Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Evie
I’ve seen Declan do exams on Charlie before. Mostly well-child check-ups, but he had an ear infection last spring, and we happened to see Declan then, too. He’s got a wonderful manner, and Charlie has been comfortable with him since practically day one.
Watching him listen to Charlie’s heart, lungs, and belly in his living room with a stethoscope he produced from a small bag now?
Let’s just say I can’t tell if the waves of anxiety and adrenaline are coming from that fight response that activates in moms when there’s something happening with their kid, or if it’s because seeing a man who is now my husband be so tender and thorough with my son is deadly.
Probably that one. Maybe both.
“Everything sounds good. He’s got a little nasal congestion, but no wheezing and his BP is fine.
There’s a touch of redness in his throat, some swelling in the lymph nodes, but I’m not seeing anything super concerning here.
We can test him for flu and the like, but I wonder if we should give it a few hours and see if other symptoms develop. It’s up to you, though.”
The instant relief of knowing there’s no major red flag here hits, followed by a searing awareness of how ruthlessly, relentlessly hot he is when he’s doing doctor things.
“I’m okay waiting, if you think it’s okay.”
Do I trust this man with my child? Yes.
With my heart? Well, also yes. It’s just that he doesn’t know he has it, and he didn’t ask for it, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually want it, and so that means I can’t. Which is totally fine.
Maybe Taylor Swift can do it with a broken heart, but I’ve had enough heartbreak these last few years.
I don’t want any more—can’t do it again.
And something tells me this one would be particularly brutal.
Leaving my ex, my heart was broken for myself.
For being trapped and hurt and abused. I had to sort through the feelings of betrayal and face the ugliness and depravity that gets laid bare when someone physically hurts you. It’s nauseating and yes, heartbreaking.
There have been a hundred little heartbreaks since—having my baby on the side of the road, accepting I’ll raise him alone, reflecting on how lost I’d become with Trevor. Even realizing how horrible his mother was and how she made me feel like I wasn’t good enough has been painful.
All of that and I can’t help bracing against what a heartbreak with Declan would feel like.
No one has ever raised such tenderness or such longing in me.
I’ve swung from doubting myself after the wedding, to accepting it’s what the normal distance between two people who’ve agreed to marry looks like.
And whenever I look at Charlie, I’m renewed in the focus that I’ve made the right call.
Declan would never hurt him, and keeping Charlie safe is the primary goal here.
There’s no getting around the knowledge that this heartbreak would be different, and I can’t accept it. I won’t. So… I won’t let it happen.
He brushes a hand over Charlie’s head. “Let’s give it a bit before we start swabbing. Okay, Charlie?”
“Okay.” His sweet voice rings out and he climbs back into Declan’s lap.
Even this makes my chest squeeze with love for both of them—Declan’s ready acceptance of Charlie’s choosing him and my sweet boy’s comfort with settling in with him.
We’re on the couch in his house, and in the last few minutes, Grant and Finn have started hauling things inside. They’re moving so quickly, they’ll be done within an hour, I bet.
And based on the big yawn, we’ll need the crib soon.
Charlie’s leaning back enough that Declan lays him down in his arms. At this age, a healthy Charlie would most likely squirm to sit up. Not today. He lays there staring up at Declan, who’s gazing right back down at him.
“I think he might not be long for consciousness.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I agree.
Ten minutes later, I’ve witnessed Declan watch Charlie’s eyes droop then close. And Declan just held him, gaze pinned on my son. And I just watched him, eyes glued to the man holding my son so tenderly.
Charlie’s getting big, but in Declan’s arms, he seems smaller. The combination is brutal.
“Charlie’s room is all set. We’ll be back with the second load in a few.”
Finn’s words snap me out of my dreamy stare, and I stand.
“Let’s see if we can get him settled in his crib. Then your hands will be free.”
“I don’t mind.” His response is instant.
I fall a little further.
“It’s pretty sweet just holding him like this, isn’t it?”
His eyes find mine and he nods. What would I pay for insight into what’s happening in that head of his?
He’s promised me he’ll tell me the truth, but that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily forthcoming.
And after we essentially avoided each other all week, it’s almost painful to be so close and not touching and talking.
Not at ease, like we were for at least a few hours last weekend.
After a few more minutes, he acquiesces. “I guess I should help them.”
The reluctance in his voice is unmissable, but I won’t stop him.
We both walk up to Charlie’s room. It looks perfect with his crib and changing table amid the pale blue Declan chose, and I see that the baby monitor is already set up.
I’m sure I have Grant to thank for that.
Declan sets Charlie down gently, his bare forearms flexing in an alarmingly distracting way.
I shouldn’t be reacting to the man’s arms while he’s laying my sick baby down to sleep, but here we are.
We slip out after turning the light off and he shuts the door gently.
Why is every single thing he does melting me? It must be hormones. Or pheromones. Or that marriage license with both of our names on it and the absolutely sacrificial love he’s shown in everything he’s done for us.
Yeah, maybe.
Back downstairs, we find my new brothers-in-law waiting for us by the front door.
“Okay, we got everything offloaded in the living room. I’ve got to get over to the gym and Grant’s got, like, a family or something?” Finn shoots Grant a perplexed look. “Anyway, have a great Saturday, you two.” I could swear he winks at Declan.
“Thank you both so much,” I say, walking them out.
They really are remarkably kind men. The whole family is lovely, and I have to force away the emotion rising in my throat when I think of how persistently helpful and generous they’ve all been.
It’s so completely opposite from the solitude I was used to for so long—to a degree here, though this small town has welcomed me as much as I’ve let it, but for the years and years before, too.
“Hope Charlie feels better soon. Let us know if you need anything.” Grant pats the door frame as he and Finn exit.
And then they close the door, and Declan and I are truly alone for the first time since our wedding day.
There are so many things I want to say to him, but I’m blocked up, stunted by the reality that we’re here because of my bad choices to begin with.
Most of the time, I’ve forgiven myself for being with Trevor for so long. I’ve recognized that his slow, steady escalation in abusing me plus my lack of family and other resources made me a perfect candidate for his cruelty.
Most of the time, I can look at Charlie and feel compassion for myself, paired with gratitude that I have my son.
It doesn’t erase the harm I endured. It doesn’t make me skip along and say, Everything happens for a reason, because I won’t buy that.
Some people are horrible and they don’t deserve to be excused and given a pass because something good managed to grow in the ashes of what they burned down.
The credit for that goes to the growing thing.
These are truths I logically acknowledge now, but in my gut, in that soft heart of mine, I don’t know how to talk to this man who is so utterly different from what I’ve known in the past. I feel almost desperate to know and be known by him, but I’m completely closed off to that because of the circumstances.
I can’t force my way in, can I? And he seems to be holding me at a distance, so I need to respect that. It’s the nature of this situation we’ve opted into. And if I did somehow have the privilege of getting closer… Well. I wouldn’t be doing that heart any favors, would I?
“Let’s try to get you settled while he’s sleeping,” Declan finally says.
And I nod. It’ll be easier to deal with the bins and suitcases Grant and Finn brought over before Charlie’s up to help me. Hopefully, a nap will help him feel better.
Hours later, Charlie’s finally back down to sleep after a rocky evening. We ended up taking him to the clinic so Declan could test him for the usual suspects, and nothing popped. It’s an unidentified virus that has my little guy miserable, and I hate it.
But I’m not nearly as bedraggled as I would be without Declan. He’s held Charlie as much as Charlie would allow, and when he wasn’t doing the hands-on comforting, he brought us both water, snacks for me, and anything else he could think of paired with medicine by the clock.
Charlie’s illness has been enough to distract me from the fact that I’m now about to go to bed in Declan’s room.
It’s wrong for me to take this space from him, this beautiful room I’m certain he enjoys based on the way there are at least a few photos and personal touches around.
I’ve run through ways to convince him to let me take the couch, but he helped load all of my things into his room earlier and my meager protests were met with silent, flinty stares.
The man communicates so much with those bright eyes and the hard line of his jaw. And his soft lips. And his warm hands.
Okay so maybe, in the dreamlike series of events that have taken place today, I’ve gotten a little thirsty for my husband. That’ll happen when you know you’re never going to get to take a drink, I suppose.
I am so tired, I’m almost dizzy with exhaustion.
It’s why I’m making no more of an effort to protest this set up.
I brush my teeth and change into jammies and am just about to slip into the beautiful bed I’ve been low-key fantasizing about since I saw it more than a week ago when there’s a quiet knock on the door.
My pulse jumps as I answer it, opening the solid wood to find Declan standing there with a glass of water.
“Wanted to make sure you have everything you need.” His eyes stay firmly planted on mine.
“Everything’s great. Except for the part where I’m sleeping in your bed.” Without you. I don’t say that last part because as tired as I am, I haven’t lost all sense of reality.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
See? With the not even acknowledging there’s another option where he takes the bed?
“Thank you. I hope you’ll do okay on the couch. Seems like it’s not quite big enough for you.” My gaze is a hungry little beggar, and it drifts down over his thin T-shirt and soft knit sweats. It’s by far the most undone I’ve ever seen him.
Seeing this composed, purposeful man in such a casual state… it’s the dinner here times ten. Instead of jeans, it’s sweats. Instead of relaxed hair, it’s downright mussed, and that’s to say nothing of his glasses.
He’s a damn fantasy, and it’s messing me up.
“I’ll be fine.” He hands me the water.
I take it, then wonder if there’s more to say. I want to keep talking to him, but the pull of sleep is strong.
He grips the door frame with his right hand, the firm bulge of his bicep drawing my eye.
Good grief, he doesn’t even realize he’s posing in a doorway and my exhausted mind is too easily imagining sliding my hands up under his shirt and taking a personalized tour of the lean, delicious muscles currently draped in that soft T.
His throat works when he swallows, then dips his chin. He shifts his weight like he’s going to leave but then hesitates. His eyes hook into mine the way they do sometimes and he says, “I missed you this week.”
My heart squeezes and my breath catches. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Yet again, he comes at me with tenderness, and it’s nearly clogging my throat with that pressing ache of longing. “I missed you, too.”
We stay like that, connected and breathing together, before he breaks the link and gently pats the doorframe. “Night.”
I whisper the same, and then he’s gone.
I fall asleep with his face in my mind, his voice in my memory, his kiss in my dreams.