CHAPTER 2
Melissa
He said it. The “C” word.
In his office, he wasn’t so blunt. But Dad has always been gentle when it comes to me. With Declan he plays the role of the unflinching D.A., ready to face any problem dead on.
Like it doesn’t bother him.
Like this is simply the way life is.
Like it’s not killing his little girl on the inside.
Declan doesn’t give anything away in his features. He doesn’t have to, his silence is enough to show me he’s stunned. I’ll take stunned. It means he’s human and not secretly celebrating the possibility of becoming the youngest D.A. in Pennsylvania’s history.
I fiddle with my hands, almost wishing he’d jumped for joy. It would give me another reason not to like him. It would also prove to Dad he’s not the right man for my unit.
“I’m sorry,” Declan says.
He had to go and say that, the way his words slip from his mouth carrying the weight of his worry. He doesn’t think Dad is coming back.
I’m not sure he is either.
The burn filling my chest expands the longer Dad remains silent filling each small space with fear and more than its share of sadness. This is the part where he’s supposed to assure me and Declan that he’ll be fine. But he doesn’t, his silence causing my next breath to release in a painful shudder.
Declan knows I’m not taking the news well and spares me by keeping his focus on Dad.
“Things often happen that can’t be helped,” Dad offers. “I’m trying to control those things I can. This is why I want you to take charge when the time comes.” He offers a small smile. “If the time comes.”
Declan steeples his fingers, his focus flitting to me. “I see,” he says.
A glimpse of his concern pushes through his professional persona. It’s not much, just a hint of what lurks beneath the man all the staff appears to bow before, but I appreciate it more than I can explain. Kindness is something my father desperately needs, coming to terms with his diagnosis is just the start. I realize as much, just as I realize I really need it, too.
God, I’m so raw, it’s taking all I have not to cry. I’m picturing what would have happened if Dad had told me at dinner like he’d planned. It would have hurt, and I would have cried those thick awful tears I hate shedding. But to witness how much pain he’s enduring made this nightmare more real. As it is, I can’t shake the image of his paling skin. It’s like a part of him died as I held him.
“Who else knows?” Declan asks. His tone is so low, if I weren’t reading his lips, I would have missed what he said.
Dad’s voice remains steady. But then he’s had time to absorb the news and set a plan in motion. “The governor, the chief, and now you,” he answers.
“So only those who need to know,” Declan infers. At Dad’s nod, he tilts his chin. “Then that’s how it will stay until you choose to disclose it.”
Dad nods in a way that indicates he’s done talking. He stands, appearing to struggle. I hurry to help him, but think better of it. My father is a proud man. I can’t let him lose face, especially now.
“I’m sorry,” Declan says again, appearing to force himself to remain seated and not help. Like me, he recognizes Dad doesn’t want to be perceived as weak.
“Don’t be sorry,” Dad tells him. “Just do right by me when the time comes.”
I start to leave with him, but the look he tosses me holds me in place. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he says.
In other words, stay here and play nice. “All right,” I answer. I lift up on my toes to kiss his cheek, trying to keep it together and push aside the thought that our goodbyes may be numbered. “See you later. Okay?”
He smiles like always and pats my upper arm, like my world hasn’t stopped spinning and he isn’t as sick as he is. Be strong, he signs.
I’m not so sure if I can, Daddy.
I watch him leave, keeping my back to Declan until I think I’m ready to face him and not fall apart at his feet. I return to the chair directly in front of him and cross my legs, waiting for him to speak.
Maybe he’s waiting for me to speak, because we end up sitting in silence longer than necessary, doing little to ease the strain that has existed between us since the first moment we met.
I start to question which victims he’d like me to reach out to first when he asks, “What did Curran say to you?”
“What?”
“Curran, my brother,” he says a little louder. “What did he say to you?”
I don’t mean to become defensive, but it’s hard not to with Declan and his talent for saying all the wrong things to me at all the worst times. “I know who he is,” I reply.
“I know. I just wasn’t sure if you heard―” He grimaces as if in pain. “I don’t mean because you can’t hear―I would have asked anyone that question―anyone who said ‘what’ like you did.” He passes his hands along his face, mumbling something under his breath that I don’t catch. “Never mind.”
I blink back at him with my jaw unhinged. Good Lord in heaven, this is the man I’ll be working with. And it’s barely our first day together!
“I heard you,” I say, trying to remain calm. “Your question just caught me off guard because―” I shut my mouth. I don’t want to admit that I expected him to say something about Dad because I don’t want to cry, especially in front of Declan.
My hand skims across my lap and I hurry to compose myself. “He told me he liked my dress.”
“Your dress?” he questions, like he doesn’t believe me.
“Yes.”
“The one you’re wearing.”
I frown and glance down at it. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
“Of course, you look hot.”
“Hot?” I ask.
He holds out a hand. “I don’t mean it that way.”
“And what way is that?” I ask, because no way does someone like him think someone like me is hot.
“The way that you’re taking it.”
I cross my arms. “And how am I taking it?”
Oh, and there’s that pained look on his face again. “The way that you shouldn’t,’ he says.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I won’t. I never have.”
“Never?” he asks. “Even the day we met?”
My face heats as my eyebrows become better acquainted with my hairline. Declan and I have never spoken about the day we met. Probably because it was disastrous and humiliating. Seriously, I never wanted to nut-punch a man more.
“You really want to go there with me?” I ask.
A flush of red creeps along his neck. “Ah,” he says, and not much more.
He must be joking.
I was in the process of transitioning from the state office in Harrisburg to Dad’s office here in Philly. A case he was trying kept him from meeting me. I had a few hours to kill before I met with my realtor and decided to treat myself to a late lunch.
Although my back was to the entrance of the bistro, and I wasn’t wearing my hearing aids, the way the light streaked across the window beside me when the door opened, drew my attention to the front of the bistro.
Declan walked in, appearing almost too flawless, sexy, and imposing to be real. His sleek suit and tie seemed to have been hand selected and tailored to demonstrate his position of power and his success. Curran trailed him, his gaze taking the room in for any visible threat.
The waitress with the ponytail noticed him right away, pausing to allow him through and admire the view. The women gathered in the corner weren’t much better, nudging each other and whispering like a team of cheerleaders at the first sight of the quarterback.
I can’t blame them for acting the way that they did. I was taken with him, too. It’s hard not to, given his startling looks and magnetic charm he exudes like an aura. I just didn’t expect him to look in my direction. Men like him rarely did. I turned around, returning to my lunch and the novel I was reading, certain he hadn’t noticed me and never imagining he’d approach.
He rubs his jaw, watching me closely. “I didn’t mean to tell you what I did,” he says. “Not about you being beautiful because you are, but when I said, ‘You’re not deaf are you?’ I only said that because I thought you were blowing me off. I never suspected that you actually were hearing impaired.”
He fumbles through his last few words, but they’re not ones I fixate on. “You think I’m beautiful?” I stammer.
The shade of red spreads to his cheeks and further yet. He holds up his hands. “I was only trying to prove to Curran I could get you to go out with me.”
“Why?” His mouth abruptly shuts. My eyes fly open. “Was this a bet?”
“No!”
I simply stare.
“Not really,” he admits. “I told him to pick any woman in the restaurant without a ring and that I could get her, or in this case you, to go out with me.”
“Oh, my God,” I say. I didn’t think he could make the experience worse. Apparently, I was wrong. “It was a bet.”
“No,” he says, his voice growing softer. “It was just me being an asshole.”
I shake my head, wondering how in the world we’re going to survive each other. “At least we can agree on one thing,” I tell him.
His admission shouldn’t hurt me. Declan is nothing to me. But it does. I can’t explain why. Maybe it’s because he’s the walking image of perfection: Strong build, brilliant mind, and absurdly good looks. And I’m . . . not.
I’m not perfect nor do I resemble those size two models gracing the cover of fashion magazines. I’m also not like the women who look for excuses to walk into his office or laugh at the little things he says, those same women who fixate on his ass like the winning lottery numbers are scrolled across his rock hard cheeks. I’m just me, a woman who works hard, wants to do the right thing, and likes romance novels with shirtless pirates on them. What can I say, long-haired men curl my toes and Fabio always knew how to rock a paperback.
I want to tell him as much, and maybe get him to laugh just a little. But I don’t. I know the kind of women he likes and is attracted to, and none of them are anything like me.
He lets out a breath and leans forward, letting his hands fall to his desk. “Look, I’m sorry. About the way we met and what I just said about you and Curran. I’m trying to make things right between us.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, unsure whether to believe him. “But why did you ask me about Curran?”
“What?”
I tilt my head slightly. “Why do you care what he said to me? It didn’t have anything to do with you?”
“It didn’t?” he questions.
“Not really.”
He frowns as if annoyed. “It’s just that when you and Curran are around each other you like to bust my balls.”
Did he just say “balls”? Okay, so maybe the god-like Declan O’Brien is human after all.
“He told me he liked my dress,” I repeat. “And asked me if I wore it to celebrate your appointment to SACU.”
“And what did you say?” he asks, his tone turning serious.
“I told him, no. That I bought it because I like the way my boobs look in it.” I meant it as a joke then, and I mean it as a joke now, so when his eyes hone in on the girls, I’m more than a little shocked.
He catches himself a little too late, coughing into his hand. “It’s a nice dress,” he admits.
My jaw falls open again. Did he just check out my rack?
Another wave of pink flushes his face. He did just check out my rack!
I glance down again to make sure nothing is exposed. In the half second it takes me to look back up, he’s reached for his pad and a pen and switched to attorney mode. “So, we’re working together,” he says, moving on like nothing happened.
“We are,” I say, trying to keep my voice impassive. I scan his new office, feigning interest so I can force my attention off him. The bookcase, the desk, even the chairs are new. Dad really hooked him up, I guess hoping he’ll stay. And now that he all but promised Declan that he’ll be the next D.A., I know he’s not going anywhere.
I only wish I could believe it were for the right reasons.
My hands fall to my lap. “I suppose now is a good time to tell you what I’m looking for,” I say quietly.
“What you’re looking for?” he asks.
I tilt my chin, wondering why he seems confused. “Well, yes. I have certain needs that I’m hoping you’ll help me with.”
His grip to his pen tightens. “Needs? For yourself?”
“For my unit,” I clarify. I wish like his brother, Declan also understood American Sign Language. Then I could sign and not give away how nervous I sometimes feel around him. I roll my ankle, trying to shake off some of my anxiety. For all he drives me crazy, he’s doing a hell of a job making me feel self-conscious. That doesn’t mean I’ll cower or stay quiet. “It’s my understanding that the assistant D.A.s currently assigned to SACU are burnt out and requesting reassignment.”
“That’s right,” he says, his expression sour. “Just a few hours on the job and I’ve already received transfer requests in writing.”
“I’d like to help select their replacements.”
“Excuse me?” he asks.
Okay, here we go. Boob appreciation hour is officially over. “I’m not trying to step on your toes.”
“But?” he asks, leaning back against his chair.
“But nothing. I respect that the decision is ultimately yours. I’m only asking for the opportunity to provide input.” He keeps his expression neutral, and I can’t be sure he’s listening. I force myself to continue. “There have been a few new hires, and a few D.A.s looking to be challenged. I’d like to observe them in court and see how they perform on their feet. More importantly, I want to observe how they interact with victims of the more violent crimes.”
Declan appears anything but pleased. Either I’ve pissed him off or I’ve pushed him into something he’s not ready for. “I’m going to lay it right out for you,” he says, his tone matter-of fact. “SACU is the unit attorneys least want. I’m surprised the A.D.A.s currently there have lasted as long as they have.”
All right. I did annoy him. “They’ve lasted because it takes a while to become acclimated,” I counter. “But once there, they realize their importance and how much the victims and their families depend on them to help them through the process.”
“I’m not saying the work or the victims aren’t important. What I’m saying is no one is exactly begging to work there.”
“I realize SACU is the last place our attorneys want to be placed,” I say, staring straight at him. “Especially those who enter this office strictly to make connections and jump start their political careers. But it’s one of the most important units because of the sensitive subject matter and the degree of violence we see.”
I don’t mean to be so blunt, and maybe he doesn’t either, but here we sit with our gazes locked and the tension between us escalating.
Damn it. Dad wants us to work as a team. But the more we speak, the more I’m reminded Declan doesn’t want to be a part of this unit, and nowhere near me.
I inadvertently trail my fingers above the collar of my dress, it’s a nervous habit, much like when women tuck a strand of their hair behind their ear. But I never tuck my hair with my hearing aids in place. Any sound that brushes too close to the receiver such as the movement of hair, putting on a hat, resting my head against a pillow, even an intimate whisper, creates back noise similar to nails on a chalkboard.
My fingertips stroke close to the swell of my right breast as I think our situation through. I freeze when I realize Declan’s stare is following each subtle movement.
This is too weird. No way can Declan O’Brien be eyeing me like he wants to take a lick.
I ran into him at a restaurant a few weeks back. I was picking up takeout following a five mile run, still wearing the shorts and sports bra I ran in. Of course I had to see him. And of course he had to look good . . . and so did the blonde on his arm. She was a total stick and all legs, wearing a dress I don’t think I could have shoved my left breast into. I’m so not his type. So then why . . .
“I’ll allow the input,” he says.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ll allow the input,” he says, a little louder.
This time I don’t correct him. I didn’t hear him, too busy watching him watch me which is absolutely ridiculous―ludicrous even―and good God, why does he have to look so good in that damn suit!
“Thank you,” I say, tripping over the word.
I start to stand, but then think better of it, sensing we’re not leaving on the best note. I promised my father I’d try to get along with him, so the least I can do is explain where I’m coming from. “I have a good relationship with Governor McAdams,” I begin.
He frowns like I’m rubbing it in his face. “I know,” he says, his features sharpening. “I’ve heard you’re close to her and a few representatives.”
The representative comment throws me off. It’s just one rep―Trevor Stone―who I know, and we’re not exactly friends. We slept together once following a fundraiser . . . and then again after another political event. Of course, I’m not telling Declan that.
I relax my stance, placing my hands out in front of me. “I’m not trying to drop names to impress you, Declan, nor am I trying to challenge your position in any way.”
“Then what are you trying to do?” He arches a brow when I don’t initially answer and adds “Just so we’re clear, I don’t respond well to threats nor do I bow down to anyone because of who they know.”
It’s taking all I can not to slump in my seat. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Then you need to explain, Melissa. Because believe it or not I’m trying here.”
“I’m just letting you know where I’m coming from.” I sigh, when the air thickens further between us. “What I mean is I’ve met a lot of people doing what I do. And in fighting for victim’s rights as much as I have, I’ve earned a great deal of attention. Some of it’s not good,” I admit, thinking of all the people I’ve pissed off. “And some of it is, like the relationship I have with Governor McAdams. But the strong relationships I’ve made, I’ve earned from trying to help those who’ve been hurt.”
I stand because as much as I’m trying to leave on a good note, Declan’s tightening jaw is like a red flag warning me that I’m going down in flames. “Just understand I would never use who I know against you or disrespect your position. But if I need to help a victim who’s been wronged, I’ll do what it takes to make sure justice is served.”
When he says nothing more, I turn to leave. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
I pause with my hand inches from the knob. Yeah. Me, too.