there, sitting close to Owen on Maeve’s sectional.
Imogen, Zoe, Faye and Eavie were gathered by the kitchen island across the way.
No Oliver yet. He reminded himself that it was still early.
Jack pouted comically.
‘I can’t believe you tried to steal my thunder,’ he said.
‘Coming out two days before my party. Very rude. You could’ve at least given me a heads up.’
It was said in jest, but Declan could tell Jack was a bit hurt.
‘What can I say? I live for the drama.’ Declan knocked Jack’s shoulder and hoped the apology was clear on his face.
‘Jack, you’re a terrible host. Get the man a beer!’
Holly called over.
‘Why don’t you make him a drink?’
Jack shot back. Holly stood and Declan slung an arm around her.
‘Hi, you,’ he whispered into her ear.
‘Fancy that Owen bloke managing an invite.’ She squeezed his ribs threateningly, cheeks flushed.
‘Right, one old fashioned coming up,’ she said, heading to the kitchen.
He followed her. ‘I should come up to Manchester and get the real Holly, hot bartender experience.’
She scoffed.
‘If you could make it in. Ever since I got back, it’s been bedlam.’
She dropped a sugar cube and a dash of bitters into the bottom of the shaker, muddling them before adding in the bourbon.
‘Beating blokes off with a stick now?’ he asked.
She pinned him with a hard glare as she shook the cocktail, and Declan’s grin widened.
‘Well, I’m newly unemployed.
Can I put in an application for bodyguard of one Holly Henderson?’
‘Application denied,’ she said, pouring his drink and sliding it across the counter.
‘Besides, the pay would be shit.’ With that, she turned and flounced back to Owen.
Declan took a sip of his drink and immediately understood why Holly’s bar was so crowded.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Imogen called from the other end of the counter, giving him a once-over.
‘Nice outfit.’
Declan nodded to the other girls.
‘Thanks, my ex picked it out.’
‘Well, she has impeccable taste,’ Imogen said, sipping her wine.
‘In everything but men,’ Declan agreed, dropping a kiss to her cheek.
He glanced at Zoe, who was watching the exchange curiously.
‘Hiya, Zo,’ he said.
‘I didn’t know you’d be here.
Good to see you.’
‘You, too.’
‘Where’s James?’
he asked, and caught a warning look from Faye.
‘We broke up,’ Zoe said flatly, taking a long pull of her drink and crossing her arms. Imogen put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
Zoe shot him an incredulous look.
‘No, honest. I’m not his biggest fan, but I know how you felt about him.’
Zoe swirled her drink.
‘Yeah, well, I thought I did too.’ She sighed.
‘Turns out a three-week fling on a TV show doesn’t necessarily equate to true love.
I should’ve stuck with you and gone for the win like I’d planned.’
He grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently, and she gave him a small smile.
‘We would’ve had it in the bag,’ he said, and saw a hint of amusement creep into her eyes.
He groped for something better to say.
‘You’re way too good for him anyway.’
‘God,’ Zoe said with a laugh, ‘this is painful. I don’t know what’s worse, getting dumped by a half-rate musician or getting comforted by my gay kind-of-ex-boyfriend.
I suppose I should just be happy this isn’t being televised.’
Declan laughed with her.
‘Sorry, I’m bad at this.’
He glanced towards the door almost involuntarily.
‘Do you know if Oliver is coming?’ Eavie asked.
He shrugged, trying to act casual.
‘I dunno. Haven’t spoken to him since the show.’
‘Me neither, and I feel awful about how we left things,’ Eavie said.
Zoe rolled her eyes.
‘He was being a prick and you stuck up for yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad.’
Eavie fiddled with her hands.
‘Yes, well. I think the stress was getting to all of us.’
‘I know,’ Imogen said earnestly, ‘I started running out of outfits.’
‘Yeah, the outfits,’ Declan said, looking at Imogen instead of the door.
‘That’s what I was worried about.’
They rejoined the group in the living room.
Maeve was lounging on a brightly patterned floor pillow and Declan plopped himself next to her, letting the girls take the last spots on the sectional.
He waited until the room was buzzing with conversation before turning to Maeve, and murmuring: ‘So, where’s Oliver?’
Maeve frowned. ‘I’m not sure he’s coming,’ she said.
‘I tried his phone again just now, but couldn’t get a hold of him.
He was pretty busy this week; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get away.’
‘Oh,’ Declan said woodenly, even as his heart sank.
‘Already rehearsing, then?’ He tried to sound aloof, even though he’d gone so far as to look through the upcoming schedule for Oliver’s dance company and knew their rehearsals wouldn’t start for another week.
The thought of buying tickets to the next performance had crossed Declan’s mind more than once.
‘Well, actually…’ Maeve said, guilt etching her features, ‘he got the New York job, so he’s moving at the end of the month.’
‘Oh.’
Not only was Oliver not coming to the party, but he was moving across an entire ocean.
Declan couldn’t find it in himself to be angry.
It was fitting for Oliver to run off to New York and fulfil his lifelong dream.
Declan couldn’t keep him from that – he was just a boy Oliver had kissed twice on a rather strange holiday.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Maeve said, putting a hand on his knee.
Declan nodded absently, his mind creating increasingly unrealistic scenarios of Oliver’s perfect life in New York as he tried to fight the sour taste building in his mouth.
He didn’t pay much attention to the party after that, choosing to focus on drinking and making sufficiently engaged facial expressions to keep the attention off him.
He didn’t know what he’d been thinking – that he’d come out and Oliver would come crawling back to him?
He had come out for himself, and he had quit boxing for himself too.
But Declan had thought that maybe without those obstacles between them, and after he’d apologised, there would be nothing stopping him and Oliver from picking up where they’d left off.
Ever since Paige had told him what she’d done, he’d held on to one last shred of hope – never once had he let himself consider that this would be the end for them.
Noticing his drink was empty again, Declan forced himself off the floor and walked to the kitchen, Imogen following behind him.
‘What is it?’ Imogen whispered when they were out of earshot of the others.
‘You’re back to zombie Declan, and I don’t like it.’
Declan didn’t look at her as he reached across the island and refilled her wine glass.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘We’re down one ballet dancer at tonight’s festivities,’ she continued.
‘That wouldn’t have anything to do with your peppy mood, hmm?’
‘He’s not coming,’ Declan said, staring into the empty cocktail shaker in front of him.
Imogen sighed. ‘You can’t give up,’ she said, putting a hand on his arm.
Declan pulled away and poured bourbon into his glass distractedly.
‘He obviously doesn’t want to see me,’ he said, taking a sip and enjoying the burn down his throat.
‘And I don’t blame him.’
Imogen looked like she wanted to say more, but he left before she could get another word in.
He chose a spot between Jack and Owen, determined to do a better job of hiding his heartbreak.
‘So, how’s the new place?’
he asked Jack, trying for a smile.
‘It’s a shoebox,’ Jack said.
‘Even winning ￡50,000, I’m still on a teacher’s salary.’
‘He’s being modest,’ Maeve cut in.
‘He’s been promoted to head of the English department at his school.’
Jack grinned. ‘Yes, well,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t come with much of a raise, but it does come with an office that’s bigger than my new flat, so…’
Declan laughed as the doorbell rang over the blare of the music.
Maeve popped up from her spot on the floor and yelled out, ‘Coming!’
‘You’ll have to have me ov—’
‘Well, look who finally decided to show,’ Jack interrupted, and Declan turned to see a damp Oliver walking into the room.
The group met him with shouts of welcome.
‘Hey,’ Oliver said, waving as Maeve grabbed his jacket, shuffling him more firmly into the room.
‘Sorry, got caught in the rain.’
‘You just didn’t want to face my wrath after trying to steal my girl.
Not cool, bro,’ Jack said, pulling him into a hug.
‘You caught me,’ Oliver deadpanned, finally glancing at Declan.
He wished he could tell what Oliver was thinking, but besides an awkward smile, he gave Declan nothing to go on.
‘This one’s just been to visit Niall,’ Jack said, grabbing Owen and tugging him over to Oliver.
Declan lost the end of his sentence as the others restarted conversations around him.
He watched Oliver laugh at something Owen said, then looked away quickly, feeling self-conscious.
As he scanned the rest of the group, hoping no one had seen him staring, he made eye contact with Imogen, whose eyebrows were so raised they practically blended into her hairline.
She nodded pointedly towards Oliver.
Declan stood before he could think better of it, walking over to where Oliver was talking with Jack and Owen.
‘His sister, she’s absolutely obsessed…’
Owen was saying, but trailed off as Declan came to stand between him and Jack.
‘Sorry,’ Declan said uncomfortably.
‘We were talking about Niall and Stella,’ Oliver said to Declan.
‘How are they?’ Declan asked.
‘Grand,’ Owen said. ‘They’ve moved in together already, you know.’
‘Wow,’ Declan said, still looking at Oliver.
‘Shocking, isn’t it?’
Jack said, grinning.
‘How many of us managed to find love in the madhouse?’ He was looking at Owen as he said it, no doubt making a light-hearted jab, but Declan was worried that his expression gave away everything.
There was an excruciating moment of silence as Declan stared at Oliver’s hands, noticing they were empty and seizing on the excuse.
‘Want a drink?’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ Oliver said, following Declan to the kitchen.
He leaned against the counter as Declan got to work, slicing an orange and dropping sugar and bitters into the shaker.
They were closer together than they’d been in weeks, and Declan was having trouble breathing.
He caught the scent he’d come to associate with Oliver, earthy and sweet, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
He fiddled with the muddler, doing a shoddy job of mimicking Holly’s technique, his limbs moving unnaturally.
‘How are you?’ Declan’s voice came out rough.
‘I’m good,’ Oliver said, finally cracking a smile.
God, Declan had missed that smile.
‘Great, actually.’
‘I heard from Maeve that you got the New York job. Well done,’ Declan said.
‘I know you worked hard for it.’
Oliver cocked his head.
‘Honestly, just getting accepted was a huge accomplishment.’
‘So… when do you move?’ Declan asked, fighting the urge to clench his teeth.
At least he got to have one last conversation with Oliver.
He could apologise and they could part as friends.
Oliver looked at him, eyes dancing.
‘I’m crashing with a friend in Brixton.’
‘I meant, when do you leave for New York?’
Oliver laughed.
‘You dolt,’ he said fondly.
‘I’m not going to New York.’
‘You’re not?’ Declan said, faltering.
Oliver shook his head.
‘I’m not.’
‘Why not?’ Declan asked.
He felt like he was missing something vitally important.
Oliver shrugged. ‘Things changed.’
Declan’s brain short-circuited.
‘Oh.’ He shook the drink mechanically, catching Oliver watching the lines of his arms, and then put the shaker down so hard it made a loud clanging noise.
‘Easy on the counters, King,’ Jack called.
‘Sorry,’ Declan said, too quietly for Jack to hear him.
Oliver wasn’t going to New York; Oliver was staying in London.
Oliver was here, looking at him, not going anywhere.
Declan poured the drink into a glass, sloshing some of it onto the counter.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, grabbing a hand towel and wiping the spill.
Oliver put a hand over his, and Declan finally looked up.
They stared at each other.
Declan tried his hardest to form a coherent thought, but kept getting stuck on the exact green of Oliver’s eyes.
He swallowed. ‘What changed?’
‘I think you know.’
Declan supposed he did.
He pulled his hand out from under Oliver’s.
‘Right, well,’ he said gruffly, finally breaking their eye contact.
That wasn’t what he had wanted to say.
It wasn’t the down-on-his-knees apology he’d envisioned for when he saw Oliver again.
He shook his head and continued, ‘I fucked up. When you left – Paige told me what you did for me – I never wanted to put you through that.’
‘You didn’t,’ Oliver said, and Declan scoffed.
‘I helped,’ he said, squeezing his eyes shut.
‘What I mean to say is… I’m sorry.’
Oliver picked up his drink and took a sip, letting out a contented sigh.
‘This is really good.’
‘Thanks,’ he murmured, ‘I’m studying to be a bartender.’
‘Oh?’ Oliver asked, amused.
Declan shrugged. ‘I dunno. I’m still figuring out what I want to do.’
‘Well, well,’ Oliver said, downing the rest of the drink, ‘never thought I’d see the day.’
‘Me neither,’ Declan said.
‘Want to get out of here?’ Oliver asked, and he nodded eagerly.
‘Hey, guys, sorry to cut out early,’ Oliver called to the rest of the group, his eyes still on Declan.
‘My flatmate texted that he’s locked out.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Jack whined.
‘You literally just got here!’
‘No, he should go,’ Maeve said, looking between them.
‘Decs, you heading out too?’
‘Yeah,’ Declan said, finding his voice.
‘He’s on the way, figured I could give him a ride. ’