Chapter 6
Chapter Six
brIDGET
I can't believe Declan's back. He looks better than ever, and just seeing him—just being near him again—reignites all sorts of things I've worked very, very hard to keep banked.
Goddamn it.
I had hoped I'd have it more together by now.
That I'd be able to keep my distance from him and stay calm, collected, and utterly unbothered.
But I didn't. I reunited with the only man I've ever wanted in my entire life by crashing, half naked, into him in the hallway—and in doing so, crashed headfirst back into his orbit.
Because if anything, Declan's only gotten sexier.
Siiiigh…
All this time, and he still undoes me in thirty seconds flat. Okay, fine. Ten.
Devastatingly handsome in that gently catastrophic way.
But even if he wasn't, there's the way he… looks at me. Shy, almost, as he shoved his hands in his pockets. I don't see the dangerous man the people of Ballyhock talk about. I see my friend. I see the man who stayed by my side when I didn’t know if I’d make it, who brought me soup, sent me bad jokes, and made life worth living.
A man who once gave me a kiss that ruined me for all other kisses until the end of time.
So tonight? Tonight I'm sexy as fuck because, why the fuck not?
I'm wearing a dark pair of slim-fitting jeans that show off my arse, paired with a tiny emerald tube top because I have excellent shoulders, if I do say so myself.
Turns out, when you do arm presses at the gym, your shoulders get all defined, and things happen.
Also, if he's paying attention, he may find that little butterfly tattoo on my right shoulder that I got on my last birthday.
I pair the tube top and jeans with nude-colored heels and dab on perfume I bought on a whim that’s supposedly laced with pheromones or something. It does smell delicious.
I make it to the club, and I’m doing a terrible job pretending to be casual, pretending I’m not staring at the door, waiting for Declan to arrive.
The door opens, and Ashland comes in. Everybody cheers. I give a half-hearted clap because I’m distracted and my heart is beating too fast. I try to remind myself—Ashland proposed to his fiancée, and we're here tonight to celebrate. Yay.
Then the door opens, and Declan walks in.
The room doesn't change—the music doesn't stop, and nobody turns to look—but something in me goes very, very still.
My breath catches, and I swallow my drink as Ashland walks across the room to him.
They do one of those bro hugs that looks painful as they slap each other's backs.
Declan goes to his family, and I sip my drink. It's gone watery. I look around the room and see lots of friendly faces because everyone else has found their people. I could get up, find Bronwyn and Kyla, or even Erin. Could quietly make my escape, but no one would—
“There y’are,” Declan says, joining me at the table, and my cheeks flush pink. The harder I try to fight it, the hotter they become. He’s here. With me. The second he could extract himself from his cousins, he came to me.
“Aye.” I shrug like my heart isn’t beating to the point of near bursting, like my cheeks don’t feel too hot and I’m not dying a million little deaths with him so close to me, yet so fucking far away.
“Hasn’t changed much,” he says, though his gaze grows a little wistful.
“You've gone soft,” I tell him. “You're getting nostalgic in your old age.”
He snorts. “I'm thirty-one.”
“Ancient,” I say solemnly.
He smiles but looks away. Why do I feel like he’s hiding something from me?
Declan physically doesn’t look like he’s aged a day, and yet… his shoulders round just the slightest bit forward, as if he’s carrying a heavy weight.
They all are. We all are.
What’s his?
I wonder if anyone's noticing the two of us talking and whether they’ll talk about it themselves. But even if they do, we're just two friends catching up from a distance. No one will notice. Why would they?
“Drink?” he asks.
“Please. Just water.”
He comes back with two waters and sits close—not touching, but close enough that I'm aware of every inch between us.
“You look well.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I'm not.” He glances at me sideways. “I kept tabs, you know.”
“Should I be flattered or alarmed?”
“Bit of both, probably.”
“Very on-brand,” I say, but the truth is, I don't know what to do with that, so I pick up my water and take a long sip, looking out at the room instead of at him. He kept tabs. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, the story of every single thing between us.
Ashland's got Bronwyn laughing at something. Cavin has his hand at the small of Erin's back, and she's leaning into it without seeming to notice she's doing it. Everyone's found their people. Everyone's exactly where they're supposed to be.
“How's Dr. Rosenberg?” he asks.
I blink in surprise. “Grand.”
Something moves across his face. Not surprise, because he did say he was keeping tabs, but something else. Relief, maybe. Like he'd been holding a breath for ages and just now let it out.
“Good,” he says. Just that.
The music shifts. Someone's turned it up. The noise level rises around us, and we're suddenly in our own little pocket of relative quiet. I'm very aware that he still hasn't moved away.
Declan leans in. His eyes catch mine, and the air snaps between us. I draw in a breath, suddenly nervous, when he asks, “Are you happy, love?”
I blink in surprise and swallow hard. I didn’t expect him to ask how I am. Why did he do that?
I definitely didn’t expect him to call me love.
And I get it—it’s not that big a deal. Everyone calls everyone love. It’s not personal, and yet… everything Declan says to me feels personal.
I look at him then. It's a dangerous question, and he knows it. I can tell by the way he's watching me, careful and still, like he's not sure he wants the answer he's going to get.
“Are you?” I ask instead, deflecting.
Because the answer is no, I’m not happy.
I’m sad and bereft, and I don’t know what my place is in this world.
I’m lonely in a way I can’t explain without sounding ungrateful.
My parents are gone, and my sister has Cavin, a baby on the way, and a whole life and family I’m welcome in but don’t quite belong to.
I’m somewhere in the middle of it all. Loved, yes, but… peripheral. Not quite… anyone’s.
If there’s anyone I could tell this to, he’s sitting right in front of me. He doesn't answer. He picks up his drink, then sets it back down without drinking from it.
That's answer enough.
We sit with that for a moment. Two people who are not happy, in a room full of people who are, and neither of us is willing to say it out loud. It should feel awful. It doesn't. Instead, it feels like the most honest conversation I've had in months.
He looks over at me. “How many drinks have you had?” My heart thumps.
“Five, I think,” I whisper. No alcohol, but I love Declan, the dominant, the protector, and I’m curious how he’ll react. I like when he brings out his dominant, protective side.
“Five,” he repeats. “You'll wake up tomorrow with a headache. Might not remember what I'm about to say.”
I don't tell him I've been drinking nothing but Coke all night. Not a drop of anything alcoholic. I didn’t lie, but… My heart is pounding too fast, and I have to swallow three times. He's too close, his eyes tracking the perimeter of the room to make sure no one's listening.
“Things change sometimes, in our family. One night, you’re hanging out with your best friend, shootin’ the craic with her, and the next you’re shipped off to an undercover role for your family.”
Wait. Her? Best friend?
Did he just call me his best friend?
He swallows and blows out a breath, jerking his head toward Ashland. “Look at Ashland. We used to call him the Priest, you know. Fuckin’ celibate for years. For her.” He takes another sip of his water as he nods toward Bianca.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “One night you’re stressing about the grade your teacher gave you, and the next, you’re bleeding uncontrollably when you cut yourself and end up in the hospital.” I swallow hard. “I get it.”
He leans forward. His hand covers mine. “I know you do. Probably better than anyone in this room.”
He’s touching me. Declan’s hand is on mine, and it feels right and good, and I never want him to stop. I don’t even breathe, afraid that if I move the wrong way, he’ll think I’m uncomfortable and take his hand away.
“And I guess when you know things are going to change, it makes you think, you know?” His thumb brushes over the top of my hand. Once. Slow. Like he has all the time in the world and knows it. He’s touching my hand, and I’m turned on.
Oh god.
I press my lips together and say absolutely nothing, hoping to god he can't feel my pulse because it’s giving me away.
“I’ve thought about that kiss I gave you that night, Bridget.
Over and over and over again. When I was in Boston and I missed my family, missed my home, and wanted to come back.
When things got rough and I was afraid they'd find out who I was, what I was doing, that my cover was blown, I thought about that kiss.”
Cover was blown? Oh god… do I want to know?
No. I absolutely do not.
“Did you?” I whisper. And then I do something diabolical that I wonder if I'll ever regret.
I lean in. Does he smell the perfume? I lay my hand on top of his. “What kiss exactly?” I say.
Then he smiles that smile. The dimple pops in his cheek, and his eyes flash at me. I didn’t fool him at all. “You know where we are, don't you?”
I shrug.
“I—”
“And how easy it would be for me to take you to one of those rooms and teach you a lesson for being a little brat?”
“You're all talk,” I say, teasing. Hoping. “Anyway, if you took me to one of those rooms, someone would see you.”
“We could go for a little drive, though, couldn't we? Just the two of us?”
What is he doing? What am I doing?
“We could,” I whisper.
“Gettin’ a bit stuffy in here,” he says.
I shrug. “Anyway, I think Ashland and Cavin need a little time to themselves and all.”
He leans in, as if he's reaching for a chip, but he holds it between his thumb and forefinger and doesn't move.
“I want you to walk to the back door—third door on the left, the one with the purple handle.
It's what we use to get to the back, where no one can see us leave.
Private exit, no one else will follow because that's my old territory.” He says it low and even, like it costs him nothing, and I feel it at the base of my spine.
I nod, then swallow.
“Meet you there in one minute. I'll go first. You count to sixty, then follow.”
My heart is beating so fast I'm dizzy.
I know what I'm doing. I want to be very clear with myself, in this moment, that I know exactly what I'm doing. This is not something that's happening to me. This is a choice.
I am an adult. I am in remission. I have rebuilt my entire life from the ground up, and I am choosing this with both hands open.
One night. I'm allowed one night.
I watch him go. I press my thumb to the rose quartz at my throat, just once. It feels warm against my skin.
I take it as a sign.
Then I count to sixty… stand, and leave.