Chapter 17 #2
Before I can overthink it, his arm slides around my shoulders, warm and heavy and terrifyingly familiar, and my body just... melts into his side like it's been doing it for years instead of weeks in stairwells and hotel bathrooms.
"Smile pretty," he murmurs beside me.
"Perfect," the photographer says. "That's the one."
Declan doesn't let go as he snaps a few more photos, glancing at his screen with a growing smile.
"Oh yeah. These are great. You two make a good pair. But I guess everybody's saying that."
The photographer lowers the camera before he steps forward to shake Declan's hand. He's gone before I can even lift my jaw off the boardwalk at what I just heard.
"Um. That was weird," I say slowly.
"What was?"
"Everybody's saying that? Who's everybody? And what are they saying?!"
Declan doesn't answer, but he's watching the photographer walk away with a careful glare.
And that's when I notice he's gone very, very still.
"Declan… what's wrong?"
He rubs a hand across his chin, scratching the stubble there. "Hmmmm, maybe there's something I should've told you. The night of the charity event, there was this reporter… Susie Wrath, from the Ledger. She cornered me during the auction stuff."
"The interview about the road losses," I nod, crossing my arms. "I read it. You did well."
"Yeah, except… She didn't stop at the road losses." His eyes find mine, and there's an apology in them before the words even land. "You see, Brooke was there too, I was signing some shirts for the auction. And so Susie, she asked about Brooke."
I swallow hard, starting to understand where this is going.
I'm hoping I'm wrong.
"She asked about us dating, but we swatted it away before she could make anything of it." He exhales, and I wait for the blow. "But then… she said there were rumors. About me being 'awfully close' to another new hire. And she looked right at the bar. Right at… you."
The boardwalk keeps moving around us. The steel drums keep playing. Somewhere a kid shrieks with laughter on the carousel.
And I stand there feeling like the ground just shook beneath me.
"People are starting to work it out," I whisper.
"Maybe. Or she's fishing for a story. Reporters fish."
"Declan, that guy just told us we make a good pair and then said everyone's saying it. That's not fishing. That's… that's a boat full of fish. That's a whole fish market."
I do a full spin beneath the sun, needing to move from the nervous energy zapping through me.
"Do you understand what happens if this comes out wrong? If it comes out as a rumor, as gossip, as Susie Wrath's exclusive? I won't be Josie Whitfield who saved the franchise anymore. I'll just be the girl who slept with the captain."
"Josie—"
"That's the headline. That's the whole story, Declan. Everything else gets deleted."
"Josie, that's not going to happen."
"Apparently it already is happening! Declan, this is exactly why I want to tell it first."
Declan steps in closer, helping me to stop, breathe, and lower my fucking voice as a flock of tourists head towards the pier.
"That's why I said what I said on the balcony," I continue. "Telling people isn't just about my mother, Declan."
He shifts closer, angling his big body between me and the foot traffic, creating this little pocket of privacy in the middle of the busiest boardwalk in town.
"Tell me," he says. "Tell me what it's about then. Help me understand."
I look up at him, appreciating the attempt to help me.
"That night in San Francisco. When you told me about your dad.
About carrying that secret since you were twelve because saying it out loud would break your family.
" My throat tightens. "I laid there afterward thinking about how much I hated him for making you live like that.
And then it hit me… I've been doing the exact same thing my whole life.
Hiding the job. Hiding the move. Hiding me.
I've spent twenty-six years editing myself down into the girl my mother could tolerate. "
For a moment he doesn't say anything, he just listens.
The wind pulls at my ponytail and I just want to run onto the beach and stick my head in the water just to wash that photographers words from my mind.
You two make a great pair. Great chemistry.
The worst part is, he's right.
We are great. Really great.
That's why I don't want to fuck this up.
"I watched what secrets did to your family, Declan. And I realized I'm tired. I don't want to be sixty years old and still lying about where I work."
His hand comes up, right there in the open where anyone could see us. Anyone could snap another photo as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"You know I want it too," he says. "Right?"
My heart forgets its job entirely.
"You do?"
"Josie. I've spent a week trying to talk myself out of it, and I can't. I'm sick of pretending I don't know what you look like first thing in the morning.
I'm sick of sitting across the table from you in meetings like you're just—" his mouth quirks, "—this woman.
I want to walk into Breakers with my hand on your ass and let Mack draw whatever conclusions he wants. "
"Okay. That's now the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."
"But I don't want to blow up what you're working on here either," he continues. "I don't want to do it before Portland. Not before you get everything you've worked for. That's your moment."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'll give you want you want.
" He tips my chin up, forces my eyes to his.
"But we do it after the game. After you sell out that arena and shove it in everyone's face who ever doubted you.
Take the moment that you deserve, then we tell them.
Together. Loudly, if you want. I'll even let Beck make a whole TikTok about it if that's what you want. "
A laugh bursts out of me, wet and unexpected. "God, please don't let Beck near a camera for this."
"Is that okay?" he whispers. "Can you wait?"
"I can wait." I press the stack of remaining posters back into his chest, mostly so I have an excuse to touch him in public. "But for the record, when we do go public, I'm telling everyone you cried at the end of that dog movie Beck made us watch the other night."
"That's a lie and slander."
Then he steps in, shields one side of my face with a poster, and kisses me as if we're hidden beneath it.
It's brief. It's soft. But it tastes incredible.
When he pulls back, I'm dizzy and the staple gun is dangling uselessly from my fingers.
"Declan," I breathe. "Anyone could've—"
"I know." He adjusts the posters, entirely too pleased with himself. "Consider it practice."
He starts walking toward the pier, and I stand there for one more second, touching my lips, watching the posters flutter down the lamppost line like a trail of promises.
I've got one hockey match to sell out. One mother to deal with.
And then no more secrets.
What could possibly go wrong?