Ailish #2
“That’s the problem,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know.”
She leans forward. “You love him.”
I stare into my coffee. “That has never been enough. Not for us. Not with everything between us. Not with the war. And now…”
“And now there’s a baby,” she finishes.
I close my eyes. “I don’t want to tell him when everything that happened with the speakeasy, and the attack, and us—none of it is resolved.”
“So what’s your plan?”
I swallow hard. The decision is jagged inside me, complicated, painful, necessary.
“I’ll try to talk to him once more,” I say finally. “One last time. If he shuts me down, or gets angry, or refuses to listen…”
“Yes?” Mackenzie prompts.
“… then I’ll go to Liam,” I whisper. “Because I want this baby safe. And if Declan can’t be trusted right now, Liam will make sure I’m protected.”
Mackenzie nods slowly. “That’s fair. Hard. But fair.”
I breathe out, long and shaky, my decision settling like a stone in my stomach.
One last chance. One attempt to bridge the distance between us. And if it fails—Then I’ll walk another path without him.
Even if my heart breaks for it.
The café empties slowly around us, chairs scraping, plates clinking, the usual hum of a late afternoon drifting toward evening. I sit with my hands wrapped around the warm coffee cup, but I haven’t had more than a sip. My stomach is too tight, my mind too loud.
Mackenzie watches me like she’s afraid I might fold in on myself. Maybe she’s right to worry.
The decision I’ve made—the one solid thing in the mess of the last few months—doesn’t quiet my fear.
“I’ll go with you when you talk to him if you want,” she says suddenly.
I blink. “No. I need to do this alone.”
“Ailish,” she says gently, leaning forward. “Declan isn’t… simple. And the two of you together aren’t simple either. I’m not trying to meddle, I’m trying to make sure you’re safe. And heard.”
I press my lips together, considering. “I appreciate it. But if I’m going to tell him, it has to be just him and me. He would shut down if someone else was there.”
She can’t argue with that. She nods, reluctantly. “Then I’ll be close. Not in the room, but close.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We sit for another few minutes, watching people pass the frosted café windows—faces blurred by the condensation, voices muffled. Life outside moving normally while mine rearranges itself entirely.
The ultrasound picture feels like it’s burning a hole through my jacket. Mackenzie places her hand over mine. “Whatever happens, you’re not alone in this.”
I look at her, my throat tightening. “I know.” But knowing doesn’t solve the conflict spinning through my chest.
The truth is… even after everything—the arguments, the danger, the sharp edges, the fear—there is a part of me that still wants Declan. Still reaches for him in the dark. Still feels tethered to him in a way that scares me enough to make me consider running.
He’s chaos. Pure, volatile chaos. And I’m carrying his child.
“I should get back to work,” I say quietly. “If I stay here too long, I’ll lose my nerve.”
Mackenzie knows better than to argue. “I’ll drive.”
The late afternoon light is fading, turning the city into a wash of dusky pink and amber. Mackenzie drives with calm precision, the quiet between us comfortable—even though my pulse won’t stop climbing.
“Do you want me to drop you straight home?” she asks.
“No.” I stare out the window. “I need to go to the club. He’s there until closing tonight.”
She shoots me a look. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” I say, even though my hands are trembling.
She takes the turn toward the speakeasy entrance, the old brick facade already glowing with warm bulbs and neon accents. Music leaks from the alley in a low thrum, vibrating through the car tires.
I grip the ultrasound picture in my pocket.
“One last chance,” I murmur.
Mackenzie places a hand on my shoulder. “Call me if anything goes wrong.”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
With that, she lets me go. I step out into the alley, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifting from the hidden door below street level.
My heart pounds like it’s trying to escape my chest.
Inside, the speakeasy is alive—low lights, amber shadows, velvet-lined booths, and a haze of warm perfume and liquor curling in the air. The place is packed. The Italians had been right: this was a gold mine.
Men lounge at the bar. Women in shimmering dresses laugh near the stage. Music thrums through the floor.
It should feel safe. But my nerves are frayed to threads.
I know Declan’s patterns by now. He always stations himself near the back hallway where security feeds into his office—far enough from the bar to avoid drunken nonsense, close enough to intervene if needed.
The moment I turn toward that hallway, I see him.
Head bowed over a ledger. Shoulders tense under a charcoal dress shirt. Jaw tight, eyes scanning numbers with a practiced precision that never used to belong to him.
For a heartbeat, I simply stare.
He looks… Untouchable.
Like a man I couldn’t possibly walk up to with a truth as fragile as mine.
But I make myself move forward.
My boots thud softly against the polished floor. He lifts his head as I approach, his eyes sharpening the second he sees me. A flicker of something crosses his face—something like annoyance, something like dread, something like longing—but he crushes it almost instantly.
“Ailish.” His voice is flat. Controlled. Cold.
I swallow. “We need to talk.”
“No.” He doesn’t even pause. “Not here.”
My chest tightens. “Declan—”
“Not here,” he repeats, harder. He returns to the ledger as if I’m an interruption rather than a person.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “It’s important.”
He freezes. Just briefly. Enough to show he isn’t unaffected. Then he straightens, placing the ledger down with an eerie calm. “Ailish,” he says, meeting my eyes. “You don’t get to decide when we talk. Not after you threw me out of your room.”
“You were screaming at me.”
“I know what I was doing.” Something moves behind his face and gets buried. “I know exactly what I’ve done, all of it, and I don’t need it recited to me in my own club.”
I flinch. “That isn’t fair.”
“It’s true.” His jaw tightens. “So say what you came to say, or don’t.”
Pain slices through me—quick, hot, humiliating. He’s pushing me away for real this time. I step back. “Fine. If that’s how you want to be, then—”
“Ailish.”
He says my name like a curse. Or a plea. I can’t tell. But the damage is already cracking through me.
He looks away first.
I stand there for a moment, the music swelling into the hollow left between us. My hand tightens around the ultrasound picture in my pocket, and for the first time since the appointment… I think I might break.
I turn on my heel. I walk toward the exit. His voice doesn’t follow. He doesn’t come after me.
Not this time.
Mackenzie spots me as soon as I step outside. She’s leaning against the car, arms crossed, scanning the street like a hawk. When she sees my face, she straightens.
“Ailish? What happened?”
I shake my head, swallowing the burn in my throat. “He wouldn’t listen. He shut it down immediately.”
Her jaw tightens. “He’s a stubborn idiot.”
I press a trembling hand to my forehead. “It’s over. I tried. I can’t… I can’t fight him anymore.”
She hesitates. “So you’re telling Liam?”
The streetlights blur slightly. I nod.
“Yes. I need Liam to know what’s happening. For security. For the baby. For everything. I’ll schedule a meeting with him in the morning.”
Mackenzie’s expression softens. “He’ll support you. He always does.”
A gust of cold wind sweeps through the alley. I pull my jacket tighter around me.
“Let’s go,” I murmur.
She opens the passenger door for me, but before I can climb in, I pause. Something compels me to look back. Through the narrow basement window of the speakeasy, I see the faint shape of Declan. Standing exactly where I left him and staring at the exit.
I press my palms to my eyes and step into the car. As Mackenzie drives, one truth sinks deep into my bones:
Whatever happens next… Declan and I are reaching the edge of something irreversible.
And now, the next step belongs to me.