Page 82 of Declan

I cling to her, burying my face in her shoulder, shaking from the force of everything I’ve held in.

“Lena, holy shit, what happened?” she asks, panic in her voice.

I try to speak, but my throat is clogged with emotion. She gets it. She pulls me to the couch, no pressure, no prying. She just lets me cry. And I do. I cry like I haven’t in years. I cry like I’m mourning someone I loved more than I should’ve.

Because I am.

When the sobs finally slow and I sit up, my hands are smeared with makeup and tears. Jeanne hands me a tissue and studies my face with quiet concern.

“Wesley found out?” she asks gently.

I nod. “Yeah. But that’s not what wrecked me.” My voice is raw, barely more than a whisper. “Declan, he just stood there. Wesley was losing his shit, and Declan didn’t say anything. Nothing to defend me. Nothing to stop it. He just watched me walk away.”

“Oh, Lee…” Her voice is soft, but laced with fury on my behalf. “Did you just leave after that?”

I nod and launch into everything from the morning in Declan’s bed to the moment I slammed the door behind me, leaving my heart somewhere in between. I don’t sugarcoat anything. Jeanne listens, holding my hand through the mess of it.

When I’m done, she leans back and exhales. “So, now what?”

I reach for her wine glass and down the last of it. “Now I figure out how to move on.”

She frowns, sadness creasing her features. “That’s it? You’re just ending it?”

Anger bubbles up again, hot and bitter. I cross my arms, the weight of everything pressing in on me. “I didn’t end it. He did. He’s been hiding us since the beginning. At first, I didn’t care. I was happy in our bubble. But the second real life crept in? The moment it counted? He stood there and let me drown.”

My throat tightens again. “I’ve spent my whole life pretending I didn’t love him, pretending it didn’t hurt, pretending I was okay with being invisible. I’m done pretending. I can’t do it anymore.”

Jeanne gets up and returns with the wine bottle and a second glass. She pours, then clinks her glass to mine.

“You are the bravest person I know,” she says. “You loved with your whole heart. And yeah, it shattered you. But you fucking tried. I envy that. You’ll survive this, Lee. I’ll make sure of it.”

My chest aches with the threat of more tears, but I’ve got nothing left. I just nod. “Thanks, Jeanne.”

I pull my phone out and stare at it for a moment before powering it off and tossing it on the table.

She quirks a brow. “Not even going to check it?”

I take a long sip of wine. “I’d rather wonder if he’s trying to reach me than know for sure he’s not.”

Jeanne stares at me for a beat, then lifts her glass in salute. “Damn. You are a fucking badass.”

We spend the rest of the night curled up under blankets, watching stupid comedies that can’t quite erase the ache in my chest. We finish two bottles of wine and laugh at all the wrong parts. But for the first time all day, I don’t feel entirely alone.

Even if I still feel broken.

The sun is barely peekingthrough the night sky, and I still haven’t slept.

I’ve laid here all night, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second with Declan like some sick loop I can’t escape. How scared we were to cross that line. How the moment his lips touched mine, my soul settled, like it had finally found home. How sex turned into something raw and sacred when emotions bled into every kiss, every breath. The laughs. The comfort. The feeling that I belonged for the first time in my life.

I’ve gone back and forth a hundred times, convincing myself I should call him. That we can fix this.

But I won’t.

I refuse to be someone’s shame.

No matter what happened between us, that part never changed. We were a secret. And last night, Declan confirmed it wasn’t a beautiful one, it was a shameful one. One, he didn’t have the balls to defend.

“Ugh.” I shove the covers off and grab my sweats from the drawer, yanking them on like I can peel away the hurt with every tug. My mind won’t shut up, and if I stay here another minute, I’ll break.

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