Chapter 74 #3
“You were perfect on paper and in the pictures. But you were with him, and I didn’t get that. I still don’t get that.”
“Everyone’s better on paper.”
“I disagree.”
I huff, internalizing that Declan is very fucking into me. I’ve always known that. But it’s really sinking in right now.
“No more flirting, Declan,” I scold. “How come you don’t have a more Polish name?” I ask, changing the subject. “Why are you Declan? Is your mom Irish or something?”
“Something like that.”
“Sore subject. Got it.”
“Like Sorin’s mom, she was a junkie too. That’s my dad’s type.”
And Sorin’s type. “Is she still alive?” I ask, curious.
“No.”
I feel bad for him that his mom isn’t around anymore and that he doesn’t have a relationship with his dad. But it’s probably for the best, and he likely feels the same way.
“Do you have any other siblings?” I’m assuming not, but what do I really know about this guy? Not much.
“Nope. My dad actually thought he was infertile. I was the biggest surprise. Then, when Sorin came around all those years later, he was overjoyed. Until we both realized what a fucking piece of work that guy was … is.”
Thinking about it. I know Sorin found his dad when he was thirty. That was sixteen years ago. “You were newly sober when he came around.”
“Probably why I never liked the guy.”
I shouldn’t smile in response, but I do. “So, your dad … is he sober?”
“He’s into being in control. That’s his biggest vice.”
“Wisconsin,” I say, seeing the welcome sign pass by. “Why are you attending the funeral? I know you could give a shit about Sorin.”
“Optics … but the asshole in me likes to go to funerals of people that have overdosed.”
“The asshole.” I giggle. “At least you recognize this in yourself.”
“And others.” He squeezes my thigh.
It’s the first time he’s touched me like that in the car. The thigh squeeze is not chaste. Definitely not.
“You’re pretty fucked up that this conversation is turning you on.”
“You’re pretty …” He bites his lip. “Fucked up is interesting.”
My heart’s racing at his blatant flirtation. But I can’t do it. I don’t need to add another man’s drama into my life. I am already swimming in enough drama and am going to follow the rules.
“Do you really want me to stop flirting with you?” he asks, noticing my body language shift.
“I think we should both recognize the facts here. We are never going to happen.”
“Aren’t we?”
“You only date sober girls, and I have no interest in dating my dad.”
“A recovering addict?” he wisely asks, and I nod in response. “Your dad …” he says, a smirk growing on his face. “He’s almost the same age as Adam and Sorin, no?”
“Fuck you!” I playfully swat his arm and we are both smiling too much.
Breaking our eye contact, I look back out the window.
Gideon … he loves me. He’s great. I have so much fun with him. He’s the full package. Yes, we’ve had a couple of hiccups, but he could be the one. He is marriage material.
Adam. He’s so extra right now. Why does he keep thinking money can fix our problems? I hate that about him.
Declan … After Sorin, I’ve vowed to never date an addict—active addiction or recovering.
“You’re like thirty-five?” I ask, curious because I don’t know how old Declan is.
“Are you playing dumb?” he asks.
“I don’t play dumb.”
“You haven’t read any of my interviews?”
“No. Just the headlines. You have been very triggering to me. You have to admit how we met—it’s fucked.”
“I agree. Especially since I was such an asshole at the start.”
“Just at the start?”
“I thought you weren’t going to flirt with me anymore.” We hold each other’s gaze before he says, “Thirty-three.” Surprised, I start doing some fast math. When I met him, he was basically my age.
“Forty-six,” he says, and I know he’s speaking about Sorin now. “Pretty early to go if you ask me.”
We are silent for a moment, and I think about the first message Sorin sent me on Tinder. How fucking feral I was for him.
“Forty-five, Adam. Tell me why you two broke up.”
“A lot of reasons.”
“Like?”
“He wanted to get married and have a baby. I’m not ready for that, obviously.”
“Obviously?” he asks like that’s a crazy thing to say.
“And he’s got anger issues, which yeah …” I trail off.
“He never hit you, right?”
“Never.”
“Good. I was worried about that,” he says softly.
My emotions get the best of me and my eyes well up. “I know it would have happened if I stayed. The warnings were there. I’m not actually stupid,” I say, crying and trying to get myself to stop crying.
“I’ve never thought you were stupid.” He looks at me, and I can tell he wants to touch me, to make me feel better, and I’m so happy he is holding back.
“If you need to cry, cry. I know today is a lot with the wake and everything.”
“I hate crying,” I softly say, covering my face.
A few silent minutes pass as I recover from the wave of emotion before he asks, “Do you still have the scar?”
“Oh no! You paid for it to get removed.”
“I did?”
“You would never know it was there.”
“I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Declan,” I scold, thinking back to our phone conversation.
“I knew he would react. That’s why I started messing with you. I … I should have known it would get to that. I shouldn’t have put you in danger.”
“I forgive you; I’ve never blamed you.”
“When you sent me photos the morning after … I’m so sorry, Dani.” He trails off, looking at my hip.
My memory replays it, Sorin cutting an S into me. “You. Are. Mine.” Each word correlated with a cut. So fucked. Reliving it, something I haven’t thought about in this exact detail in years.
“All the photos in Italy, though … They were nice.” I’m happy he’s changing the conversation. “Your study abroad looked carefree. I loved receiving all of them.”
“No, you didn’t. You made that clear in Utah.”
“I said I didn’t like the fact that you never texted me sober.”
“How would you have known?”
“Based on the time I was receiving the texts.” He squints at me. “I only got texts from Dani Sommer in the middle of the night. You woke me up so many times, you know.”
Aside from the very first text, I never thought about the time difference when I texted him.
“I’ve never said that I didn’t like the photos or that you were thinking about me.” He gives me a fucking dangerous gaze.
Are we both thinking about one very specific photo I sent him? One of me in red lingerie. Declan fucking Kruk. I wish I could just fuck him and see. But fucking to find out has not been serving me, and I can’t anyway since he has this ninety-day rule.
I go back to safer waters, the scar conversation.
“When did you get the Crow tattoo removed?” I ask, tapping his wrist.
“The day I was officially out.”
“I thought people couldn’t leave the Mafia?”
“When you make everyone more money than they ever could have imagined, you get to leave.”
“Why keep your other tattoos?”
“I like them.”
I like them, too. “None of these other ones are gang-related?”
“More badges and symbols for personal victories. Every year sober, I get another tattoo.”
“You’re so much like him, you know.”
“I’m nothing like him,” he says with an edge.
“Sorin called his tattoos journal entries. Like a living diary.” I shake my head, thinking about it. “He was going to get one about me.”
“What was it going to be?”
“A dolphin tale or a wave.”
Declan huffs.
“What?”
“He has … had a wave.” He points to the top of his chest.
“Of course he did.” I pause. “Tattoos have never been my thing.”
“Commitment,” he jokes. “Hasn’t really been your thing.”
“Dick.”
He laughs, then I giggle, and we’re silent in the car for a few minutes. I think we’re both thinking about how we shouldn’t like each other as much as we do.
“So, after Sorin, you saw someone about what happened?”
“All they wanted to do was talk about my off-the-charts adverse childhood experiences score.”
“What’s that?”
“You answer this questionnaire and, basically, it tells you that you’re going to die because of all of the trauma you had no control over.”
“I’ll have to look into that.”
“You don’t need to. You’re already an addict. The test would have told you that was going to happen.”
“What did it say about you?” he asks, too concerned.
“That I have a seriously increased risk of becoming an addict and that I shouldn’t be surprised if I end up with a chronic health condition.”
“So, I’m not an asshole for seeing that in you too?”
“You’re still an asshole.”
“You’re so combative with people that care about you, you know.”
“Who would I be without my defense mechanisms?”
“That’s a great question to discuss in therapy.”
I roll my eyes, considering how two men have now told me to go to therapy in the last few months. “Enough about me. Outside of Cryptoball and working out, what do you do with yourself?”
“I’m getting into politics.”
“Seriously?”
“Not like I’m going to run for anything, but you know, like behind the scenes, lobbying type stuff.”
“Ah yes, ‘pet projects.’ Are you and Adam still working on getting a new governor and all that?”
“Yeah. Geoff Albert would have been perfect, but he decided to choose love over politics.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s engaged to one of Kate’s friends.”
“Autumn?”
“Yeah. I think that’s her name.”
“No way.” I giggle.
“It’s becoming a national conversation—unrealized capital gains. So, we’re meeting with lots of people to talk about it. I would have to pay two hundred million dollars a year if that went into effect. If that happened, I would move to Europe. But everyday people, this is more serious for them.”
“You’re really going to say you’re an altruist?”
“Just a realist. I understand my privilege, which is why I’m putting the effort in here. It’s self-serving, selfless, and good for business all at the same time. Multiple things can be true at once.”
Multiple things like how I want to kiss you, miss Gideon, and still have some lingering feelings for Adam. “The world is not black and white. I’m learning.”