19. Declan
DECLAN
Fuck. What did I do? How could I be so reckless?
I was serious when I told Skylar I tried really fucking hard not to kiss her.
But she looked so hurt when I moved away in the kitchen.
Like I had stabbed her in the heart all over again.
I didn’t think. I ran upstairs and kissed her like our lives depended on it.
I wasn’t even drunk anymore. The second I walked in the house and saw her standing in my kitchen, hair pulled back in a braid, freckles on full display, flour smeared on her forehead, I was instantly sober.
She has the power to alter my fucking brain chemistry.
Sober when I’m supposed to be drunk. Drunk when I’m supposed to be sober.
The hot water coming out of the shower head does nothing to soothe the ache I feel as I skim over my cock with soapy fingers.
Thoughts of Skylar, wet, naked, legs wrapped tightly around me, fill my mind.
Not to mention that little moan she let out.
Shit, it would only take a couple of strokes to get me there, but I stop halfway up, dropping my hand to my side.
I don’t deserve to come to the thought of her.
Not right now. I finish up and grab a towel.
I don’t expect to see her for the rest of the day, so when I go back to the kitchen to clean up the mess and hear her cursing as she throws various towels on the floor, I can’t help but smile.
“Leave it.”
She turns around, her damp hair dripping down the front of her shirt. I know it smells like green apple. “It’s going to damage the wood.”
“You think I give a shit about the floors, Skylar?”
“I don’t know, but—”
“I’ll clean it later.”
Her face softens, but her tone remains unaffected. “Fine.”
She starts to walk out but freezes when I speak again. “Watch a movie with me.”
“What?” She runs her hands through the wet strands of her hair before pulling it back into a bun which she somehow gets to stay without even using a hair tie.
“You heard me. Watch a movie with me.” I lean against the wall, attempting to give her my best puppy-dog look. “What else are you doing right now?”
“Anything else?” She doesn’t skip a beat. “And don’t look at me like that.”
I keep my eyes on her as I cross the kitchen and open the walk-in pantry, pulling out one of the drawers. She doesn’t move at first, but then curiosity takes over, and she peeks into the drawer filled with bags of white cheddar popcorn and Red Vines neatly tucked into rows.
When she looks up at me, there’s less anger, but it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface. “You think Red Vines are going to fix this?”
“One movie,” I whisper. “You can pick.”
I’m almost certain she’s going to tell me to go fuck myself again, but then she reaches out, grabbing as many bags of popcorn and licorice as she can fit in her arms and walks out of the kitchen, her ass swaying in the flimsy pajama shorts she changed into after her shower.
I follow her to the movie room and watch as she finds a spot on the large sectional, placing her bounty of snacks next to her and hovering over them with a protective arm. “These are mine, by the way. You have to get your own.”
“I wouldn’t dare mess with your snacks, Sky. What do you want to watch?”
“Whatever.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Since when do you not have an opinion on movies?”
“I don’t really watch them anymore.” Her voice is hushed, as if she’s telling a secret.
It shouldn’t be a confession, just a fact.
People grow out of interests all the time.
It’s the unspoken words that hit me in the gut.
She doesn’t watch movies anymore because of me.
Because it was our thing. Because the last time we watched one together, she let me inside her, and I told her it didn’t mean anything.
I want to apologize and make her listen to all the reasons why I did what I did, but she’s not ready. She said it herself. She doesn’t want to know. All I can do now is take whatever pieces she’s willing to give.
“How about Casablanca?” It’s one of her favorites, and I know enough not to suggest the movie we were watching the night everything changed between us.
“Okay.” She seems only slightly hesitant, so I pull it up before she can change her mind and grab a throw blanket which I drape over her. She looks up when I do but doesn’t say anything.
The opening credits start, and she relaxes into the couch, popping open a fresh bag of Red Vines. Black and white images flicker on the screen, reflecting in her eyes as she takes a bite of the licorice, pulling it off with her teeth.
I sit down beside her, and we watch in silence. It feels weird not to be talking. We’ve watched this movie together probably a dozen times. When we were younger, we intentionally chose movies we had seen a lot so we could talk during them.
Halfway into the movie, Rick says one of his corny lines and she finally rolls her eyes and scoffs
“Still not a fan of Rick?” I mutter into the fist that’s propping my chin up.
“No. I mean, he’s fine. It’s just…”
“What?”
“He says all these sweet things. Makes such a big deal about it and then he…lets her go in the end.”
“He does the selfless thing because he knows she’s better off without him,” I argue.
She throws a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Typical man. Thinking he knows what’s best for a woman. He didn’t even give her the choice.”
“Because he knew she wouldn’t be safe with him. He gave her up even though it was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his life.”
Skylar’s eyes flick to mine as if she realizes we’re no longer talking about Rick and Ilsa, but how can she know?
Placing the bag of popcorn down on the couch, she looks me dead in the eye when she says, “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
I don’t respond. What else is there to say?
We watch the rest of the movie, and when Rick finally tells Ilsa she’s getting on that plane, I look over at Skylar, whose green eyes sparkle with unshed tears.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe Ilsa would have been strong enough for whatever came their way.
Maybe Skylar would have been too, but it doesn’t matter.
I can’t change my decision any more than I can change the script of a movie from the nineteen-forties.
When ‘the end’ flashes across the screen in big loopy letters, Skylar wipes her eye with the back of her hand before collecting the empty bags of snacks.
I go to take some of them from her, and my hand brushes against hers. She looks up, her eyes focusing on my face.
“What happened?” She says it so softly, I almost convince myself I make it up, but then she reaches out and slides her thumb gently across my split lip.
“Just a little disagreement.”
She narrows her eyes. “Someone’s sister again?”
“No. I, um…” I run a hand through my hair, still slightly damp from the shower. I said I would tell her anything and I meant it. Why not start with all the broken parts of me? She can’t hate me more than she already does. “I provoke people.”
“Provoke?”
“Yeah. There’s this bar a little outside of town. It’s a biker bar. I go there and mouth off until someone beats the shit out of me.”
“So you…” She swallows, the thought bouncing around in her head. “You get hurt on purpose?”
“It helps clear my head. It’s fucked up, I know.”
She looks down, picking my hand up in hers and examining it front to back. “No bloody knuckles.” The warmth from her hand seeps into mine, coating my soul like a balm. “You don’t fight back.”
I shake my head.
“That’s—Declan…”
“Yeah,” I sigh.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“That’s because I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“All those fights in high school…” She steps back, dropping my hand, and I instantly mourn the loss of her warmth. “When you would come to my window bloody and broken…” She trails off again. “And Ashton? You let him beat you up that night?”
That gets a laugh. Ash couldn’t beat me up if his life depended on it.
“Nah, I started and ended that shit.” She doesn’t ask why, and I don’t tell her.
One secret is probably enough for today, but I find myself speaking anyway.
“It wasn’t always this way. I started fights a lot growing up to get out my frustration.
” Fucked a lot for the same reason, but she doesn’t need to hear that either.
“When did you stop fighting back?”
Without thinking, I flex my hand, thinking of all the times I busted my knuckles as an angry kid. “When I realized the physical pain made it stop.”
“Made what stop?” Her voice cracks a little on the last word.
“The other pain.” I slap the same hand on my chest.
Her face pales as she brings a hand up to her mouth. The same hand that held mine a few seconds ago. “And this time? It was…it was because of me. Because of last night.”
Slowly and gently, I move her hand away, and she lets me. “No, Firefly. You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.”
This time she lets me call her that. She doesn’t lash out. She just shakes her head like she’s trying to break apart the thoughts swirling inside. “This is too much, Declan. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s really not.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I—” She shakes her head again. “I have to go.”
Abandoning the wrappers on the couch, she turns to leave but flips back around before reaching the doorway. “Promise me, Declan.” Her voice is strained and raw. “Promise me you’ll stop letting people hurt you.”
I nod. She could ask me to promise her anything and I’d do it. Because the truth is that she’s the only person in this universe who has the ability to truly hurt me.
But I don’t say that.