34. Declan
DECLAN
Skylar nibbles her lip, twirling a lock of her auburn hair around her finger as her right leg bounces.
“Baby,” I say softly. “It’s going to be okay.”
“What could be so urgent?” she asks.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.
” I keep my tone calm, even though I’m anything but.
My dad was arrested. Just like that. Thanks to Nicole’s confession and the recovered text messages on the burner Claire found, he was hauled away in cuffs for trying to have my wife killed.
His assistant is a nutcase, both of them are, although I get it.
I know the toll someone like Marshall Astor can take on a person.
He wasn’t even remotely sorry for any of it.
Not when we barged into his office, not when Claire called him out on everything he had done, not even when I was beating the ever-living shit out of him.
But, fuck, did that feel good. It was a long time coming.
Ever since he locked me in that damn closet, I knew there would come a time when I would get him back for everything.
Messing with my sister’s life.
Making me think I was like him.
Treating my mother like she was worthless.
Maybe he never pushed her down the stairs, but he was abusive in other ways.
Now he’s the one who’s going to be locked in the dark. Let’s see how he fucking likes it.
I know exactly who gave Skylar that incriminating paperwork, but I can’t deal with that right now. First, we have to figure out what this lawyer wants.
I turn onto the highway, thinking it will get us back to Emberfield faster than the back roads. Skylar is still fidgeting, so I rub my thumb over the back of her hand where our fingers are connected. She gives me a small smile, but it’s not real.
“My stepfather is dying,” she blurts out, covering her mouth with her other hand as if she’s surprised she said it.
“What?” I ask softly. I guess her mother did get remarried. The man in the picture on her mantel. He’s…dying?
“He’s in liver failure and needs a transplant, but he doesn’t have insurance.
Neither does my mom. That’s why I need the money from my trust, Declan.
I need to pay for it. If there’s something wrong—if the marriage wasn’t really legal or someone found out that we did it to obtain the trust…
I just…I really need that money.” She shakes her head, worry pouring out of her.
Her words make my heart ache, but it all makes sense now.
I knew there had to be a reason why she wanted that money so badly.
Skylar is the least materialistic person I know.
She would just as soon have the money donated to charity before keeping any of it for herself.
I didn’t even question it because trying to access the trust meant she had to stay married to me.
It meant there was a chance I could fix what I had broken.
It was selfish.
I was selfish.
Guilt curls in my gut.
If I had asked her why she needed the money, I could have helped her stepdad weeks ago. Instead, I kept her here, putting her right in the path of my father.
“I’m so sorry, Firefly.” I mean for all of it, but I let her think I’m sorry her stepfather is dying because I need her to calm down.
“But we didn’t do it to get the trust, Skylar, and you know that.
” I flick my eyes to her quickly before looking back at the road.
The last thing we need is another car accident.
“We got married before you even knew about the marriage stipulation, and it’s definitely legal. ”
Her leg stills, and she pops her lip out from between her teeth. “You’re right. It’s—it’s going to be okay, right? He probably wants to get the whole thing over with since it’s my birthday and he can finally tie up all the loose ends.” She sits back in her seat. “That’s gotta be it, right?”
“Yeah, baby. Everything is going to be okay,” I assure her.
Even if there is something wrong with the trust, I’m going to make this right.
Patrick Ross’s office is about a ten-minute drive from the center of Emberfield.
It’s in one of those business suites, so next door is a pediatric dentist and on the other side is a psychiatrist. As we walk to the door, I think about how I’d rather be going to either one of those than to this lawyer who might deliver the news that breaks my wife’s heart. Ironic coming from me, I know.
We walk in, and for the second time today, we’re greeted by a brunette woman in a pencil skirt, although this one looks a lot less unhinged.
“Mr. Ross is waiting for you,” she says, skipping the pleasantries. “Right this way.”
She takes us down a hallway, and I can’t help the déjà vu that creeps along my spine. It was only a little over an hour ago that we were being led down a hallway before I busted my knuckles on my father’s face.
Patrick stands when we enter. He’s a few inches shorter than me with grays scattered around his dark hair. He reminds me a little of my father, which only makes me more uneasy when he looks at me as if I don’t belong here.
“Skylar, please take a seat.” He gestures to the chairs opposite his desk. “I didn’t realize you were bringing a friend.”
I open my mouth to correct him, but Skylar beats me to it. “This is my husband, Declan.”
“Ah, right. Nice to meet you, Declan.” He extends his hand.
I look down at it for a good few seconds before I take it, gripping it maybe a little too hard.
There’s something about this guy I don’t trust. I just can’t put my finger on it.
Maybe it’s his sweaty hand or the way he keeps clearing his throat every time he speaks. He’s nervous, which is not a good sign.
Patrick pulls his hand back, wiping it on his pants. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”
“What’s going on?” Skylar asks as she sits down in one of the chairs. I sit next to her, taking her hand in mine, and Patrick goes back to his desk.
He steeples his fingers, and now I want to punch him in the face. I fucking hate when people do that.
“Well, first of all, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Twenty-five. It’s a big one.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s what was so urgent? You wanted to wish me a happy birthday?”
My wife is clearly not messing around, and for once, her anger is directed at someone other than me, so I lean back in my chair, gloating a little bit.
“No, that’s not what was urgent,” Patrick says, flashing a fake smile as he produces an envelope from a manila folder on his desk and hands it to Skylar. “Your father wanted you to have this on your twenty-fifth birthday.”
She takes the envelope from him. It has her name scrawled in messy script on the front.
She looks from Patrick to me, and I nod my head, letting her know I’m here for her.
Letting go of my hand, she slips her index finger into the little hole where the glue has come undone and slides it along the seam.
She pulls out a letter. As she reads, her hand finds mine again and squeezes.
It’s torture not knowing what’s in that letter—if it’s making her happy or sad, if she’s angry or frustrated by her father’s words.
When she finally gets to the end, her eyebrows knit together, and she looks up at Patrick. “What does he mean, ‘I took it out of your inheritance’?”
Patrick pales a little, but doesn’t seem shocked by her question, as if he were even expecting it.
He clears his throat again before delivering a clearly practiced speech.
“Skylar. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that an amendment your father made to his will shortly before his death was misfiled.”
“Misfiled?” she repeats. I know that tone. It’s the same one she used when I asked her about her injured arm all those months ago.
Another throat clear. “I was out of the office, and my paralegal was handling my clients. It seems that, when your father made the change, the email he sent was, um, overlooked.”
Skylar looks back at the letter, then up to Patrick. “The change being…”
“The marriage stipulation was taken out,” he confirms.
“So, this whole time—”
“I do apologize for the oversight, Skylar. This has never happened before, but yes, there is no marriage stipulation, and now that you’re twenty-five, you have access to your trust, which is good news.
We just have to do some paperwork, and it will be all set.
” He’s smiling now, clearly relieved that what he thought was the hard part is over.
Admitting mistakes isn’t easy, though he didn’t really admit anything, but rather fumbled through it like an uncoordinated fool.
“I need some air,” Skylar announces, standing abruptly before walking out of the office.
I stay seated, staring at Patrick for a good ten seconds, giving her a moment alone while also making him as uncomfortable as possible. I make sure he understands my intent before I stand up and follow her out.
She’s leaning against the railing outside the office, her long hair flowing in the warm breeze. It’s spring now, which in New England could mean flowers and sunshine or more snow. Thankfully, it’s the former today. It's mild, like the day I first met Skylar in the park down the road from her house.
“Who sent me that first text, Declan?” she asks, and it’s so out of left field that it takes me a second to realize what she’s talking about.
It’s not what I expected her to be focused on, but the mind does funny things when it’s overwhelmed.
She pushes off the railing. “It wasn’t Claire.
She was adamant about that. And it obviously wasn’t Nicole.
Your dad somehow found out about the text and that’s when he told her to come after me. So who was it?”
“I think I know,” I say. “But we don’t have to talk about that now. We can—”
“No, Declan. I want to know now.”
“My mom.” It comes out so quiet that I almost think she doesn’t hear me, but then her brows furrow in confusion.
“Your mom?”
“Amelia must have told her about the marriage. Or my dad. Either way, she probably remembered you and looked you up. She saw that you worked at a newspaper. I don’t think she necessarily knew you were looking into Marshall, but she realized that giving you that evidence would provide the resources to expose him.
She probably assumed you'd help because I would have told you how much I hated him. I think she was looking for any way to get him out of our lives for good.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I called her the night I found you in the car. She gave me the address. I knew it seemed familiar, but I didn’t connect the dots until later.
A long time ago, when my dad actually cared enough to keep his affairs from my mom, he bought a condo at the edge of town.
My mom eventually found out about it, and that’s when he stopped hiding that shit from her.
Turns out he never sold it. That's where she sent you that first time and how she knew you might be there. She must have realized my dad found out and would try to lure you back to that same spot.”
She takes a step toward me. “Have you talked to her about any of this?”
“She hasn’t returned my calls. I think she’s ashamed that she almost got you killed.”
“But if she hadn’t, your dad would still be free.”
I stalk forward, closing the distance between us.
“I don’t care about any of that, Skylar.
I was looking into him too. That’s why Nate was at the house that day.
I even hired a PI. When Marshall fired me, I realized he was up to some sketchy shit and wanted me gone before I could prove it.
Honestly, I knew before then. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to take him down for years, but none of that matters anymore. Not if you were hurt. If you…”
I can’t even say the words.
“I didn’t,” she says, reading my mind. She lays her hand on my chest. “I didn’t die.”
“You came too fucking close,” I counter.
Truthfully, I’m just as pissed at my mom as she is at herself, which is why I gave up on trying to reach her.
She put Skylar in danger, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive her for that, even if she did also help save her life.
Skylar shouldn’t have been in that position in the first fucking place.
She lets out a humorless laugh, throwing her hands up in the air. “What a mess. After all that, we didn’t even need to stay married.”
“Skylar.” My heart squeezes painfully, choosing my next words carefully.
I don’t want to say them, but I made a promise.
When she was dying and I was pleading with any higher power that might be listening, I made a promise that I would give her the choice I took from her six years ago, and I fully intend on keeping that promise.
“We can get a divorce,” I say softly. “I guess we could have all along but…” I brush my thumb over my mouth.
“God, I’m fucking this up. I should have asked you why you needed that money.
My grandfather left me money. A lot of it.
I could have given it to you, and we could have gone our separate ways, but I was the same selfish asshole I’ve always been.
I guess what I’m saying is we can go talk to a lawyer whenever you want. ”
Skylar takes another step forward, erasing the little space that previously existed between us. Her breath is hot against my cheeks. She smells like green apple and sunshine. “Declan Astor, are you pulling another fucking Rick-Blaine-bullshit sacrifice stunt on me?”
“What? No, I’m—”
“You’re giving up on us, then?” she accuses, her green eyes furious.
“I’m trying to give you the choice this time. I didn’t last time.”
“Yeah?” she seethes, lightly pushing my chest. “Well, guess what? I choose you. You don’t get to leave me again, Declan. You’re stuck with me now. We’re married, and you’re not going to get out of it as easily as last time. Do you understand me?”
My heart couldn’t soar any higher if it were a fucking bald eagle. She wants to stay married to me.
She’s choosing me.
“I asked you a question,” she snaps, her hands now planted firmly on her hips.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Good,” she says, smoothing out my shirt from where it bunched up a little. “Then take me home, Declan.”