Chapter 38
thirty-eight
QUINN
I wake up on Christmas morning in Declan’s bed, alone. Though, it’s not a surprise—this is how I have woken up each morning this week, ever since we came home from the hospital.
I wanted to be upset about it, just a little, but I couldn’t be, because that next morning I found him painting. He’d turned his sunroom into a makeshift studio until he could build something better. Something he’s eager to do.
When I finally found him that Sunday morning, he rushed me out of the room, telling me I wasn’t allowed to see what he was working on until he was finished. I wanted to be upset about that too, but again, I couldn’t be. I was honestly just so happy he picked up a paintbrush again.
It’s easy to see how much he loves painting. You can see it in the way he talks about it. His entire face lights up, and he becomes so animated. Like he can’t hold back from sharing his enthusiasm for something he loves. That he lost his love for it—even for a little bit—makes me hate Melissa, just the smallest amount.
Declan is a good man—one of the best. He goes above and beyond, not just for the people he cares about but for everyone in his life. I understand you have to do what makes you happy in life. Otherwise, there’s no point to any of it. But I will never understand how Melissa could do what she did to Declan.
Granted, in a slightly messed up way, I’m glad she did. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here, lying in a bed surrounded by all that is him.
I roll over and grab his pillow, burying my nose, taking a deep breath, and smiling. This week has honestly been fantastic. With Declan and I being on break from school for the holiday and Ava being back in Boston, we’ve been staying at his place. And while he’s been spending a lot of time painting, we’ve also spent a lot of time together, just the two of us. Talking, laughing, loving, just existing in the same space.
I will be forever grateful for the friendship we developed first. That friendship has given us such a strong foundation. One I’m enjoying building upon.
“Morning, Bug,” Declan says as he comes back into the room, climbing into the bed behind me. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the spot behind my ear.
“Merry Christmas.” I roll over to face him, a smile on my face.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, rolling me to my back, his body over mine, peppering kisses over my face.
“How happy I am. How great this week has been. How excited I am to see this painting you’ve been working on.” My hands trail over his bare shoulders and down his back.
“Hmm,” he hums. “Well, I agree. This week has been amazing. I’ve loved waking up to you each morning.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I joke with him, my smile growing wider.
He pinches my side, glaring at me in mock irritation. “I’m not sorry about it. I’ve enjoyed being back in a studio.”
“I’ve loved seeing you get excited about your art. I’m not mad about it.” I pull his head back down, my lips brushing his. “We’ve got a lifetime to wake up to each other, right?” I whisper against him.
“That’s the plan.” He pulls back just enough to see my face. “I finished the painting.”
“You did?” I push at him, trying to sit up in excitement.
“Easy there.” He laughs, giving me space to get up from the bed. I grab his shirt from the chair in the corner and throw it on, rushing out the door without stopping. I hear his laugh following me down the hall. “Can you wait for me? I want to see your face when you see it!” he hollers, taking his time following me.
“Well, hurry up, I’m not waiting,” I shout back, already down the stairs. I stop in the kitchen, on the threshold of the sunroom, and wait.
He’s been smart. Turning the canvas so all you can see from the doorway is the back of it. I want to see what he’s painted so badly, but I wait for him.
I hear him walk up behind me, but I don’t move, waiting for him to say it’s okay to go in.
“I got you something else for Christmas originally,” he says softly in my ear, wrapping his arms around my middle and pressing himself against my back. “But I saw this photo and just couldn’t get this idea out of my head.”
He slowly brings his hands up to cover my eyes. Staying close behind me, he slowly guides me into the room, getting me into position.
“This isn’t my normal subject or style, so please be kind to me.” His voice wavers, his nerves showing.
I reach up, place my hands over his, and turn around to face him, leaving his hands to frame my face. “I have no doubt it will be gorgeous, whatever it is. But even if it’s not, I will love it because it inspired you to pick up a paintbrush again.”
“You inspired me to pick up a paintbrush again. Seeing your love of photography reignited through teaching, it sparked something in me.” He smiles, his fingers trailing gently over my face, tracing my lips. “I think I might have been a little jealous you had this hobby you loved so much. I kind of missed having my own.”
I reach up and press my lips to his in a tender kiss. “Can I see it now?” I ask as I pull back.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Go for it.”
I turn around and instantly stop breathing. Declan is right. This painting is nothing like anything I’ve seen from him before, but it is truly breathtaking.
Declan’s style has always been hyper-realistic, but his use of vibrant colors makes everything just a bit abstract. And while people appear in his paintings, portraits have never been his main focus.
But this painting in front of me is almost the opposite of everything he’s known for in the art world. While still realistic, you can see practically every brushstroke he made. And the colors are far more muted than his usual style but still create a cheerful atmosphere.
I can feel the care Declan put into this painting, and seeing the subject of the painting, I know why. I recognize the image and can tell you exactly what we’d been doing because it’s a portrait I took during my senior year of high school. It’s a portrait of my dad.
It had been one of the first nice days of spring. One where you couldn’t help but want to be outside after being stuck inside over the long winter.
Dad and Caleb had been kicking a ball around, Max trying to run after it on his little toddler legs, and I’d had my camera snapping shot after shot of the three of them. I’d decided I wanted to take portraits of all three of them, and while Caleb had been against it, Dad was all for it. So I started with him.
I ended up capturing this shot of him staring right at the lens with the biggest smile on his face. Caleb and Max had done something behind me, causing him to laugh. The smile is so genuine you can feel the joy emanating from that photograph. And Declan has captured that feeling so perfectly in this painting.
I feel like if I reach out and touch it, I’ll be able to feel the roughness of my dad’s beard and the wrinkles on his face. I can hear his laugh in my mind. That warmth that always sweeps over me in my dad’s presence touches me now.
Declan has made it so I feel my dad in the room with me. Something I’m won’t be able to simply drive across town to experience soon.
“It’s perfect,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, tears in my eyes.
“I know you already have the photo, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it or get this image out of my head.”
“No, this is so much better than that photo.” I swallow, trying to hold the tears at bay. “I feel like he’s here.” I reach behind me, pulling Declan to my side so I can bury myself in him while still looking at the painting. “It’s perfect,” I repeat.
Declan wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before leaning his head on top of mine, both of us studying the painting a little longer.
When I feel like I can speak again without the threat of tears, and when I’m done studying the painting, I pull away from Declan, move toward the kitchen, and call over my shoulder, “Just so you know, you are definitely not getting your Christmas gift from me today. There is no way I can top that.”
Declan laughs, following behind me. “Oh, come on! I still want it.”
“You’ll get it, just not today. Maybe tomorrow.” I smirk at him over my shoulder as I grab a mug to pour myself some coffee.
Declan shakes his head at me but says nothing else about it. He sits at the kitchen island, watching me move around, making coffee. He’s not there long before the front door opens, and we both turn to find Ava coming through the door, dragging multiple suitcases with her.
“Oh, sorry! I should have realized you both would be here,” she says, dropping a bag from her shoulder.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were coming home on Friday. How did you get here?” Declan stands, moving to help Ava bring her stuff inside.
“I drove. I figured since I would be staying in town for the foreseeable future, it made sense for my car to be with me. I also brought all my stuff. Well, except for furniture. I figured I won’t need it while I’m staying here with you.” She turns to grab another bag still on the porch.
“What happened to staying in Boston through Christmas?” Declan tries asking again.
“Dec,” I say, coming up to his side, placing a hand on his back, and shaking my head at him. Trying to silently tell him now isn’t the time to push. I can hear it in Ava’s voice and see it in her face. She’s close to breaking. “Do you need help bringing anything else in?” I ask Ava.
“No, this is all of it, but could you help me take it upstairs to my room?” she asks, avoiding looking at either of us.
“Of course,” both Declan and I agree.
“I know you both want to know what’s going on,” Ava says after we get everything up to her room, falling to the foot of the bed, her feet on the ground, and her eyes on her feet.
“Only what you want to share,” I say before Declan can say anything.
“I’m still not ready to talk about all of it,” she says, looking at Declan, tears forming in her eyes. “But Mom and Dad … well, you know how they are.” She looks back down, avoiding eye contact. “I couldn’t stay there any longer. I needed to get away from them and their pressure. So I packed up my stuff and started driving. I’m sorry if I interrupted something. I can stay at the inn until I find a more permanent solution.”
“Ava,” Declan says, walking over to sit next to her on the foot of the bed. “You’re welcome here as long as you need. You’re not going to stay at the inn.” He places his hand on the fidgeting ones in her lap. “You don’t have to tell me anything else, but I’m here whenever you need me.”
“Thanks.” She lays her head on his shoulder but looks at me, still standing by the door. “When do you head over to your family’s for Christmas?” she asks.
“We’re supposed to be there at ten, so pretty soon. You going to come with us since you’re here?” I ask.
“If you think it’ll be okay? I don’t want to be alone.” She lifts her head from Declan’s shoulder.
“Of course, it’s more than okay. Dad would be pissed if you didn’t come and he knew you were here.”
“Okay, thanks. Let me take a quick shower and change. I’ve been in the car for, like, ten hours.” She stands from the bed and rummages through one of her bags. “I’ll be quick. Promise,” she says as she passes me out the door and into the bathroom in the hall.
“Take your time,” I yell after her, but keep my eyes on Declan. I can see the worry in his eyes. “She’s going to be fine. She’s here now. When she’s ready, she’ll tell you all about it,” I tell Declan as he stands from the bed.
“I know you’re right, but I can’t stop worrying about her,” he says, taking my hand and walking us to his room so we can get ready ourselves.
“And that is one of the many reasons you are a good brother.” I press a kiss to his cheek, going over to my bag on the floor by his dresser to get my outfit for the day.
I look over at Declan when I stand and see his eyebrows pinched in. He’s thinking about something but must decide it’s not worth discussing right now because he shakes his head and goes into the bathroom, where I hear the shower turn on.
“You joining me in here?” Declan asks from the bathroom doorway, a smirk on his lips.
“We don’t have time.” I laugh.
“We always have time,” Declan says, his voice husky as he lowers his gray sweatpants, leaving him naked in front of me. And at the sight of his hardening dick, I know we’ll make time.