18. Declan
Declan
She doesn't answer.
The silence stretches between us, long enough that every instinct I have begins urging me to rescue us both from it. I have spent my entire career reading rooms, filling uncomfortable pauses before they become problems, and finding the words that move negotiations forward.
This isn't a boardroom. This isn't a contract waiting for signatures. This is the woman I've loved for seven years standing a few feet away while my heart hangs somewhere between hope and regret. If I say another word now, I'll only be trying to convince her instead of letting her choose.
Her eyes never leave mine. I watch a dozen emotions cross her face so quickly I can't separate one from another.
Fear. Exhaustion. Relief. Something that looks dangerously close to hope before she blinks it away again.
She draws in a slow breath, and for one impossible moment I wonder if she's about to tell me goodbye.
Instead, she shakes her head.
"You always did terrible timing."
The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. "I've been told that once or twice."
A soft laugh escapes her, quiet enough that I almost miss it, but it's real. It's the first laugh I've heard from her that isn't strained or forced since she walked back into my life, and hearing it feels like someone opening a window in a room I hadn't realized I'd been suffocating inside.
"I've spent seven years trying to convince myself I did the right thing," she says, her voice steadier now.
"Every time Flynn asked about his father, every birthday, every school program, every little milestone I wished you could have seen...
I told myself I was protecting him. Maybe I was.
Maybe I was protecting myself too." She lowers her eyes for a moment before looking back at me.
"Because if I admitted I still wanted you, then I'd have to admit I missed you every single day. "
The words steal whatever breath I had left. I don’t move toward her or reach for her. Not because I don’t want to, but because this isn’t my moment anymore. I’ve already asked for another chance. Whatever happens next has to belong to her.
She closes the distance instead, one step, then another.
She stops close enough that I can see the shimmer of tears she isn't trying to hide anymore.
Her hand lifts hesitantly, as though she's giving herself one last opportunity to change her mind, before her fingertips settle against my jaw.
The touch is impossibly light, but it unravels something inside me that I hadn't realized I'd been holding together for years.
"I don't know what tomorrow looks like," she whispers. "I don't know how we fix seven years. I don't even know if it's possible."
Her thumb brushes across the edge of my jaw, and I close my eyes for the briefest second.
"But I know I'm tired of pretending I don't want this."
I open my eyes and find her watching me, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
I don't trust myself to.
She's already given me more than I thought I'd ever hear. I don't need another explanation. I don't need another promise. If I speak now, I'm afraid I'll ruin the quiet truth she's just placed between us.
Instead, I lift my hand slowly. Carefully.
My fingertips brush the dampness from her cheek before they stay there, cradling her face the way I've imagined doing more times than I care to admit. She closes her eyes for the briefest second, leaning into my touch with a soft sigh that feels less like surrender and more like coming home.
"You don't have to pretend anymore," I whisper.
Her eyes open again. "I know."
Two simple words. Somehow they carry the weight of seven years.
She searches my face one last time, as though she's looking for a reason to stop herself. Whatever she finds makes her smile through the tears still shining in her eyes.
"I missed you," she says quietly.
Not the idea of me. Not who I used to be. Just…me. The last fragile piece holding me together gives way.
I lean forward until my forehead rests against hers, letting the silence settle around us one final time.
Her fingers slide from my jaw to the back of my neck, hesitant at first, then surer when I don't move away.
I breathe her in, memorizing her scent, the quiet sound of her breathing, and the impossible reality that she's here.
When our lips meet, the kiss is soft enough to make my chest ache. There’s no urgency or desperation. Just relief. The kind that comes from finally stopping after running for far too long.
She kisses me again before I have the chance to wonder if I imagined the first one, and I feel the smallest smile against my mouth. Mine answers without thinking. The years between us don't disappear, but they stop feeling like a wall and start feeling like something we've finally crossed together.
My hand slips into hers, our fingers weaving together as naturally as they once had. I pull back just far enough to look at her, silently asking the only question that still matters.
She answers with another kiss before leading me toward the bedroom, her hand warm in mine, her steps sure now.
The room is bathed in soft moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, creating gentle shadows that dance across the walls.
It feels sacred, this space where we'll finally bridge the years between us.
At the edge of the bed, she turns to face me, her eyes searching mine.
There's no hesitation now, only quiet determination.
Her hands move to the hem of my shirt, and I stand perfectly still, letting her take control.
When she finishes unbuttoning my shirt and slides it down my arms, her fingers brush against my chest, sending a shiver through me.
"I've missed touching you," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheeks. "I've missed everything about you."
Her lips find mine again, softer this time, more exploratory.
We kiss like we have all the time in the world, like we're rediscovering each other after a long absence.
My hands move to the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one by one with deliberate care.
Each revealed inch of skin feels like something I should have had the right to know years ago.
When her blouse falls open, I pause, my gaze taking in the sight of her. She's more beautiful than I remembered, more real. The faint lines around her eyes, the soft curve of her belly, these are marks of the life she's lived. Of the years I've missed.
"You're staring," she murmurs, but there's no embarrassment in her voice, only a gentle amusement.
"I'm memorizing," I correct her, my voice rough with emotion.
I help her out of her blouse, then her skirt, until she's standing before me in just her bra and panties. The moonlight catches the silver strands in her hair, and my heart aches with a love so profound it almost hurts.
I lower my head to press kisses along her collarbone, my hands roaming her back, learning the shape of her again. She arches into my touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips. When I reach behind her to unclasp her bra, her breath catches.
"Declan," she whispers, her hands tangling in my hair.
I take my time, savoring each moment, each touch. When her breasts are bare, I lavish attention on them, my tongue tracing circles around her nipples until they're tight peaks. Her hips rock against me, a silent plea for more.
I guide her onto the bed, settling beside her rather than over her. I want her to feel safe, cherished, not overwhelmed. My hands continue their exploration, tracing the curve of her hips, the soft skin of her thighs.
"You're still so responsive," I murmur against her lips. "I remember that."
"I've only ever been this way with you," she admits, her cheeks flushing slightly.
The honesty of her admission undoes me. I deepen the kiss, my tongue delving into her mouth as my hand slips between her thighs. She's already wet for me, and the knowledge sends a surge of desire through me.
I stroke her slowly, deliberately, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her eyes flutter close, her lips parting, her breathing growing ragged. When I slide a finger inside her, she gasps, her inner muscles clamping around me.
"Look at me," I whisper.
Her eyes open, dark with desire. I add a second finger, curling them just so, watching as pleasure overtakes her. When I lean down to take her clit in my mouth, she cries out, her hips bucking against me.
"Declan, please," she begs, her hands fisting in the sheets.
I don't make her wait long. I don’t stop, adjusting to her, following the way her body responds until she breaks apart beneath me. When she finally comes, it's with my name on her lips, her body arching, her face a mask of pure ecstasy.
I crawl up her body, kissing her deeply as she comes down from her high. Her hands move to my pants, fumbling with the button. I help her, then kick off my pants and boxers.
I reach into my wallet for a condom, my hands shaking slightly. She watches me, her eyes soft, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Still prepared, I see," she teases gently.
"Always prepared for you," I reply, my voice serious.
I settle between her thighs, my cock nudging at her entrance. I pause, looking down at her, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation.
"Are you sure?" I ask, my voice rough with emotion.
She reaches up to cup my face, her thumb stroking my cheek. "I've never been more sure of anything."
I enter her slowly, savoring the exquisite feeling of her stretching around me. She tightens around me immediately, her body reacting before I even move, like her body remembers something I’m still trying to catch up to. When I'm fully seated inside her, I still, giving her time to adjust.
She exhales sharply, her fingers tightening on my shoulders like she needs something solid to hold onto.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
“Then stop expecting anything,” she murmurs, pulling me down for a kiss. “Just be here.”
I begin to move, slowly at first, then with more confidence.
I move with her slowly at first, learning the rhythm again, paying attention to every shift in her breathing, every way she responds.
We fall into a rhythm that feels familiar faster than it should, like we skipped the part where we’re supposed to relearn each other.
The rhythm intensifies by degrees, her grip tightening against my skin and her breath hitching into sharp, broken gasps as I press further into her. The years of longing, of regret, of what-ifs all dissolve into this moment where nothing else matters but the way she feels under me.
When I feel her tightening around me, her orgasm building, I reach between us to stroke her clit. That's all it takes. She comes with a cry, her inner muscles clamping down on me, pulling me over the edge with her.
I lose the rhythm a second later, the control gone completely as I follow her over. I collapse against her, burying my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her.
For a long time afterward, neither of us speaks.
Talia lies tucked against my side, one arm draped across my waist, her cheek resting over my heart. My fingers move slowly through her hair, still damp at the ends, while I try to convince myself this isn't another dream I'll wake up from.
The apartment is wrapped in a comfortable silence, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic drifting through the windows.
Somewhere beyond the bedroom, Flynn sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware that tonight changed everything for the two people who love him most.
I spent years believing I had to keep moving.
There was always another meeting waiting, another flight to catch, another problem demanding a solution before I allowed myself to breathe.
Standing still had always felt dangerous, as though the moment I stopped, everything I'd built would begin to fall apart.
Instead, lying here with Talia in my arms, I realize this is the first time in years I've truly been still.
And I've never felt more certain that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
She traces absent circles against my chest, her fingertips following the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.
The movement is slow, thoughtful, almost as if she's reassuring herself that I'm really here.
I tighten my arm around her without thinking, earning a contented sigh that settles somewhere deep inside me.
"This feels too good to last."
The words are so quiet I almost miss them, and when I catch them, it isn’t regret I hear. It’s fear.
I understand it because I feel it too. Tomorrow will come with questions neither of us can answer yet.
There will be conversations we can't avoid, decisions we can't postpone, and a little boy who deserves the very best of both of us.
None of that disappears because we finally found our way back to each other tonight.
But for the first time, it doesn't feel impossible.
I turn my head and press a gentle kiss against her temple. "Then we make it last anyway."
She tilts her face just enough to look at me, and the smile she gives me is small, tired, and more beautiful than anything I've ever seen.
For the first time in a very long time, I let myself believe we just might.