Page 69 of Declan

Declan props himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes already locked on mine like he knows I’m about to wreck the quiet moment between us. He reaches out, gently cups my cheek, his thumb brushing across the corner of my mouth.

“What’s up, baby?” he asks, voice low and raspy. His fingers are calloused, rough in a way that feels comforting against my skin.

He knows me too well. He can see right through me before I even speak. That’s always been the thing about Declan. He doesn’t just look at me. Heseesme.

“We’ve been together for a while now,” I begin, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.

He smiles, slow and soft, before leaning in and brushing the barest kiss against my lips, still swollen from everything he just did to me. “Best time of my life.”

God, he always says things that hit unexpectedly hard. And always when I need it most.

“Mine too,” I whisper.

He shifts, sitting up and pulling me between his legs, his chest against my back, arms wrapped around me. Protective. Anchoring. “You’re not done talking,” he murmurs against the side of my neck. “Tell me whatever it is you need to say.”

I hate how nervous I am right now. I’ve never felt nervous with Declan. Not when we were kids sneaking out, not when he first kissed me, not even the first time he got me naked and worshiped my body like it was his religion. But now? With this?

I’m shaking.

I swallow down the nerves and turn to face him fully, my bare thighs brushing against his. “What happened with Josh Wilson?”

His body tenses instantly. I feel it. See it. Like I just pulled a pin from a grenade and dropped it between us.

His eyes flick away, cold and distant as they fix on the wall. “Who?”

“Declan,” I say, warning in my voice. “Don’t do that. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He sighs, jaw tight, and arm still wrapped around me, but now it feels more like a restraint than a comfort. “That was a long time ago, Lena.”

“I know. But I came to you. I confided in you. Just like I did with Jason.” I pause, watching him. His expression gives away nothing. That mask of his is nearly impenetrable. But I know better than anyone, he’s not as cold as he pretends.

“What are you asking me?” he asks, voice flat. But I hear it. Buried deep. Anger. Or maybe guilt.

“I’m asking what happened.”

His gaze finally flicks to mine, and something in them softens before he looks away again. “Lena, you came to me for help. You didn’t say the words, but I knew. You were asking me to fix it.”

I pull away from him, wrapping my arms across my bare chest, suddenly needing some kind of shield. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He runs a hand through his already messy hair, eyes dark and stormy. “Stop pretending you’re some naïve girl. You’ve always known what I am. When you show up at my door bruised and bloody, you know what that means. You knew I’d fix it.”

“I didn’t ask you to kill him,” I say, my voice rising. “But you did, didn’t you!”

“You had a black eye, Lena. A split lip. You looked so fucking broken I could barely breathe. What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?”

He’s shouting now, and I flinch, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of his emotion. It’s raw and unfiltered and aimed directly at me.

“No one puts their hands on you,” he growls. “Not while I’m breathing. You came to me wrecked, and I did the only thing I knew how to do. I saved you. From Josh. From Jason. The second they laid hands on you, they were dead men.”

My stomach twists. My skin feels too tight. “You killed Josh and Jason?”

“Yes, Lena. Fuck.” He throws the blanket off and stands, muscles taut and shaking as he yanks his boxers on. “When it comes to you, I’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe.”

I scramble off the bed, grabbing his shirt off the floor and pulling it over my head. It smells like him, cologne and sweat and sex, and it wraps around me like armor as I chase after him into the kitchen.

He’s already got a beer cracked open, his back to me, head bowed.

“Don’t ask me,” he says, without turning around. “I won’t tell you.”

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