Page 23 of Declan

Warm where I’ve always been cold.

There’s so much I want to say.

So much I could say.

But I swallow it down like the last bite on my plate and lean back in my chair, arms crossed, needing distance.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted. It’s been a long-ass day,” I say, voice low. “I’ll take the couch tonight. You can have the bed.”

“Absolutely not,” she snaps, brows pulled together like she’s ready for a fight.

I chuckle, needing the sound to lighten the war waging in my chest.

I get up, rinse my plate, and drop it in the dishwasher.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” I say, needing to get away before I do something I can’t take back.

I leave her there, lingering in the kitchen. A temptation I don’t know how much longer I can resist, and head to the bathroom.

My mind is still spinning.

Everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours feels like a goddamn storm and I’m stuck in the eye of it.

I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower.

The water is hot, too hot, but I don’t care. I need it to scald away the tension pulsing through my veins.

I brace my hands against the tile wall, letting the steam wrap around me like a blanket I don’t deserve.

But no matter how hard I try to clear my head, she’s still there.

Lena.

The curve of her smile.

The fire in her eyes when she argues with me.

The way my shirt falls off her shoulder, exposing soft, smooth skin that I’ve imagined touching a thousand times too many.

She’s not a girl anymore.

She’s a woman, a beautiful, smart, stubborn woman, and I’m starting to lose the battle of pretending I don’t see her that way.

I shouldn’t want her.

I can’t want her.

But I do.

I always have.

And right now, standing under this pounding water with nothing but the thought of her burned into my brain, I know the truth.

Lena is the one thing in this world I’ve always craved.

And no matter how hard I fight it, no matter how many lines I try not to cross, she’s the one thing I might not be strong enough to walk away from.

Frustration takes over like a goddamn freight train, slamming through the fragile calm I’ve tried to hold onto. With a sharp twist of my wrist, I shut off the shower. The pounding of the hot water did nothing to cool the fire burning through me. If anything, it made it worse.

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