Page 20 of Declan

Now, with nothing left to distract me, I sit in the dark, staring at the muted TV. The glow flickers across the room, casting long, eerie shadows that do nothing to calm my nerves. The hours creep by in a way I didn’t know was possible, my mind an overactive mess of worry, fear, and something else, something I don’t dare name.

I’ve resisted every urge to snoop through Declan’s things. He keeps everything so locked up, so private, and for all I know, he could be seeing someone. Part of me itches to look, to search for signs, but the more rational part of me, the part terrified of being caught, wins out.

So I sit. And I wait. And I drive myself insane.

Then, finally, I hear the key in the door.

I inhale sharply as it swings open.

Declan walks in, and just like that, I can breathe again.

I jump up and rush to him, my pulse racing. “What happened? Are you okay? Did everything go alright?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me.

Instead, he flicks on the kitchen light and heads straight for the fridge. The cold distance in his movements sends a wave of unease crashing over me, but I follow anyway, lingering in the doorway, waiting.

Declan grabs a beer, cracks it open, and takes a long, deep pull.

“Declan?” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath.

The bottle slams onto the counter, and in one swift movement, he spins to face me. The rage in his eyes is like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” His voice is sharp, raw, laced with frustration.

I blink. “What?”

He steps forward, and instinctively, I step back.

“I told you not to answer your goddamn phone.” His voice is razor-edged, cutting through the space between us. “I told you, unless it was me, not to answer the fucking phone.”

The anger rolling off of him is suffocating, his tone so sharp I feel like I’m shrinking under his gaze.

I swallow hard, wrapping my arms around myself. “I had to answer for Jeanne. If I didn’t, she would’ve gone to Wesley looking for me.”

Declan shakes his head, his jaw clenched so tight I think he might shatter his teeth. “Well, she did go to Twisted Souls, Lena. She ran into Wesley and asked where you were.”

My stomach plummets. “Fuck,” I breathe.

“Yeah, fuck,” he snaps. “Why the hell did you tell her you were with Wesley? Jesus Christ, Lena. Now he’s furious, wondering what the hell you’re up to.”

He starts pacing the kitchen, running his hands through his hair in frustration. I press myself against the wall, regret washing over me like a tidal wave.

I’m fucking up at every angle lately.

“What did you say to him?”

Declan stops pacing, dragging a rough hand down his face before dropping into a chair at the table. “I told him that you were probably with someone he wouldn’t approve of.” His voice lowers, almost defeated. “Which isn’t a fucking lie.”

Guilt twists inside me. I hate that I’m putting him in this position.

“I’ll go talk to him,” I say quickly. “I’ll go home and tell Jeanne I lied, too. My problems are just causing you unnecessary ones. I’m sorry, Declan. I really thought I was doing the right thing.”

He sighs, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. When he finally looks up at me, the exhaustion in his face is impossible to miss.

“I’m trying to keep you safe, Lena. I’m trying to help you.” His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “I just need you to do what I fucking ask of you. I told you not to answer the phone for a reason.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I know trust isn’t easy for you, I get that shit, but fuck, I figured by now you trusted me.”

“I do trust you, Declan.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “More than I should.”

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