Page 73 of Declan

This isn't just some reflection anymore. It’s me, standing in the bathroom of the man I love, wearing the evidence of a life we’ve stitched together in stolen moments. My makeup’s flawless, my outfit carefully chosen, but my heart is anything but calm.

Tonight is dinner at Wesley’s. Shattered Souls front and center, like always. Family dinners are nothing new; we’ve done this a hundred times. But tonight’s different. For the first time since Declan and I became us, we’ll be in the same room with everyone, pretending like nothing’s changed when everything has.

When everything means more than it ever has before.

Last night, when he finally came home from the fight, he was tense. Distant. His hands touched me like they were desperate, but his eyes, God, his eyes were filled with fear. Not of me. Not of what we are. But of him. Of Wesley.

And I get it. I really do.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t piss me off.

We’ve been together for a while now. This isn’t some reckless, temporary fling that’ll fizzle out when the sex stops being good. This is love. Real, gut-deep, soul-stretching love. I feel it in every glance, every touch, every unspoken word that hangs between us. And the fact that he’s still keeping it a secret, still keeping me a secret. It fucking hurts.

“Hey.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, low and rough.

He’s leaning in the bathroom doorway, his presence commanding even when he’s not trying to be. My eyes meet his in the mirror, and I try to offer a smile, but it dies on my lips before it gets halfway there.

“Hey,” I say back, soft and strained.

He sighs and walks in, arms wrapping around my waist, his mouth brushing over the curve of my neck. “You look gorgeous.”

I close my eyes at the warmth of it. The comfort. The love. But then I open them again, because comfort is not enough right now.

“But that changes nothing, right?”

His arms tighten around me, and I hate how my body still melts into him. How even when I’m angry, part of me only wants to turn around and climb into his arms like everything is fine.

“I love you, Lena,” he whispers. “Nothing changes that.”

“But it’s not enough to admit to my brother?”

Our eyes meet in the mirror again, and this time neither of us looks away. The pain in his eyes is sharp. The guilt is cutting. But the fear, that’s what nearly breaks me.

Still, I don’t back down.

“You’ve been hiding me for weeks, Declan. Hiding us. At some point, it starts to feel like I’m not someone you’re proud of.”

“Lena—”

“No. Don’t ‘Lena’ me right now. I’ve been patient. I’ve given you space. But I’m tired of pretending this isn’t real in front of everyone who matters to both of us.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his body. “Let’s just get through tonight. Please. We’ll talk after. I promise.”

I pull away, not because I want to, but because I have to. I gather my makeup, shove it into my bag, and keep my voice calm. “I’m going to head over now.”

“Baby, please try to understand,” he says, and I can hear the crack in his voice.

I turn and face him, hands on my hips, holding my ground even though part of me is already breaking. “I do understand. I’ve been understanding. But if you’re going to keep acting like we’re nothing, then I’ll play along. I’ll just be another familiar face at the table tonight.”

I brush past him and head for the door.

“Lena!” he calls after me, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

The moment I’m in the car, I sit with my eyes closed, breathing deep, trying to steady the war inside me. My chest aches. My fingers tremble against the steering wheel. All I want to do is turn around and tell him I’ll wait forever. That I’d rather hide in the shadows than lose him.

But I won’t say it. Not this time.

By the time I pull into Wesley’s driveway, a few bikes are already out front. I glance at myself in the rearview mirror and catch the sadness in my own eyes. The hollowness. That emptiness that used to live there before Declan ever touched me. It’s back. And it hurts.

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