Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Declan
My run this morning feels like trudging through an over-full dumpster. It’s what I get for drinking last night.
I can count the number of times I’ve had any kind of alcohol in the last year on two hands, and one of them was last night.
I’m a fairly large man, but I cannot hold my liquor.
I have no desire to. It isn’t a part of my life, and my health thanks me for it.
I enjoy a beer or glass of wine on rare occasions socially, and otherwise, I’d just as soon have ice water.
So last night was an aberrance, and I feel it today. Not as bad as I expected, frankly, especially now that I’ve suffered through that awful run.
The worst part is how I remember every word I said to Evie. The tension in my body, the longing in my heart, the absolute crush of desire as I said all the things I wanted from her… and then I turned and left.
Good thing. I know it was the right move. But I feel like an utter shit heel for it. I’m sure she felt pressured, and maybe even uncomfortable. I hope she knew she was never in danger from me. But the thought that even my words had made her feel unsteady, unsafe in any way…
I’ve never been so forward. She didn’t seem scared, but can I evaluate that properly? No. Not until I see her and talk to her in the sober light of day.
I finish scrambling the eggs in the pan and serve them onto two plates. Slices of toast pop up from the toaster, so I grab them and slather them with butter, then I cut one of them into little squares for Charlie. On the side, there’s a late summer peach sliced up.
I can’t erase last night, but I can feed them. I can take care of her and show her I haven’t devolved into a slobbering idiot just because I had a few shots of tequila at my brother’s birthday party.
“Good morning, Declan,” Evie says, and Charlie echoes, “Good morning!”
His giant smile eases a bit of my self-loathing because it’s impossible to feel sorry for yourself when this little one is grinning at you and reaching for you.
Reaching for me. It hits me like it does sometimes—what a privilege it is to be someone he reaches for.
“Morning, Evie. Charlie.” I bend and smile at him, then take him when she urges him into my arms.
She grabs his bib and I settle him into his highchair. I am a wuss and focus on Charlie instead of looking her directly in the eye. I need to talk to her, but I don’t know where to start.
Sorry I said I wanted to feast on you last night. It’s true, but I didn’t mean to freak you out.
Yeah. That’ll go perfectly.
“How are you feeling?” She moves into the kitchen and places a hand on my shoulder as she passes.
Okay, voluntary touching is a good thing. Evie’s a fairly tactile person, but I think she tends to keep it under wraps around me. Or she has. Her touch gives me a small burst of hope that maybe I haven’t made as big a mess as I’ve feared.
“I’m okay. Feeling like an idiot.”
She takes the plates and sets one in front of Charlie, then one at the table. Turning to me, she smiles. “You mentioned that last night.”
“I remember.”
Her lashes flutter. She swallows. Licks her lips. “Do you?”
Here’s where I could pretend I don’t remember what I said. But I have to stop holding back so much. It’s unkind to her and it’s beginning to feel cruel to me.
“I remember everything I said.”
We breathe through the next seconds, our gazes locked. I’m begging her to say something—to help me know how much groveling I need to do for what I said.
A blush steals over her cheeks and down her neck. My heart trips.
Charlie shouts out an “Uh-oh!” and Evie shakes her head as though waking from a dream and turns to respond. She retrieves his drink from the floor where he knocked it, then turns back to me.
“I’m sorry if what I said was over the line. It’s unacceptable to make you uncomfortable in your own home, and I—”
“No, please don’t apologize. I’m sure you didn’t mean it, and—”
“I did.”
Her mouth opens but she doesn’t speak, and in another beat, it snaps closed.
“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I won’t pretend I did. But I want to make clear that I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. The timing was wrong, and I hope you can forgive me for—for—coming on too strong.”
Her gaze shifts to the ground, then the fridge, the sink, over my shoulder to whatever’s there, then to the center of my chest before she finally meets my eyes again.
It’s not disgust or regret or hurt or anger there. It’s confusion, which isn’t anywhere near what I’ve been expecting.
“I’ll admit, I don’t understand.”
I nod, because I can do nothing else. I accept she’s confused. I’m not sure how to help it other than to be less cagey and more forthcoming, though that’s, in some ways, what I was just apologizing for.
“I told you a bit about my feelings last weekend.” She waits patiently while I find the next words. “That was true. And last night, my guard was down, so I may have made that a bit clearer. I’m aware it was likely too much, too soon to say the least.”
“I think that’s where I get confused. We connected on the trip, and then we got home, and I thought we’d continue.
” Her blush deepens to a bright red. “And then you acted like we were back to where we were before we ever went on the camping trip. Before you—you said I was your favorite and we kissed.”
My gut tightens with a mix of guilt and longing. “I didn’t mean for it to be confusing.”
I run a hand through my hair and watch as Charlie uses a perfect little pincer grasp to hold a square of toast. He’s a good eater, and I’m grateful for this time to talk, but part of me wants to run away.
If I don’t, very soon, I’ll have to clarify everything. She deserves that. But it might—it’ll hurt.
She exhales and paces over to the stove, grabbing the pan I used for the eggs and placing it in the sink.
“I don’t understand what happened. Did I do something wrong?” She rests her hands at the edge of the sink, still facing away from me.
My heart aches. “No. No, you’ve done nothing wrong, love. I—” My jaw snaps shut and my teeth grind.
She turns. “Please just tell me. I can’t figure it out on my own, okay? I don’t know what’s supposed to happen. I’ve never been with someone like you, Dec, and I didn’t think about how messy this would be.”
She sniffs and I realize she’s on the verge of crying. I hate that I’ve caused her distress, even though I saw evidence of it plain as day last week, too.
“I have feelings for you, Evie. And I can’t force those on you. It’s not fair. You’re grateful to me, yes, but I—”
“I’m grateful? Of course I am! How could I not be when you’ve done so much for us? Declan, we’re living with you. You made us breakfast!”
She says it like it’s a moral failing and I have no idea how to respond except with the facts.
“Exactly. Exactly. You see each of these things as something you’re incurring a debt for.
I don’t see it that way at all. I only see how you two being here has made my life immeasurably better, but Evie…
” I take a slow breath to calm myself and step forward, needing to touch her when I say this.
My hand comes to her forearm and I cup it.
“I can’t be with someone I care about who doesn’t feel the same.
I can’t have you pretending because you’re grateful. ”
Her face falls and she rears back almost like I’ve slapped her. But she’s not hurt, she’s stunned.
“Last night, you said I think I owe you.” Her throat works on a swallow. “Is that what you mean? You think I’d sleep with you as a kind of payment for marrying me? You think I’d pretend to care about you?”
It sounds awful when she says it like that.
“I don’t mean that you’d use yourself to—to—to pay me or something.
I only mean that I’ve been through something like this before—not marriage, but being with someone lovely who ended up staying because she felt she should, not because she wanted to, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to me.
I want you, but I can’t stomach the thought of you doing anything you don’t actually actively desire. ”
There’s a beat of silence. In this slip of a moment, I see a flash of anger on her face. My mind is a jumble of words that make no sense, and I’m frantic to help her understand, but she breaks everything wide open.
“I think you should go get cleaned up and we’ll walk to work soon.”
I blink and stand there like the brainless mannequin I apparently am. “Evie, I’m sorry.”
“If you apologize again, I’m going to lose my mind, okay?” She’s got a fake smile on her face and her voice is syrupy and unnaturally calm. “I am really angry with you, but I want to have this discussion later after I’ve had a chance to formulate my thoughts. Okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Just, please, know that I’m not—”
“Declan, please.”
“Okay. I’ll go.”
I want to beg her to tell me when we can talk again.
Or even what she’s angry about. I’m not sure I know, and I’m incensed with myself that I’ve hurt her and I can’t even parse out why.
Likely because I insinuated she’d prostitute herself, though I’d like to think she knows I don’t think that. I don’t mean that.
I hesitate at the stairs, mind screaming for something I can do or say to convey that I know this is on me. I’ve hurt her, confused her, maybe even made her feel led on in a bizarre twist. And now I’ve insulted her and made her angry.
Knowing the best thing I can do is respect her wishes, I head up, praying with each step I take that she’ll forgive me.