Chapter 20 #2
Declan’s lying on the couch when I walk back in, sweaty, tired, but glad of the exercise. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and shorts, reading a book. One of mine.
“Doing all right?” I ask.
“I’m good.” He nods to his leg. “Changed my dressing.”
The pad on it looks fresh, held with surgical tape rather than bandages.
“That’s great. And made it in here without crutches, too.”
“Not using them.” He turns back to the book, like the conversation’s done. It looks like he’s already a third of the way through.
“So… you like historical fiction romances?”
“Not really,” he says without looking up. “Limited options.”
He’s not wrong. I don’t have a lot of physical books, they take up too much space. Most of my reading material is on my Kindle.
“Okay, then.” I pause, but he doesn’t say anything more. “Sorry I was an hour longer than I said.”
“No problem.” He still hasn’t made eye contact.
“Well, I’m going to take a shower.”
“You do that.” He turns the page. “Let me know if you need someone to wash your back.”
Tempting, very tempting. But it would be a shame to drag him away from his book. “Kurt called,” I try. “Meeting this Sunday for the next job.”
“Good. I should be better by then.”
Better, maybe. Not back to full strength. “Still too soon to ride. We’ll take an Uber.”
He grimaces. “If we must.” He’s fixed on the page in front of him like it holds the meaning of life. I read it a few months back; it’s not that good.
“Okay.” I’m still standing in the living room, still being ignored. I mentally shrug and go for the shower, not quite sure what’s going on with him.
“Raven?” he says as I walk away.
I turn. “Yeah?”
He’s looking up now. “Nice shorts. Very… tight.”
“Thanks, asshole,” I say sarcastically, and leave him to his book.
Seems Declan’s new normal is hot one moment, cold the next.
After my shower I pull on jeans and a shirt, then move the TV back into the living room. It wasn’t really worth putting in the bedroom when he hardly watched it.
“Need a hand?” he asks from the couch.
“No, because you’ll tear your stitches and Kurt will have to pay Steven a small fortune to get them redone.”
“Got it.” He nods. “Saving Kurt money over caring for my health and wellbeing.”
I choose to ignore that, flopping down in the arm chair and hugging a cushion. Watching him read.
The doubts I had on the mountain still fill my mind. Questions unanswered, and too many of them.
I start with something simple. “What do you think of that book?”
“It’s fine.”
Great. We’re back to meaningless replies, like the night before. “Yeah, but what do you think of it?”
He sets the book down, open on his chest, finally giving me his attention. “You read it, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“It focuses on the romance, and that’s not really my thing.”
Except he’s read a fair chunk of it. Maybe limited options, like he said. “And the historical fiction aspect?”
“It’s quite well-written, but inaccurate. I suppose it suits the story. The politics are way off. He has agency the power structures of the period wouldn’t have permitted.” Declan shrugs. “Like I say, it’s fine.”
Okay… he’s not wrong. But I would never have phrased it so… accurately. Where does a biker like him learn to analyze like that?
“Very erudite,” I say pointedly, and his expression wipes clean, like he’s put on a mask. Hiding again. “What did you say you did before you joined Briggs’s gang?”
He picks the book back up rather than look at me. “Marine.”
“Yeah? For how long?”
“Three years.”
“Uh-huh.” There are more gaps in Declan Hale’s life than a chain-link fence. “What age did you leave?”
“At twenty-two. Ten years ago.” The book goes back down again. “Since you’re going to ask, I then did a bachelor’s degree. Veteran’s pathway. Two years studying political science, then dropped out.” He gestures at the book. “I guess some of it landed.”
That’s the most I’ve heard from him in… ever. “Twenty-four,” I say. “And the next eight years?”
“Here and there.” His head tilts. “You know how it is, Raven. We drift from one thing to another, getting into trouble. Not something I want to talk about.”
I do know how it is, except he seems way more complicated than the life he’s describing. “You said, ‘ask me anything,’” I remind him.
“Fine.” His hands fold across his stomach. “Go ahead.”
“So with that schooling, you must’ve had job options?”
“I tried the corporate life, but I don’t do well with authority.
” He grimaces. “Lasted a year. Then I did some work as a security contractor. It’s pretty typical for ex-military.
” He shrugs a shoulder. “Prefer being out on my bike, but I still need to get paid. Did a couple of jobs through contacts, found I preferred it. Ended up joining Briggs’s gang, then he handed me off to Kurt. ”
The answer makes sense, yet for some reason it still doesn’t ring true. It’s not what he says, but how he says it. Too flat, like it’s almost rehearsed. I ask my next question without missing a beat, already having it prepared. “Where do you go on Saturday mornings?”
“I like to get out,” he says, trying for nonchalance and not quite pulling it off. “It’s not every Saturday or anything. Sometimes I just like to go and… touch grass.”
Bland. Yet difficult to pick holes in, especially when I’m not supposed to know what I know. And he hasn’t lied—not exactly.
He pushes himself up. “I’m going to take a shower.” He lifts a hand to forestall me. “Don’t worry, stay there. I can manage.”
That sounds awfully like a dismissal.
“Sure. Call me if you need me.”
I stare at the dead TV, waiting for him to leave, unease sitting low in my chest. He hops to the bathroom, stronger than he was yesterday, and the shower starts.
I give him a minute to get in, then reach for my phone and call Cammy’s number, just needing a friend to talk to.
She picks up quickly. “Hey babe, what’s new?”
“Not much. Marking time until Sunday. I assume Kurt’s told you?”
“The planning session for the secret big job? Wouldn’t miss it.” She pauses. “You’re not calling me to talk about that, are you?”
“Not really, no.”
“So how is he?”
I sigh. “Aggravating. Annoying. The absolute worst.”
“So you like him then.”
I lift the phone away from my ear, stare at it for a moment, then put it back. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. He’s affecting you more than anyone else ever has, makes you actively uncomfortable, and you’re enjoying it.”
“I… how the hell did you get that?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.” Except for the bits where she’s not. Which infuriatingly, is kinda all of it.
“Bullshit.” She gives a brief chuckle. “He’s staying with you, right?”
“Yeah…”
“Sleeping where?”
“In my bed. He’s healing.”
“That hot body, all that ink. Injured and helpless. Are you liking being on top?”
“You’re outrageous!” I swallow hard. Lower my voice, grateful that the shower’s running. “I haven’t taken advantage of him.”
“He needs help bathing and stuff though, right?”
I squirm in my chair. “I might’ve washed him.”
“How was that?”
“It was… nice.”
“I bet it was.” She gives a low whistle. “That ass. To get my hands on it… my tongue…”
“Damn, Cammy…!” My cheeks are heating. “He might be as hot as fuck, but I am not going to lick his ass!”
“He’d probably love it,” she says with a laugh. “Most men do. It’s a sensitive…”
She’s still talking, but I don’t hear her. The air pressure’s changed, or the energy in the room, or my subconscious picked up something I didn’t track. But whatever sixth sense it is, I know he’s there.
I turn slowly, looking past the back of my chair, and he’s in the hallway, a towel wrapped around his waist. Ten feet away. Staring at me. Dry. He hasn’t even got in the shower yet.
Oh, fuck no.
Blushing has never been this fast or this intense. It feels like my skin’s been blistered by the sun.
He clears his throat. “Just wanted to ask if I can use your shampoo?”
I wave a hand. “Sure. Whatever you like. Help yourself.”
He’s casual, I’m casual. Maybe he didn’t hear anything.
“Thank you.” He turns away, then pauses. “It’s not taking advantage if I’m willing.”
There is no response to that. There is literally no response to that.
Fuck my life. He heard it all. He heard everything.
Cammy gasps in my ear, then laughs so loud Declan won’t be able to miss it either.
“Thanks a lot,” I mutter.
She cackles. “You’re welcome, girlie.”
I hang up on her.
He’s limping away, back to the shower, and I swear I hear him chuckle. His towel drops before he steps into the bathroom, like he knows I’m looking, showing me the ass I just denied I’d lick, while he was standing right there.
I’m so far past embarrassment I can’t even speak.
It’s the specific, searing humiliation of being completely transparent, having no secrets left, and not even having chosen to give them up.
And he’s not awkward, not surprised, not anything.
Just dropping his towel like he knows the effect he has. Like he’s always known.
Seriously. Fuck. My. Life.