Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
DECLAN
The cursor blinks on the screen in front of me, mocking me with its steady pulse.
A stack of briefs sits untouched on the corner of my desk, red tabs marking every section I should have already reviewed.
I should be buried in case law, pulling apart precedent, constructing arguments sharp enough to slice through steel.
Instead, I’m staring at a single word in the brief I’ve been working on for two hours and thinking about Claire.
Her laugh. Her mouth. The way she looked at me last week in Tahoe as if I was more than I am. More than my failings. More than the mistakes I’ve made.
It’s maddening.
This was never supposed to happen.
A fling, yes. Temporary. Easy.
But the more time I spend with her, the more I’ve realized nothing about her is easy.
I lean back in my chair and scrub a hand down my face.
I know better.
I’ve always known better.
The truth is, I crave her. More than I seem to be able to control.
And that terrifies me.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve fought to maintain control over every aspect of my life. I need the control.
But with Claire, I feel like I’m losing all sense of control. I feel like I’m losing who I am. Or maybe who I thought I was.
My gaze falls on my phone tempting me from beside my laptop, and I grab it, navigating to my contacts. My thumb hovers over her name, as if reading it might summon her. I almost type out a text, inviting her over for lunch, but stop myself.
It’s almost Christmas. Soon, I’ll go back to D.C. Back to my solitary existence. Back to the way things have always been.
Maybe the best thing for me to do is put some distance between us.
But the idea of never seeing her again, never touching her again, hurts more than I want to admit.
I’ve had flings before. Casual, uncomplicated arrangements. Some lasted weeks. Some months. When they ended, I moved on without looking back. Never thought of them. Never craved them.
Never obsessed over them.
So why the hell can’t I do the same with Claire?
I force myself to scroll past her name until I hit Joshua’s. This is safer. Better. More appropriate. I should reach out to him instead. Ask him if he’d like to get together for lunch. Remind myself who Claire is to him…
Who she’s supposed to be to me.
My fingers move over the keyboard as I type out a quick message, but before I can send it, the unmistakable sound of a door opening shatters the quiet.
And it’s not the front door.
It’s the back door.
The one Claire uses.
I don’t hesitate. I jump to my feet and head into the kitchen, coming to a stop when my eyes fall on her, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, cheeks pink from the winter chill.
She hasn’t stopped by on her lunch break since Joshua nearly walked in on us. We agreed it was better if we didn’t. But that doesn’t stop me from erasing the space between us and cupping her face in my hands.
“I was just thinking about you,” I say hoarsely, my mouth skimming hers.
Her lips curve into a flirtatious smile. “What were you thinking about?”
“How I need to stop thinking about you. But I can’t.” I crush my mouth to hers, drinking her in like a dying man desperate for water.
She melts against me, and for a heartbeat, I let myself have her. Have this.
“Why do you need to stop thinking about me?”
Because the longer this goes on, the harder it will be to let her go
Because she deserves better.
Because I’m losing control.
Because of Joshua.
But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I take the easy way out.
“I’m going back to D.C. soon. And whatever this is will be over.” My lips move against hers again, our tongues tangling in a dance they know so well at this point. But one I can’t seem to get enough of.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be,” she says when I break away.
I still, darting my eyes toward her. I drop my hand, taking a small step back. “What did you say?”
She straightens her spine, lifting her chin like she’s bracing for impact. “I said maybe it doesn’t have to be over. Maybe it doesn’t have to end.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Claire…”
“I know I said I didn’t want more. That I couldn’t have more with you, not with who we are to each other.”
“And that hasn’t changed,” I snap, sharper than I intended. “You’re still my son’s best friend. The girl he asked to marry him, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t have touched you in the first place. Not once I knew the truth. I shouldn’t still be touching you. But—”
“But you can’t stop yourself. Because you feel this, too, don’t you? This connection.”
I narrow my gaze at her. “That still doesn’t make this right. Nothing will.”
“We can try to make it right. Joshua’s a reasonable person. If we talked to him, were honest about the way we feel, I’m sure he’d eventually come around to the idea of us.”
“Us?” The word rips from me like a curse. “You think there’s an us?”
She flinches, obviously hurt by my words, but she doesn’t back down.
“There could be.”
“No, there can’t, Claire. You said you knew what this was. Casual. Fun. No attachment. No us.”
“I know what I said. But Tahoe made me realize I want more with you.” She pauses for a beat and licks her lips, as if steeling herself. “I’m falling in love with you, Declan.”
The ground drops out from under me, everything spinning out of control as I take another step back.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” She moves toward me, not allowing me to escape this. “And I know you’re falling for me, too.”
“No, Claire. I’m not. I—”
“I felt it, Declan.”
Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t try to hide from me. Doesn’t mask her emotions. Not like I do.
Instead, she lets me see this side of her. Her vulnerability. Her affection. Her…love?
“That night in Tahoe… That wasn’t just sex. You made love to me.”
Her words lance through me, hitting every part of me I’ve tried to keep buried. But it’s impossible with her standing in front of me, forcing the memories of that night to play before me. How I took my time with her. How I wanted to savor every moan, every sigh, every quiver.
“Claire, please, I—”
“I get that this is scary.” She grabs my hands in hers, grounding me to her instead of allowing me to flee.
“I’m terrified, too. But I’m done running from things that scare me.
I’m done settling for scraps because I’m too afraid to ask for what I deserve.
And I want you. I want us. I know you do, too. ”
Her conviction tugs at something deep inside me. Something I can’t explain. Before I can think better of it, I grab her face in my hands and press my forehead to hers, breathing her in like oxygen.
“I…”
“Yes?” She inches her lips to mine.
“I,” I repeat.
“Yes, Declan. Say yes.”
“I…” I pull back, meeting her gaze as she pleads with me to finally take a leap of faith. “I can’t.” I quickly release my hold on her, averting my gaze.
“Can’t?” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Or won’t?”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’re a lawyer. You know one word can change everything.”
“Not this time,” I rasp. “Not when the outcome is the same.”
“And what outcome is that?” she asks, although she already knows the answer.
She’s known from the beginning.
And I’m the asshole who gave her hope.
“I can’t give you more than I already have.
And not because of Joshua. Because of me.
Because this is all I’m capable of,” I manage to say through the ache in my throat.
“I wish I could give you everything you deserve. But I just… I’m not that man.
Not for you. Not for anyone. You’re better off without me. ”
Silence hangs between us, thick and suffocating. I expect for her to keep pushing. She doesn’t. I see the second the fight goes out of her, the normal spark in her eyes disappearing in a heartbeat.
She turns from me and retreats toward the door. I have to physically fight the urge to reach out for her, my head at war with my heart.
Just as she touches her hand to the knob, she pauses, her eyes locking with mine one last time.
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Declan.
You’re a good man. And you deserve more than what you’ve allowed yourself to have.
When will you stop depriving yourself of the happiness you deserve?
The happiness your mother would have wanted you to know?
When will you stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault? ”
Her words hit me harder than I expected.
But I don’t answer. It can’t change anything.
Instead, I push out a sigh and turn away, retreating into the bedroom so I don’t have to watch her leave. So I won’t call out to her and make her promises I’ll only end up breaking in the long run.
Her footsteps echo through the townhouse, each one pulling at something raw and unhealed inside me. Then silence surrounds me. And it’s the loudest silence I’ve ever experienced.
“I’m not sure I know how,” I whisper to no one at all.