Chapter 18
AVAH
This afternoon we did what we were supposed to do.
I managed to keep a straight face while a realtor took us from one overpriced condo to the next, all while Declan’s hand never left my waist. He must’ve seen the look on my face after we looked at another glassbox with a view, because he insisted they show us upgraded brownstones instead.
I wanted to protest, because he shouldn’t be buying a house based on my preferences.
Yet, he guided me through each perfectly furnished room, smiling and nodding at the right moments while looking out for one with the perfect fireplace.
Whenever the realtor asked a question, he referred back to me, telling him to ask his ‘wife’ or even his ‘new bride’.
Which is how we ended up picking a brownstone with hardwood floors, crown molding, and a working fireplace. It’s fully furnished and we can move in tomorrow.
Now, I’m planted on the couch in our honeymoon suit, gifted to us by Declan’s newest sponsor, staring at the card that welcomes Mr and Mrs Murphy.
The entire day has felt a bit too real. Too much. Too complicated.
Behind closed doors, the dynamic between us will undoubtedly shift again and I’m struggling to compartmentalize.
Everything is jumbled together. My admiration of his game, his skill, and his ambition, the way he stuck to drinking water today, the way he looked at me, the warmth of his constant closeness, how he kissed me today… twice.
See…a mess.
I’m not quite sure my heart knows how to beat normally after today.
“This is insane,” I mumble, everything that happened in the past twelve hours catching up with me. “This is completely insane.”
Declan tips the doorman who’s just brought in our overnight bags. He’s still in his suit, though the jacket and tie are gone. His sleeves are rolled up, his collar undone, and he still looks sharp. He thanks the man with that easy Boston charm before turning back to me.
Is his mind also reeling?
He walks straight to the small bar set up in the corner of our suite.
A bucket of champagne sits on ice, while rows of amber and gold liquid glint against the mirrored shelves.
No one could say this suite wasn’t beautiful or even indulgent.
There are candles, plush carpets, and a hot tub that will not be used tonight.
An entire stage set for something neither one of us agreed to.
I watch Declan plant both palms against the marble bar top, his shoulders tight as he breathes slowly.
The whole day he hasn’t touched alcohol, not even when others raised their glasses around us.
He didn’t look uncomfortable at any point, but I wondered what was going through his mind, what it cost him to stand there with water instead.
Father…I reach out to God with my heart. Should I say something?
No. It’s firm and clear.
So, I wait. Without saying a word, I watch instead.
Declan peels the foil from the champagne bottle, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the effort. He eases the cork free with practiced care. The pop sounds louder than it should in the quiet room.
Father be here with Him. Let your presence be enough to ease Declan, so he won’t need anything else from the bar.
He pours one glass, watching the bubbles fizz and rise, then stops. His jaw works. He sets the bottle down, firmly, before pulling open the mini-fridge instead. He takes out a bottle of water before heading over toward me.
“Here you go,” he says, handing me the glass of champagne. “Congratulations on getting your pass to stay in the States, Snowflake.”
Thank you, Father.
Taking the glass from him, his fingers brush against my own and relief floods me knowing that it might not seem like much to Declan…but he’s taking a step in the right direction.
“And congratulations to you too,” I say, taking a small sip before putting the glass down on the table next to me. I don’t want to be insensitive. Besides, after today, I don’t need a drink to mess with my mind. It’s already pretty muddled without the added alcohol.
“Don’t congratulate me yet,” he says, twisting the cap from the bottle and drinking deeply as frustration rolls off him.
“I still have a week’s worth of suspension left.
I’m not allowed to practice with the team, I can’t even get on the ice…
” he looks at me, his dark eyes flashing with something akin to the confusion I feel too.
“And if today is any indication, I’ll have to jump through more PR hoops before I get what I want. ”
My gaze drops as I try to ignore the slight disappointment at being slugged in with PR hoops.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It won’t do me any good to pretend that there’s more than an agreement between us.
At least Declan’s head is on straight. And his reminder of this being purely for PR and documentation purposes just helps me to get my own mind back on track.
“I guess this is what we signed up for,” I say, getting up and marching to the bedroom door. It’s been a long day and I need a shower, a soft duvet and my Bible open across my lap. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
Declan frowns slightly as I brush past him, the plastic of the water bottle crunching beneath his grip. Opening the bedroom door, I freeze.
The space is lowly lit with a few candles. There are rose petals scattered across a giant bed with a platter of chocolate covered strawberries sitting at the foot of the bed. Like a scene straight out of a movie, right in time to mock me.
“Just perfect,” I mutter, the bitterness clear in my voice, even to my own ears.
This is not going to be a real honeymoon, in any sense. Yet, seeing this leaves me with an ache in my heart. Last year, I thought I’d get this night with my husband. And now, I’m standing in the most beautiful room, with a husband, and there won’t be a honeymoon.
The irony is not lost on me.
Some people like to downplay it, but I can’t.
I won’t. I gave myself to Axel because I believed he was my forever, and I had to learn the hard way that physical intimacy outside of covenant, just leaves you with scars that run deeper than anyone admits.
It binds you, even when vows were never spoken, and those ties in your soul can only be undone by the grace of God.
That’s why I made the ‘no intimacy’ rule with Declan.
It’s not about playing coy or holding power over him.
It’s about survival and obedience. Even if we are technically married, I have no right to enter into an intimate relationship with anyone when I haven’t dealt with Axel yet.
The hurt, the unforgiveness, the things that bound us together…
they haven’t been severed by God yet. And it wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.
And yet, Declan is dangerously easy to lean into.
His presence, the warmth of his closeness, the unguarded way he sometimes looks at me…
I need to be more intentional about drawing a line.
I can’t allow myself to get too involved when there’s a clear expiration date on our relationship.
It will just leave me with more wounds to heal.
Declan comes up from behind me, letting out a low chuckle.
“Well, ain’t that a sight,” he says across my shoulder. “At least the bed is big enough for both of us.”
I turn toward him, quirking an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“What?” he asks, all wide-eyed innocence, but with a smirk threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Are you seriously going to deny me a mattress too?”
“You know the deal, Declan.”
“I know the deal, Snowflake.” He leans against the door, his arms folded. “I never said anything about touching you. They even have pillows so you can build a wall between us if that’ll make you feel better.”
A pillow wall. That won’t be nearly enough. I need a brick wall between us, preferably one that’s reinforced with barbed wire.
“Or you can take the couch,” I suggest, tilting my head toward it. “It looks very comfy.”
He looks over his shoulder, then back at me. His smirk slips. “You’re serious?”
“How did you put it?” I ask, tapping my finger against my chin, like I’m searching for the word. “As serious as a suspension? Or a deportation?”
He shakes his head, chuckling again. Only this time it’s hollow and without humor.
“Is this what my marriage is going to look like?” he asks, walking past me into the bedroom. My first thought is that he’s going to claim the bed like a two-year old, but instead he grabs a few pillows before brushing past me again, tossing them on the couch. “I guess, it’s as normal as it gets.”
His words cause something inside me to snap. “This is not normal,” I say, clear irritation in my voice.
“Agree to disagree,” he says, stretching out on the couch like he owns it. “I’m not the only husband in the city sleeping on a couch tonight. I’m willing to bet my life on it.”
To him this is what marriage is like—a wife withholding from her husband while he’s sulking on the couch. A part of me hates that our agreement is only feeding into Declan’s distorted view on relationships.
I cross my arms. “Why are you so cynical?”
He doesn’t even blink, just shrugs. “Why aren’t you?”
I just stare at him, unable to prove him wrong in the situation we’re in. I didn’t have a perfect relationship, in fact I should be front and center when it comes to cynicism given what Axel did to me.
But I’m not cynical, because I know I’m not the poster child of what a godly person should be.
Everybody makes mistakes. That’s why I have hope that God has something more for me.
That marriages exist where wives submit to their husbands, and their husbands love their wives like Jesus loves the church.
I believe there are relationships where love doesn’t have an expiration date, where love means you have security and protection, and someone who will persevere with you no matter the circumstances.
“Don’t look at me like that, Snowflake,” he says, his voice cutting through the space with jagged edges.
“This is exactly why I don’t do messy or complicated.
You want me to dig deep and explain why I think the way I think.
” He scoffs, leaning forward. “What’s the use anyway?
Someone usually decides they are sick of the other and then they leave. ”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of his words.
“You don’t do messy or complicated? What would you call this then?” I ask, gesturing between us. “And who’s leaving?”
I shouldn’t have asked the question, because I don’t think I’m going to like the answer. Which in itself should tell me this arrangement is no longer what I thought it was going to be. I already care too much.
He rises from the couch, his dark eyes pinning me to the spot. The air in the room shifts, now heavy with intensity.
“I don’t think this thing between us is complicated at all,” he says, his voice low and steady.
Does he really believe this arrangement is simple? With all the paperwork and cover-ups? Or does he not want to consider the alternative...just like me.
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t leave in two years, Snowflake. You’ll want out at some point. In fact, I’m pretty sure you made that part a rule.”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “Don’t twist this all on me, Murphy. If I remember correctly, you wanted out in six months. I’m not the one with a track record that suggests I’m terrified of commitment.”
His jaw ticks, something raw flashing across his face. “No, you’re just the one writing expiration dates in bright red ink while insisting on hiding behind rules. Hard lines and strict boundaries. Sounds like a pot-kettle situation.”
His words slam into me. He’s not wrong…but neither am I.
For a second I can only stare at him. “Declan Murphy, king of agreements and master of rules, wants to be mad at me? For playing by his own rules? For doing to you what you’ve been doing to all your girlfriends over the years?”
He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t have to. Which is perfect, because I have more to say to him.
I jab my finger into his chest, the golden flecks in his eyes sparking with challenge.
“Are you going to pretend like your other girlfriends left you high and dry? Like you’re the one who’s been hurt all these years?
Like you were ready for more but they got tired of you and left?
” I shake my head, unable to keep from laughing.
“I’m not buying it, Murphy. In fact, I’m sure it’s the other way around.
I bet you can dial a random number on your contact list, and that woman would come running back in a minute. ”
His mouth curves, sharp and humorless. “Thanks for the compliment.”
“It’s not a compliment,” I bite out. “I’m telling you, you’re a coward.”
He huffs, running his hand through his hair. “Back to tossing daggers, huh?”
“No, seriously, Declan. I’m asking if this is why you do it.
” I search his eyes, his face, for any indication that he’ll admit the truth.
“Is that why you keep things shallow? Because you’re terrified of what would happen if someone actually stays…
or maybe it’s because you think they’d leave the moment you show who you really are. ”
My words hit, his head whips toward me, anger now flashing in his eyes.
“Why wouldn’t they leave?” he asks, suddenly so close as he leans down facing me head on. “I don’t have much to offer, do I? You told me I don’t have a lot to draw from, remember? That I am controlled by my basic human drives. A fight, a woman, a drink.”
His words hit me. I remember that night in the parking lot. I also remember that I regretted those words because they were spoken from a place of hurt. A wound that I haven’t properly healed from. And Declan’s reaction just shows me my words have been causing wounds of their own.
Before I can say anything, he turns away from me, stalking toward the bar. His hand closes around the bottle of amber liquid, lifting the decanter off the bar while grabbing a glass.
I can’t watch him drown the truth. I’m through the bedroom door, slamming it shut before I can watch him self-destruct by taking a sip of the drink he just poured.