Declan

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“Another round?”

I shook my head no at my brother Michael’s question and then slid the empty glass in front of me from one hand to the other.

I sat in the unofficial Murphy family spot, the location giving me a full view of the Boiler Room Irish Pub and Bakery.

And a full view of her.

“What brings you in tonight?” I asked Michael when I finally managed to drag my focus from her.

I didn’t move, but turned my head to meet Michael’s eyes. That doing so put her out of my gaze was simply a convenience.

“I have things to do later, but I thought I’d stop by and see how everything was going,” he said calmly, the expression on his face almost serene.

I smiled briefly, studying Michael.

“Did you start meditating or something?” I asked.

He shot me a glare, the expression reminding me of my brother as he had always been. But just as quickly, that glare was gone.

“When a man is happy, shouldn’t he show it?” Michael said.

A year ago, I would have slid out of my chair if he’d said something like that, but now, hearing this new, Zen Michael wasn’t so much of a surprise.

In fact, it was nice to see.

Patrick had found someone, settled down, and was expecting his first child any day.

Michael and his wife, Eden, were in the midst of rebuilding our family’s hotel.

Sean had discovered he had a son, set off to turn himself into a father, and had fallen in love along the way.

Things were looking up for my family in a way that had always seemed impossible.

And I was happy for them, truly.

On instinct, one that I didn’t dare examine too closely, I looked to my left, saw her at the bar.

I looked away just as quickly, but when I glanced at Michael, I saw that he hadn’t missed my little slip-up.

Fortunately, he chose not to say anything.

“Good. How are things at the hotel?”

“Progressing. The fire completely destroyed it, but it’s getting closer. We’re on time and under budget,” Michael said.

“You sound like Patrick,” I replied.

Michael shivered, then gave a smile that was good-natured for him. “That’s a truly horrific thing to say, but I’m in a good enough mood, so I’ll let it slide,” he said.

I laughed, shrugged, knowing that Michael and Sean viewed sounding like Patrick as one of the worst things they could do.

It made sense. Patrick was more of a father to Michael and Sean than our own had ever been, and like any father, he had wishes and desires for their lives that he had no trouble expressing. So of course they would push back, but for the most part, my brothers and I were solid.

And I’d never let anything, or anyone, come between us.

“This is the third time you’ve been here this week,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” I said, frowning but then quickly schooling my expression. “I’m looking after Sean’s stray. Promised him I would while he was on vacation with Jess and the kid.”

When Michael didn’t say anything I glanced at him, curious, and then was hit by a deep dread.

I froze but then turned.

Locked eyes with said stray.

The deep, dark brown I saw there had haunted my dreams for years. At this point, had become the thing I last thought of before sleep, the first thing I thought of when I was awake.

But the expression that confronted me now wasn’t the one from my dreams.

It wasn’t that same detachment that I had seen so often before, either.

Instead, I saw shock, hurt.

And then I saw nothing.

That dread deepened, now tinged with something far too much like shame.

She blinked, her wide, doe-like eyes dismissing me with that simple action, and then glanced at Michael.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

It still surprised me that her voice, so quiet, so gentle, was also so clear even in the boisterous pub. It hadn’t always been that way. Before, when she’d first come around, her words had been barely audible, each one sounding like she had to choke it out, the little waver that was always in her voice making it seem like she was terrified. I’d never been sure if she was scared of speaking or scared of being heard.

But now, things were different. Her voice was never loud but that little edge of fear was gone. Hearing her always reminded me of something my mother had told me once. That some people didn’t need to scream to be heard, especially not if I was listening.

For reasons I dared not consider, I was always listening to her.

“I’m good, Grace,” Michael said. Even he spoke somewhat gingerly, treated her if not with kid gloves, then with more care than he did most anyone.

“And you?” she said.

She didn’t look at me, but since I was the only other person there, it was obvious she was speaking to me. But even if there had been a hundred people around us, I would have known.

It was probably a creation of my own imagination, but when she spoke directly to me, I always knew.

Perhaps because it was so infrequent.

She seemed to go out of her way not to address me directly, and I could only recall a handful of times she had ever uttered my name.

And yet and still, each time she directed even a small amount of her attention on me, I knew.

I looked at her, not able to fully see her dark eyes because she had lowered her long lashes. But I saw the rounded cheekbones those lashes lay against, her full lips, the top slightly plumper than the bottom and one of the parts of her that always caught my attention, though all of her always did.

Dropped my gaze lower to her slightly pointed chin, the sharpness there giving some depth to her otherwise full face. I didn’t let myself look lower, though.

I didn’t need to.

I’d memorized every inch of her curvy body from her small, high breasts, the luscious hips that I longed to hold as I pounded into her, to her prim little ankles that would feel so good locked around my waist.

Too bad that would never happen.

“I’m good,” I said a moment later after I’d pulled myself away from thoughts of the impossible.

I barely got the words out before she turned on her heel and left.

I suppressed the instinct to follow her with my gaze. I always did that, and it got harder to resist the urge every day. But today, it was even more important that I do so.

I knew I had said something I shouldn’t have. It probably didn’t matter. To her, I was simply someone to tolerate for Sean’s sake. I severely doubted I had the power to hurt her, but I still felt a twinge of guilt.

Grace was gentle, quiet, and attacking her, despite the truth of what I might say, was dickish. I didn’t like that and refused to allow myself to become the kind of man who took pleasure from hurting others.

When I looked at Michael again, I met his gaze and immediately saw the disapproval.

This was worse than I had expected.

Michael was many things, but sensitive was not one of them. And if what I’d said was enough to offend him, I’d definitely crossed the line.

Not that I would admit it to him.

“What the fuck are you looking at me for?” I asked gruffly.

Michael didn’t even blink.

Instead, using his newfound—and incredibly annoying—patience, he held my gaze.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“What?” I said, shrugging.

“Don’t bullshit me, Declan,” he said, chiding.

“You might want to hold on there, little brother,” I said, letting a bit of threat bleed into my voice.

Michael lifted a brow. “And don’t try that ‘little brother’ shit either. What was that about?” he said.

What could I say? That being here every day was torture? That being this close to her, knowing that I could never have her, was getting under my skin?

I loved my brother and trusted him implicitly, but there was no fucking way I was telling him that.

So instead I chose another tack, one that was true but that didn’t get to the heart of the matter.

“What did I say that was wrong?” I asked, challenge clear in my voice.

“Come on,” Michael responded, looking at me skeptically.

“No,” I said forcefully, “you tell me.”

“Declan, you have no reason to treat her like that,” he said.

“Treat her like what? You’ve seen how she is. Stuck under Sean, barely able to utter a word. He treats her like she’s some stray puppy he found and wanted to take home. What’s wrong with acknowledging that?” I said.

I managed to sound convincing, at least to my own ears, though with each word I spoke, the twist in my gut got a little worse. It would be nice, easy, if that were the truth, or the complete truth.

But it wasn’t. I knew that, and Michael knew it too. Something that was confirmed when I looked at him again.

He tossed back the last of his drink and then shook his head. “Whatever you say. I’m out of here,” he said.

“You just got here,” I responded.

“Yeah,” he said, “but the company tonight is shit.”

He slapped me on the shoulder, perhaps an attempt to take away some of the sting of what he said, though, knowing Michael, it was probably just a habit.

And just that quickly I was again alone, stuck with my thoughts.

I glanced over, my eyes immediately landing on Grace.

Tortured by the woman I could never have.