16. Declan
Declan
T he garden has recently been worked in. There’s a small pile of weeds lying forgotten in the lush grass, and the soil is freshly turned, leaving it dark and damp. I stare over at it, remembering that day in the botanical gardens, seeing the patches of dirt smeared across the knees of her jeans.
Closing my eyes, I can see her working out.
The sun would shine brightly down on her head as she grinned proudly at the flourishing garden, more dirt streaked across her brow and cheek.
She never wore gloves, preferring to get her hands dirty, even though she’d complain about how it took forever to get all the soil out from under her nails.
She’d look over at me, sitting on the old white porch, and we’d chat as she worked, talking about everything. Making plans for our day, for the next, and for our future.
Somewhere in the distance, a car backfires and jerks me out of my thoughts, reminding me of the fact that the dream is just an illusion, because I crushed any possibility of it.
And for what?
My father has always dangled his approval just out of my reach, using it like bait to jerk me back on the line, to control me. I’ve always let it happen, more willing to flow alongside his control than buck against it, knowing I wouldn’t be the only one to pay the price if I did .
And now he was trying to force me into a relationship with Silvia, who’d apparently lost her damn mind.
Correction—Darcy informed me that Silvia has never been sane and that I was a fucking idiot for not having seen it before. I’d spent the last week avoiding both her and my father, coming up with more plans to untangle myself from my father’s web.
But today… It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen my wife.
Sitting on the lower step of her porch, I watch as a car slows down in front of the house. It pulls into the driveway, giving me glimpses of red through the greenery, and then a car door opens and shuts.
I stand up, edging closer, and my breath catches in my chest at the sight of her.
Lily. The familiar fall of her thick brown hair, half of it pulled up into a small bun on the crown of her head.
She’s wearing a blush-colored top tucked into a high-waisted skirt that swirls around her knees.
She laughs at something the driver says, and it feels like someone just hit me in the chest with a taser, the sharp jolt painful as it spreads through my body.
I step forward, needing to get closer, and she hears me, whirling around, eyes wide as she presses a hand to her chest. It takes mere seconds, maybe less, and then the startled expression falls away into something flat and cold, like her happiness was smothered by my presence.
I roll my lips between my teeth, clamping down viciously to stop myself from begging her to smile again, hating the way her defenses harden her eyes.
“Declan,” she greets stiffly, and I close my eyes, savoring the sound of her voice after so long. “Why’re you here?”
“Lily—”
A voice rumbles from out the car window, distinctly masculine, though I can’t hear what he’s saying. Lily eyes me, but then turns away, bending down to look in the lowered car window.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs. “I’ll see you later, Justin. Thanks for the ride.”
I go tense, unhinged jealousy coating my insides, the world going hazy. Justin. I know him. He's her friend from school, someone who's always been on the fringes of her life—never a threat, not really .
Not until right now.
He replies and she shakes her head, stepping away. The car reverses down the driveway and she watches it go with a wave, but even when it disappears, she doesn’t face me.
When she finally turns, her mouth is tight and unfriendly. “I think we’ve said everything we need to say to each other,” she tells me acerbically. “And I don’t appreciate you just showing up here.”
I give her a weak smile, tucking my hands into my pockets. “I would’ve called, but…” I shrug, but she just stares back, no give at all. Fuck. I tip my head at the cottage. “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me about this place,” I say softly.
Hope flares when she looks at the house and agrees easily, “Me too.” And then her eyes flash back to me and, just as quickly, the hope is crushed.
“After all, I’d be homeless if I had.” I shake my head, wanting to argue, but she slumps, her anger draining away until she just looks tired. “Why’re you here, Declan?”
“I wanted to…” I look away, hating the way I stumble for the words, something I’ve never struggled with before. “I need to explain. There are things you don’t understand, things I want to tell you. I can’t leave it like this, Lily. Not without knowing I tried everyth?—”
“One massive problem,” she interrupts ruthlessly, her eyes as frozen as a deep glacial lake.
“You want… you need… you can’t…” She shakes her head.
“It’s all about you, and I’m realizing it always has been.
Your entire life, your father made sure you knew it was about you, molding you into his image.
” Her smile is fractured, the words bitter and acidic.
“You were his eldest son, his pride and joy, the one who’d bear his legacy into the future.” Her mouth sneers the word ‘legacy’. “You were told to expect everyone to bow down at your feet and when you’re told something enough… well, you start to believe it.”
She crosses her arms, as if bracing herself, her eyes going distant as she stares past me, musing, “I wasn’t completely blameless.
I saw the warning signs, the red flags, but I loved you.
” A small shrug. “When you love someone, truly love them, you accept their flaws, their shortcomings. After all, would they be the same person without the bad bits? You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t believe the world owes you something.
But…” she lets out a quiet sigh. “This isn’t about you, Declan.
Not an ymore. And this,” she gestures between us limply, “this isn’t what I need.
This isn’t what I want. And I’m learning, a little late, that I matter.
And I’m not going to stand here while you try to make yourself feel better for your mistakes. "
My mouth had dropped open about halfway through her speech, but how could I refute what she was saying when it was true?
I’d trampled all over her in my quest to prove something to my father, never considering the wreckage I’d leave behind.
I took up a crusade of revenge for something that’d happened twenty years ago, never even caring if it was a worthy cause.
I take a breath, working through my thoughts. “What can I do,” I ask slowly, “to get us to a point where we can talk? Just talk?”
Something flashes through her eyes, something almost…
scheming . It’s not a familiar expression on Lily’s face, but I like it.
It looks like a woman who’s growing to know her own power; her own worth.
But the feeling is bittersweet, because I know the reason it’s there.
My actions have changed her in a way I can’t take back.
She will never be the sweet girl I first met in that coffee shop, expecting only the best of those around her.
I’ve filled her with disillusionment, and that guts me.
“You want to talk?” she asks, and I bob my head idiotically. “And nothing else? Just a conversation and then it’s done?”
My nod is a little more hesitant this time, but it comes eventually.
“Fine. I’ll give you a chance to have a conversation.” It’s not lost on me, that word chance , but I’ll take whatever inch she gives me. “But you can’t contest the annulment.”
I think of the email I received this morning, sent directly to my personal account, the words scrolling through my head like a moving picture.
Life can’t just be about legacies or what we think we owe our families.
So, you need to make a choice. If you get lucky, you might get a shot at making things right.
But I can guarantee you’ll get one chance to get on that path forward.
You miss it, and your memory will be erased like you were never there at all.
Choose, Declan, and choose wisely.
Don’t fuck it up .
I meet Lily’s eyes, the blue still filled with ice—distant and already so sure of my next move. There’s no part of her that believes I’ll give her this, but she’s underestimating what she means to me. I don’t blame her for that, even as much as I want to prove her wrong.
My answer comes quickly, with no hesitation, the word easier than anything else has been in the past two weeks.
“Done.”