Declan

---

I’d left Boiler Room and Grace three days ago, intent on putting both of them out of my mind.

What a fucking fail.

I’d thought of little else in those days but the feeling of Grace’s body against mine, the taste of her as I’d kissed her, how much I wanted to find her and finish what we’d started.

The kiss had shaken me, and for the first time in my life, I could imagine losing myself in another person, losing myself in her.

That last part had been the hardest to shake.

I’d accepted that my attraction to Grace was real. In all these years it hadn’t weakened. In fact, it had gotten stronger, so strong that my control was beginning to fray.

And I couldn’t allow that.

I wouldn’t allow that.

But I wanted to.

The mindfuck of it all was that I didn’t really understand what drew me to her. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t look at them too deeply.

If I had, I’d reach a conclusion that I didn’t want and again be reminded of what I could become, of what I would never allow myself to become.

But that conviction didn’t keep me from thinking about her. Even as I remembered how it had felt to touch her, I was haunted by the shocked expression on her face after I broke the kiss. Her dark eyes wide, swirling with passion and maybe confusion as she’d looked at me.

I hated seeing that look on her face and hated that I had put it there.

Even worse, I hated how powerless I felt.

I’d lived almost my entire life to make sure I never had that feeling again. After my mother, I’d sworn that I would never be beholden to anyone and that I would never allow myself to be subject to anyone’s whims. Not even my own.

But Grace had upended all that.

Whatever I thought and wanted, all the work I had put into making sure that I would never, ever be like him was threatened every time I looked at her.

I didn’t want to hurt Grace—I wouldn’t hurt Grace—but I wanted her so much that I didn’t know if that could be avoided. Grace got to me in a way no one ever had, and for that reason, I couldn’t trust myself around her. Despite my good intentions, I couldn’t put my faith in my ability to be strong.

Not when it came to her.

All I could do was keep my distance.

But even that seemed like a less than ideal solution.

It was.

Even though my interactions with Grace were shallow, strained, I treasured them. They were one of the only things I had to look forward to.

Just as quickly, I reminded myself that didn’t matter. What I wanted didn’t matter.

What mattered was protecting Grace from the hell I would bring her.

I was in my garage studying the car, considered doing some work, but I knew I didn’t have the focus. I wouldn’t think of anything else until I had solved this particular conundrum, but I knew that there was no way that I could. Or no way that was safe.

It occurred to me then that as much as I was thinking about myself, I hadn’t really considered Grace in this.

She was so kind, far too gentle, even for the way I had behaved thus far. That might go a long way to explain why she was terrified to look me in the eye for too long.

And in that moment, I felt like even more of an asshole than I had before.

I didn’t even really know her story.

I wanted to know it, just as I wanted to know everything about her, but I kept myself at arm’s length.

When she had first shown up, I had insisted that Sean check her out. He told me he had, and I trusted him, knew that he was better at all of that stuff than any of us, but I hadn’t asked for details.

They weren’t mine to know, and besides, the more I knew about her, the more I wanted to know about her. And all these years, my aim had been to keep myself as far away from her as I could, keep the distance that would hopefully be enough to keep me sane.

Now, though, I wondered how she felt.

I pretty much bit her head off when we talked but then had taken a complete one-eighty and kissed her. She must be confused, worried.

That didn’t sit well with me either. Not at all. I’d wanted to avoid just that and even in that attempt, I’d hurt her.

What would happen if I let myself get more deeply involved?

Nothing good.

She hadn’t been right when she’d said Sean coming back would free me. It would only keep me from Grace, take even those few precious hours of being in her presence. But it was for the best because I couldn’t trust myself around her anymore.

It would be hard at first, especially if I went to the pub with any regularity, but if I was distant enough, cold enough, she’d forget about that kiss, think of it as a momentary lapse that didn’t mean anything deeper, and we could continue on like it had never happened.

I hated that.

And more, I didn’t want Grace to think that any of this was her fault. None of it was. And as easy as it would be for me to let her think it was, I couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that.

So before I allowed common sense to stop me, I was in my car and headed toward her house, doing my best to ignore the fact that I knew the way by heart.

I also tried not to let myself be talked out of what I knew I needed to do.

Instead I just focused, telling myself over and over again that this was what I wanted and needed to do. I smiled, the moment not humorous, but the grim irony of all of this was not allowing for anything else.

Deep down, I knew Grace was the one woman I could love. And in my fucked-up world, that meant she was the one I could never have.

I made it to her house fast, far faster than I wanted.

It wasn’t late, barely after seven o’clock, though dark was starting to fall.

I saw her ridiculously small car parked in front of her house, and was both disappointed and relieved that she was here. Disappointed because that meant there was no way out of this.

It was happening.

Relieved because I didn’t know if I would ever get the nerve again.

I wanted to linger, but remembered doing so would leave me nowhere good. So instead I got out of the car quickly and walked to her door.

I hadn’t come this close the other times I had come here, but now I noticed the wreath on the door, the little herb garden off to one side of the house.

My heart twisted as I looked at all of this. The normalcy, the beauty, all of the things I wanted in my life but would never have.

Again reminded myself that normalcy, that beauty was the reason I needed to keep my distance.

I didn’t hear her approach, but heard her stop at the door and listened as the locks turned and she pulled the door open.

For a moment I paused, my eyes drinking her in.

She usually wore her hair in a tight bun, but it was down, the curly strands brushing against her neck. The way it brushed against her skin practically begged me to touch her, again remind myself that she was as soft as she looked, prove to myself again that her hips would fill my hands the way it looked like they would.

Like always, she was breathtaking, but in a different way today. Today she was soft, welcoming, seeming to call to me even though she hadn’t said a word.

I almost lost my nerve, but was distracted at the shocked expression on her face, one that reminded me of why I had come.

“Oh God. Has something happened to Sean?” she asked.

I blinked, frowned, her words throwing me off.

“Declan!” she said, her voice still low, but sharp and urgent in a way that I had never heard from her.

“No” I said, remembering myself.

“Nya? Did she have the baby?” she asked.

“No,” I said. Then I took a step forward, and she took one back.

“Can I come in?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t already.

She opened the door and stepped aside, silently allowing me to enter. She closed it, and when she turned to look at me, I could see the worry in her eyes.

“What is it?” she whispered.

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead I stayed silent, knowing it was time to do what I had come here for but unable to speak. So I went deeper into the house, my eyes going everywhere at once.

It wasn’t what I’d been expecting.

I had given far too much thought to Grace’s life when she wasn’t at Boiler Room. I’d thought I would see fluffy couches and pink pillows like the shit in the office, but there was none of that.

If anything, the place was stark, a bit like my own house. Just the basics. A love seat, not even a chair, which told me she didn’t expect visitors.

A piece of carpet over the hardwood floors, something I suspected was a remnant rather than a specifically chosen rug.

A cheap entertainment center but not much else.

No frills, no softness.

I couldn’t help but wonder how I had been so mistaken, and wonder what she might be hiding. Because this place gave me that sensation, made me feel like she lived here, but she didn’t really inhabit the place.

Driven by curiosity about her, a deep desire to see more of her, I moved farther into the house toward the kitchen.

It couldn’t have been more different than the drab living room.

While the living room only had the barest necessities, the kitchen was filled with every gadget I could have imagined. It was also decorated with potted herbs and canisters decorated with sunflowers.

I breathed out hard and started smiling despite myself.

After only a few seconds I knew this room was her, the Grace I so wanted to know.

“Declan,” Grace said on a low voice edged with urgency.

I turned to look at her then, saw that some of her shock had faded and in its place was confusion and perhaps annoyance. She stood in the living room and as I looked at her, I remembered why I’d come. Those few precious moments glimpsing at the real Grace were over.

After walking back into the living room, I started pacing, an old habit that I only reverted to when I was anxious. I dragged my fingers through my hair and breathed out hard.

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

I turned and looked at her again and shook my head.

“It’s not…. No one’s hurt,” I said.

That slackened some of the worry in her eyes, but didn’t get rid of it completely.

She didn’t speak, but as she looked at me, I could see the question. Decided I would voice it myself.

“You want to know what I’m doing here?” I said.

She didn’t respond, but a response wasn’t necessary.

“I want to know what I’m doing here too,” I whispered, answering my own question.

She looked at me, and still didn’t speak, but I noticed that she now worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

Instantly, I remembered what it had been like to kiss those lips, to taste her mouth, and worked quickly to push that thought out of my head.

“I…” I trailed off, tugged at my hair again.

“Declan,” she said.

I looked at her, the sternness in her voice surprising.

When I met her eyes, she nodded and blinked, but the way she said my name was enough to get me to continue.

“That kiss…” I said, trailing off.

Her eyes darkened, and she lowered her brows a bit. The expression was inconclusive though, and while I could see that she had a reaction to me mentioning the kiss, I had no idea what that reaction was.

“It’s…I don’t know…”

I trailed off again, let out a frustrated sigh and walked closer to her. That was dangerous, and stupid, but I needed her to understand where I was coming from.

At the same time, I was also constrained. How could I tell her that I wanted her so much it scared me? That I wanted her to want me too, but didn’t know if she ever could, especially not if she really knew me and what I could become?

No, there was no way I could say all of that to her, just like there was no way I could make her understand.

So, in that moment as I looked at her, her brown eyes locked on mine, I went with simplicity.

“I’m sorry, Grace,” I said.

I wasn’t a man prone to lying, but that apology definitely was.

I didn’t want to frighten her, didn’t like the look of shock in her eyes, but I wasn’t sorry for that kiss, and I never would be.

“You’re sorry?” she whispered.

That soft question was yet another reminder of why I needed to keep my distance.

“Yes,” I said, finding the strength to move on. “I’m sorry. I was out of line and shouldn’t have done that. It won’t happen again. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll stay out of your way.”

I had gotten the words out on a rush, pushed them out as fast as I could, hoped that they sounded like I meant them, but knew it was more important that I had said them.

Then, after I finished, I focused on Grace, looked at her as she processed the words.

That was another thing I hadn’t been able to wrap my head around. I could read people. I didn’t know if it was a gift or curse, but I almost always knew when someone was lying, and, usually, I could tell what they were thinking.

But not with Grace.

No, with her, I had no clue what was going on in her head.

Even now, when it felt so vital, was so vital, I had no insight into what was going on in her mind. I wanted to know.

So I looked at her, waited, not sure what I was waiting for, but wanting her to react.

Best-case scenario, she’d accept my apology, agree to overlook my misstep, and not think of it again.

Worst case, she would leave.

Seeing the inside of her house told me that my suspicions had been correct. Grace was keeping herself distant, refusing to put down roots here. I knew how much she cared for Sean, and how much Sean cared for her, but having seen how she lived, I knew she would leave.

And I didn’t want that to be my responsibility.

Yes, because I knew Sean would miss her, but I was being selfish in this. It would hurt, take all of my strength to allow it to happen, but watching Grace move on, grow, find someone else would be hard, and not seeing her again would be impossible.

So I could do it, be around her, but not have her.

Unless she decided that she didn’t accept my apology, that she couldn’t overlook what I had done.

I wanted to speak to try to relieve the tension of this moment and perhaps understand what she was thinking.

But I didn’t. Instead I stayed still, waiting, wondering, not sure what she was going to say but knowing that after she said it everything would change.

She had looked away, her eyes cast down, her head tilted too, hiding one side of her face.

Then, in the next breath she looked up, her eyes still heavy-lidded, her expression still that one that I didn’t quite know how to read.

“You’re sorry, Declan?” she whispered.

I nodded.

Though she had turned to face me, she had kept her eyes down. But then she lifted them, again locked eyes with me.

“I’m not.”