Page 93 of Killaney Blood
"My body." I hesitate, my chest tight. I've never told anyone this, not willingly. "I never told you, but I can't have kids. A doctor told me years ago," I say, and wipe a tear from my eye, "andhonestly, it never bothered me much until now." I finally look up at him. "And it's not fair to you."
Declan's face is stone, processing. I watch him, bracing for disgust, pity, or worst of all, that horrible soft understanding that precedes goodbye.
He reaches out and grips my hand again.
"That's okay," he says finally. "I didn't fall for your womb, Lyra. I fell for you. For your fire. For the way you stood up to me when no one else would. For the fact that I felt like I couldn't have you until I proved I could keep you."
I shake my head, not allowing myself to believe him. "You say that now, but I know how your world works. Heirs, family line, it's important. You'll need children one day, and it'll end much worse than if we just slow things down now."
"You think I care about any of that?" he says quietly at first, then louder, anger creeping into his voice. "You think I'd let something like that make me walk away from you? How could you fucking think that?
I can't answer him at first. I can't find the words to explain the emptiness I feel about not being able to provide him something, something I've never wanted to have with anyone before.
"I'm just being honest,” I finally say.
"No," he snaps. "You're running."
I pull my hand back, wiping my face.
"Look, I just," I bounce my leg up and down, trying to organize my thoughts. "I mean. I don't deserve any of this stuff. This isn't my life, not the one I should get after everything I've beenthrough. And you don't deserve someone like me. You're an amazing man, Declan, and I can't give you what you're giving me."
"But I'm telling you, I don't care and you do deserve these things, Lyra. You're not some broken woman. Yes, you had a terrible past, but that doesn't define you."
I stand up, needing distance. "We should just stop pretending now. I'll be?—"
"What the hell did you just say?" His voice cuts through the room, sharp and dangerous.
"No, I don't mean I?—"
"Who's fucking pretending here?" He struggles to sit up straighter, ignoring the pain it clearly causes him.
"It's just. Look at you." I gesture to his bandaged body. "Is this because of me?"
"What? No?"
I give him a look, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"Seriously? Right after being shot at a train station, after killing the Albanian Don, for who? Me."
"This isn't connected to that," he insists, but I don't know.
Fuck, Callum is in my head. He's right, though. In the end, I can't make Declan happy, and like Keira said, be either in or out.
"I just, I just think it's best if I go back to just being your nurse," I say. "I'll help you get your strength. Work with your fighters. Keep things professional. You're my boss. I'm your medic. That's it."
His expression hardens, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "So that's it? You're just going to fucking leave?"
"No. That wouldn't be fair. You've risked so much for me. I will stay. Like I said, I'll help you, your fighters, but as friends. No more, you know. And no more buying me things or treating me special. Save it for someone who deserves it. I can stay in a spare bedroom."
"If you're going to walk away from this like it meant nothing, then go." His voice is cold now, the warmth from earlier completely gone.
"I just?—"
"You've said enough. Leave."
I stand frozen, caught between the urge to run and the desperate need to stay, to explain that I'm doing this for him, not to him. But the words won't come.
I turn and walk toward the door, each step feeling like I'm wading through concrete.
