Page 10 of Declan

It clings, quiet and invisible, but heavy as hell.

When I showed up at Declan’s place, I didn’t expect him to know Jason Woods. I definitely didn’t expect that name to strike a chord so deep, so furious in him that I thought the air around us might catch fire. I didn’t ask questions, I know better. What happens in the club stays there. Lines you don’t cross. Secrets you don’t pry into.

Still, I saw it in his eyes. The connection to Jason wasn’t just business. It was personal. Declan took it that way. And now, because of me, it’s more personal than it ever should’ve been.

I didn’t want to bring this trouble to his doorstep. I never do. But somehow, I always manage to. It’s like my life keeps bleeding into his, staining the corners he works so hard to keep clean.

And now I’ve put him in an impossible position, asking him to keep a secret from Wesley.

Wesley, who’s not just his best friend but his brother in every way that counts.

A sigh slips from me, ragged and raw, as I rest my forehead against the cool tile. The contrast of cold against my overheated skin makes me shiver. I hate this.

I hate needing help.

I hate being the reason Declan looks ten seconds away from war.

And I hate that he’s always the one I turn to because he’s the only one I trust enough to catch me when I fall.

And God, I keep falling.

Declan’s doing this for me.

Lying for me.

Fighting for me.

And I know, deep down, that no one else ever would.

When I let myself really think about it, which I try not to, because it’s dangerous and reckless. I know this pull I feeltoward him is more than just attraction. It’s rooted somewhere deeper, somewhere scarier.

Yes, he’s sexy. That part is obvious.

Broad, muscular shoulders. Tattooed arms that flex when he crosses them when he’s trying to stay calm, but you can see the fire underneath. That messy, dark hair. That gruff, gravel voice that roughs over your skin like sandpaper.

Those are things any woman would notice.

And God knows, any woman would probably fall to her knees for a shot at him.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the way he talks to me. Gentle, even when he’s furious. It’s the way he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking, like he’s counting my breaths just to make sure I’m still taking them.

It’s how he always steps between me and the world.

Like I’m his.

Like I matter.

And I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of devotion.

But the part that scares me the most?

I don’t think I ever want to give it back.

The water shuts off with a final hiss, leaving a heavy silence in its place. The kind that settles in your chest and doesn’t let go.

I wrap the towel tightly around me and stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, swiping my hand across it until my face comesinto focus. My eyes are still red, my cheeks blotchy. I look like I’ve been through hell, and honestly, I feel worse.

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