Page 72 of Eternal

“Teal, wait.” Declan follows me, trying to catch my hand as I push through the glass doors that lead to the garden.

“Just give me a minute,” I say, not that he’s going to let me.

He follows me out into the garden and shuts the glass doors behind us.

“Fuck.” I dig my nails into my scalp, and I know it’s probably loud enough that the people standing right inside hear, but I don’t care.

What was I thinking when I came here tonight?

That my father would take me seriously? That I could change his mind?

“Teal.” Declan grabs my arm, turning me to face him.

“Don’t.” I pound my fist on his chest, but he doesn’t let me push him away.

He pulls me to him, crashing our bodies together. One arm wraps around my waist, holding me to him, while the other hand rests on the back of my hair, sealing my ear to his chest.

“It’s fine.” I grip his shirt, listening to his heartbeat as anxiety rattles around inside me. “I’m fine.”

Declan rests his chin on the top of my head, taking a deep breath. “Stop lying. It’s just you and me out here.”

He rubs my back, and I close my eyes, sinking into his hold. Wishing with all my heart that this could be the peace I’ve been looking for when I know it can’t.

“It’s just you and me,” he whispers.

21

Before Our Cold War

Teal

The garden is theonly place I find comfort at my parents’ house. When I was younger, I’d spend time out here, planting with Margarite or painting. There’s something nourishing about being around nature. Something healing about growth and the cycle of life.

This is the one place outside my studio that has ever brought me comfort.

Except tonight, it’s chilly, dark, and lacking color.

I release Declan’s shirt and step back, avoiding his gaze. I take a deep breath and grip my stomach, finding my center. Declan has known me for long enough not to be surprised by my outbursts, but with us spending so much time together, he’s getting a clearer picture of them lately. It’s unnerving that he’s getting a taste of my vulnerabilities.

I’d rather bethe bitchthanthe crazy girl.

Which is why hating him has always come so easily.

“You remember that time you found me out here when we were kids?” I ask, walking farther out onto the patio to get some space from the party. “I think I was ten or somewhere around there.”

I follow the cobblestone path that winds through the planters on either side. Benches and bushes are scattered about, with a few stone statues carefully placed at key points.

“I remember.” Declan follows me.

It might be spring, but it’s still chilly at night. So, while some of the flowers are blooming, many are still waiting for the warmth to draw out their petals.

I stop at the patch of dirt Margarite reserves for sunflowers. Right now, it’s a cold, empty square of nothing on the ground. The last time Declan and I were out here together, the sunflowers were bright and blooming, and I told him they were my favorite.

He must have remembered if the one he pinned to the dress he had delivered for the fundraiser proves anything.

Closing my eyes, I miss the sunshine that warms this garden in the summer.

I miss the sunflowers.

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