Chapter 50 #2
“Try calling him again. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation here,” Noah insists.
I’m clinging to every last bit of hope I can muster, so I grab my phone from my dress pocket and find Declan’s name in my Favorites list. Noah and our customers wait patiently while I take a few moments to psych myself up.
“Okay,” I breathe, and I click on his name.
“Your call has been forwarded –”
I end the call and drop my phone onto the tabletop, fixing my eyes on the smooth surface. I can’t bring myself to meet anyone’s eye.
“Straight to voicemail,” I mutter.
“There has to be some kind of –”
“I fucked up,” I cut Noah off. I ignore his startled gasp at my cursing. “I messed up so spectacularly that Declan didn’t even tell me he was leaving town.” I run my hands through my messy hair and resist tugging at it in frustration.
I start pacing alongside our work table, my eyes unfocused on the black-and-white tiled floor. “He stood right in front of me and told me that he loved me, and I let him walk away, all because I was scared of getting hurt again. Scared of having the people in this town be witness to my hurt again.”
I quit pacing and glance next door. The sight of Declan’s empty tattoo chair sends a jolt of heartache through my system.
“I pushed him away. I told him he was going to leave anyway, because he always does. God, that was so unfair of me.”
I’m vaguely aware of the chime of the bell announcing another customer’s arrival, but I’m on a roll now and can’t find it in me to care about my growing audience.
“Um, Elsie –” Noah tries to cut in.
“The worst part is,” I continue, still staring at that empty chair, “he was right when he said I had more faith in him than that. That I didn’t really think he’d leave.
I should have told him that.” My voice cracks, but I can’t find it in me to be embarrassed.
I swipe at a rogue tear coursing down my cheek.
“I never thought he’d take that job. I was just scared and projecting my fears onto him.
I knew he’d stay.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “I thought he’d stay.”
I plant my hands on the cool surface of the work table and bow my head. The pain is so acute, it could take me out at the knees.
“I didn’t even get to tell him I love him,” I say softly. “Now he’s all the way in New York, and I –”
“Say that again,” a deep voice says from behind me.
A voice I’d know anywhere.
A voice that’s supposed to be in New York.
I whirl around to find Declan standing in the middle of the shop, a backpack clutched in one hand and his leather jacket in the other.
God, he looks good. His dark hair is artfully messy, the way it always is after he takes off his motorcycle helmet and runs a hand through it.
He’s dressed in his signature look – black jeans, black T-shirt straining against his chest and biceps, black boots. My chest aches at the sight of him.
“Declan,” I breathe. “You’re here.”
“Say it again,” he repeats, taking slow, measured steps toward me. He drops his bag and jacket and comes to a stop right in front of me, the toes of his boots nearly touching my white Keds.
“Which part?” I whisper, stalling. I can’t help the way my eyes rake over his face, drinking him in like a thirst finally quenched. His strong, stubbled jaw; the slope of his nose; his dark brows and eyelashes. The messy hair I want to trail my fingers through.
“You know which part,” Declan says, his voice low. His eyes are wild, his dark irises flitting back and forth between mine with his pupils blown wide. He looks terrified, afraid to hope that he heard me correctly.
There are so many things I need to say, so many questions I want to ask him. But first, I throw him a lifeline.
“I love you,” I tell him, my voice strong and sure despite the nerves trying to claw their way up my throat. He deserves to hear the words in a voice that does not shake.
Declan drops to his knees. It’s a full-body sigh of relief, the way he sinks to the tiled floor in front of me and lets loose a long, labored breath.
Somewhere to my left, somebody claps excitedly.
“Elsie,” Declan says softly. He’s looking up at me like I’m the goddamn sun, with so much tenderness in his eyes that he doesn’t even need to say the words. I know this man loves me.
In all my years, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a sight more beautiful than this six-foot-plus, tattooed, grumpy giant of a man on his knees before me. Because of me.
“I love you,” I repeat. This time, I don’t know if it’s for his benefit or mine.
I’m no longer scared to say the words out loud, despite the tears I’ve shed and the panic that’s been gripping my heart all morning. More than anything, I just want him to know it.
“I love you so goddamn much,” Declan says, his voice gruff. He clears his throat, like he’s hoping to dislodge the emotion that’s settled there. He places his hands on my waist and tugs me closer. “I’ve missed you.”
I slide my hands into his hair, relishing the feel of the soft, silky strands against my palms. I never thought I’d miss something as simple as being able to run my hands through his hair, but here we are.
Declan’s eyes flit closed, a tiny half-smile tugging at his lips. The moment is so perfect, the reunion so sweet, that I almost forget we can’t just leave it at I love you.
“What about New York?”
Declan’s eyes pop open and his brow furrows. “What about it?”
“I thought you took the job,” I say carefully.
Declan laughs incredulously and rises to his feet, towering over me once more. He settles a hand on my neck, like he can’t not be touching me right now. “Why would you think that?” He tilts his head slightly, considering. “What was all that stuff you were saying when I came in?”
“You were gone,” I explain. “I was going to go talk to you first thing this morning, but you never showed up for work. I tried texting and calling, but you didn’t answer. I –”
“I forgot my phone here,” Declan interrupts me. “It’s probably dead now. Figured I didn’t need it until I got home anyway.”
My heart snags on the word home.
“I went next door just a little while ago, and Maya said you left,” I tell him. “For New York.”
Declan shakes his head, confusion etched into his handsome face. “I don’t know why she would think that.”
“She did say maybe,” I admit. “But she mentioned you needed to pack.”
“I did,” Declan confirms. “I spent all day packing my things.”
I take a deep, steadying breath and lean back against the table, worried my knees might give out otherwise. Declan steps closer, his hand still warm and steady against my neck.
“Don’t go,” I whisper. I can feel my lower lip begin to wobble and I watch as Declan’s eyes zero in on it. “Wherever you’re going, please don’t. Please stay.”
“I wasn’t –”
“I have a whole plan,” I cut in. “I called some therapists this morning, and one of them called me back on my lunch. I have my first appointment in two weeks. I swear, I’m going to work on whatever is wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Declan says softly. His thumb strokes across my throat and a shiver skates down my spine. “You were scared.”
I nod and swallow around the lump in my throat.
“I was scared,” I agree. “But I’m not scared anymore.
” Then, thinking better of it, I add, “Okay, that’s a lie.
I’m terrified about wherever you’re going that you needed to pack for.
But I swear, I wasn’t scared of that until I talked to Maya.
I was wrong about everything I said at the wedding.
I didn’t really think you’d go, it was just easier to pretend I believed that than to admit I was actually terrified you’d stay, and I’d have to confront my own fears about being with you. ”
“I knew that,” Declan says, nodding. “I wasn’t mad about what you said. I was just giving you some space to figure things out.”
“Then why are you leaving?” I hate the way my voice breaks on the word leaving.
“Elsie, honey, I’m not going anywhere.” Declan steps closer, crowding me against the table. He cradles my face with both hands and brushes his thumbs gently over my cheeks. “Not to New York or anywhere else.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper.
“I accepted Sean’s offer. I’m staying here, in Port Myles.
I took the day off to go back to Boston.
I went to my storage unit and loaded everything up into a truck.
I was packing to come home, not to leave it.
” He nods toward the front window of the shop and I follow his line of sight, noting the big moving truck parked outside our building.
“Home,” I echo. “Port Myles is home now? For good?” I try to will my over-eager heart into slowing down, but it’s no use. She’s off to the races at the thought of getting to keep Declan.
“I’m here to stay,” he confirms.
I can’t fight the mile-wide smile that stretches across my face, and Declan’s answering grin makes my stomach flip.
“Did you drive that thing?”
“Absolutely not,” Declan laughs. “I hired movers to do it for me. I know better than to think I could drive a truck like that.”
I can’t help smiling wider, thinking about Olivia and her road trip with Cam a couple years ago with a truck even bigger than the one idling by the sidewalk now.
“So you’re really staying,” I repeat. I think I might need to say it a few dozen times before I let myself believe it.
“Wherever you are is home to me,” Declan says seriously.
“You can’t stay just for me,” I argue, though it’s half-hearted.
“Fuck that,” he disagrees. He studies me seriously, his palms still cradling my face.
His touch is gentle, like he’s holding something precious.
“I’ve spent my whole life looking for a place where I feel like I actually belong.
I didn’t have that growing up. Even with my grandparents, I always felt like a burden.
They didn’t sign up to raise a kid all over again at retirement age. ”
I bite my lip to keep it from wobbling again at the thought of a young Declan, scared and alone and feeling so out of place. Feeling unwanted.