CHAPTER 25
Melissa
I run down the street and cut a hard right onto my block, my lungs burning as the frigid January air passes in and out with each harsh breath. I hate running. I really do. Except I no longer do it to eat what I want. In fact, there are days where I have no appetite at all. But I have to run. It’s the only weapon I have against the stress plaguing my life.
“The will is in the vault,” Dad told me this morning, his body so weak, he could barely speak the words.
“I’m not having this discussion with you,” I replied. I gathered his blanket and tucked it around him, hoping he would fall asleep so we wouldn’t have to have this talk.
“Melissa, please listen,” he said. “I’m not sure we’ll have another moment.”
He had a bad morning, a worse night, and a really bad week.
My feet stomp against the pavement, moving faster as I recall the conversation. He’s leaving me everything, but asked me to put money aside for Mae to ensure she’ll have a comfortable retirement.
“I couldn’t give her everything she wanted from me. But I can give her this,” he said.
Tears streak down my face, freezing against my cheeks. “I’ll do whatever you want, Daddy,” I told him. It was as much as I could say.
One week. In one week he’s scheduled for an experimental procedure to remove what’s left of the tumors. If he survives and recovers from the surgery, the doctors think he’ll be okay, his body ravaged, but okay.
But I’m not sure he has a week left . . .
I practically fall onto my front stoop, my breaths so labored anguish fills my chest. But I’ll recover by the time I step into my kitchen. I’m healthy, unlike my poor father.
“Don’t cry, Melissa,” he said. “If it’s my time, I’ll go willingly.”
“And if it’s not?” I asked. “Will you fight and stay with me?”
“I’ll always fight for you,” he promised.
I sniff as I lower myself into deep lunge, trying not to lose it. It’s bad enough I sobbed in front of my elderly neighbor the other day when she asked how I was doing. But it’s hard trying to stay strong. Every thought wanders back to my father and how frail he appeared beneath those heavy blankets, and how sad Mae appeared when she saw us.
Mae, poor sweet Mae. Her heart is breaking. I can see it and feel it every time she’s at my father’s side.
As lovely and supportive as she’s been, she’ll return to England if my father doesn’t make it. “It’s not home without him,” she confessed.
I know what she means.
My father, my only family, and the one constant in my life, may no longer be around in a few days’ time. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone.
I switch legs, stretching my tight muscles. This morning started out with me clicking the television on while still in bed, only for Declan to be the first face I saw. There he was, bigger than life as always, but this time on my flat-screen. “Governor McAdams swore in Acting District Attorney Declan O’Brien today,” the reporter said. “Officially making him the youngest D.A. in Pennsylvania’s history.”
His mother held the bible beneath his hand as he recited the oath while an army of O’Briens lined the back wall, the pride they emanated appearing to drift into my living room.
Curran stood directly behind him, holding Fiona who couldn’t stop waving at the audience. Baby Clodagh was there, too, wearing a sweet lavender dress and fast asleep in her mama’s arms.
When Curran called me to say she’d been born and invited me to the hospital to meet her, I couldn’t say no and thought I’d be okay. At first, I was, despite everything going on with Dad, this beautiful baby was a reminder of what a miracle life is.
Everything changed when Declan lifted her into his strong embrace. It was the first time I saw him hold a baby. He was a natural and it warmed my heart. But it was hard to witness what we’d never share and I had to look away.
Damn it, I hated the way we broke up and how everything transpired. The whole thing was a mess, but I can’t put it all on him, just like I can’t stop thinking about our time together. Every night when I slip beneath the cool sheets, I remember how warm his skin felt against mine. Mostly though, I think of the times we spent laughing and speaking softly.
I pull down the zipper to my running jacket, trying to cool off. I wonder if Declan knows what it took for me to trust him and how lost I am without him. I also wonder if he thought of me when he took his oath. I would have given anything to be there and celebrate the moment with him regardless of how I continue to struggle with whether our relationship was real.
Real or not, it doesn’t stop me from loving him.
I finish my pathetic attempt at stretching and climb the steps, punching the security code quickly and slipping inside. The door shuts behind me as I come to an abrupt halt and my gaze locks on Declan.
He’s sitting at the top of my steps. It’s only been a few days, but seeing him is like taking a full breath after almost drowning. The relief he brings is startling, flooding me with too many emotions to count, and even more than I can bear.
My hand smooths over the railing. He must have been waiting a while. His long wool coat is folded beside him and the sleeves of his dark blue sweater are pushed above his muscular forearms. The sweater, cashmere I think, clings to his broad chest, the color accentuating his light eyes and hair while dark jeans cover his long legs.
And here I am in running attire and my hair dangling around my face.
Still, it takes all I have not to bolt up the stairs and throw myself in his arms.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I answer, just barely getting the word out.
I’ve entertained a thousand times what I would do if I saw him again. I knew we’d eventually meet, at some political affair, a fundraiser, something. But here, like this? No. Someone like him, so proud and capable of having anyone he wanted wouldn’t come back, not after everything I said to him.
My legs feel like lead as I climb. I force myself forward, despite how his presence seems to cement me in place. I stop suddenly when I realize that on each step is a paperback novel with a shirtless man gracing the cover.
I lift my chin to meet Declan’s face. “I thought about bringing you roses,” he says. “But I figured you’d prefer Scots in loincloths to posies and petals.”
The corners of my mouth curve upward. I lift My Highlander, My Hotness titling it so Declan can see the cover. “Dem Scots don’t wear anything beneath their kilts.”
He makes a face. “Thanks for the visual.”
Despite everything I’m going through and everything between us, I can’t stop my grin. I lift the next book and examine the cover. “Classic Fabio,” I tell him.
“Yeah . . . That one was on clearance shoved between a few packs of edible underwear. The lady at the store said it’s a collector’s item.” He pauses. “That’s bullshit, right?”
I try not to laugh, but it’s hard. “Are you calling the woman who sells these babies and cherry-flavored panties a liar?”
“How did you know they were cherry-flavored?” he asks, smirking.
It’s only because I know him the way that I do, that I’m able to say what I say next. “You made Wren buy these, didn’t you?”
“Oh. Hell yeah,” he answers. “I wouldn’t be caught dead buying this shit.” He points to the one on top of my pile. “By the way, she wants to borrow Lord of My Loins when you’re done. She said it reminds her of Evan.” He holds up a hand and grimaces. “I don’t want to know.”
This time, I do laugh. But as I tuck each paperback against me, and close the distance between us, my humor fades and every emotion I’ve experienced in his absence hits me all at once. God, I’ve missed him.
He stands with his coat folded over his arm as I reach the step beneath where he’s seated. “Here, let me help you,” he offers.
I pass him the stack of books. “Thank you,” I tell him quietly.
I reach for the key in my pocket, wrestling with what to do as I unlock the door. He’s hurt me so badly and I’m scared to trust him. But he’s trying, and if I’m being honest, I don’t want him to leave.
I also don’t want to walk away from him like I did in the hospital, afraid to look back and even more scared when he didn’t follow.
“Would you like to come in?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I lower my lids at the familiar rasp to his voice. What I’d give to have him hold me, and mean it, and . . . damn it. I push the door open, allowing him through before following and locking the door behind us.
He steps in, past the foyer and into the kitchen. I kick off my shoes and remove my socks, placing both in the washing machine as Declan sets my books down along my granite counter.
He walks around the island and stands in front of my couch, the same couch we made love on so many times. “Would you like some water?” I ask, averting my focus.
“No, thank you,” he says. “I’m good.”
“All right.” I pull a water bottle out of the fridge, twisting off the cap as I return to the living room. “Please have a seat. I’ll be right back, I just want to freshen up.”
I head into my bedroom, stripping down to my black sports bra and capri running pants as I step into my bathroom. The hair tie is barely holding my messy strands in place. I leave it in just long enough to wash my face and hands then pull it out to give my hair a quick brush.
In all the ways Declan could have found me, he had to see me at my absolute worst. I’m not even wearing make-up, and here he is looking as perfect as always.
Regardless, I don’t swipe my lashes with mascara or add a little gloss to my lips. He’s already seen me and I don’t want to keep him waiting.
I ground to a halt when I find Declan leaning against the doorway to my bedroom.
“Hey,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t be in here, but we’ve been apart for so long, I didn’t want to wait anymore.” He sighs. “I fucking miss you, Melissa.”
My stare falls to my clasped hands. “I wish I could believe you, Declan.”
His voice deepens. “I wish you could too.” He pushes off the frame and walks forward, lowering himself onto the edge of my bed. “Will you sit with me, please?”
I nod, carefully settling beside him. At first, neither of us speaks or moves.
He’s so close, his body heat radiates against mine. Not so long ago, we wouldn’t hesitate to touch each other. Knowing so makes this moment all the more painful.
I swallow hard when he takes my hand in his. “I went to see your dad tonight after work. He told me you were here, and about the surgery next week.”
His hands stays over mine, covering it completely and reminding me of better times. “I was sure you’d be with him,” he says when I don’t respond.
“I have been,” I assure him, though I don’t confess that I’ve rarely left his side. “I came back to sort through my bills and then went for a run.” We’re making small talk which I’d normally hate, but right now it just feels good to hear his voice despite the subject.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Not great,” I answer honestly. My fingertip passes over the hook to my hearing aid, more because I’m nervous than a need to adjust it. But the feel of it beneath my touch, and the squeal I create from the contact, remind me of my imperfections, something I could do without in Declan’s presence.
I remove both, and place them beside me, the sudden loss of sound granting me a little peace despite how exposed it leaves me.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says when I look up, permitting me to read his lips.
My thoughts revert to all the insecurities I possess. I’m not certain why, perhaps it’s because Declan has a way of stripping me bare and depicting my vulnerability without ever touching me.
I take a breath and let those thoughts release.
That I wish my father could live and that I could be that perfect person you needed. That I can’t find my smile without you and what remained of my heart stayed with you the day I walked away. It’s everything I’m thinking. It’s also everything I can’t tell him.
So I tell him what I’ve been feeling since I left my dad this morning in Mae’s care. Mae, who’s suffering right along with him because like me, there’s very little she can do to ease his pain. “I’m thinking that my father gave up everything for me, even love.” My voice shakes. I’m ready to cry, knowing what I say is true.
He wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. “You’re wrong,” he tells me. “He sacrificed what he thought was necessary to be a good father. In turn you made him proud and gave him more happiness than any man could hope for.” His fingers skim along my waist. “You say he gave up love for you. What you don’t understand is he found it the day he met you.”
His lips pass along my jaw. “Declan,” I whisper.
He pulls back, making certain I can read his lips. “I’m not trying to seduce you,” he says. “That’s not what I’m here for. But I have to tell you, it’s killing me to see you in pain.”
I brush a tear away. “Melissa, please don’t cry.”
I drop my hand away. “I can’t help it. It’s so hard to see you and not . . .” I don’t finish my thought.
He smooths his hand across my belly. “And not what?” he asks, his voice lowering. “Tell me what you want to say. I need to hear you say it.”
“And not be with you,” I reply.
His hand sweeps through my hair to hold my face. “No, tell me how you feel. So I know you still feel it.”
Tell him I love him, he means. But it hurts too much to say. I squeeze my eyes shut, allowing more tears to scatter along my cheeks.
When I don’t respond I wait for him to pull away and steel myself for what will be our final goodbye. He’s upset. After our fight at the hospital, and now this, he must be. So when I open my eyes and his features hold nothing but tenderness, I’m not prepared. Nor am I prepared for his words.
“I’m not staying on as D.A., and I’m not running for mayor. If you leave for D.C., I’m leaving with you.”
“What? Why?” I scan his face. “Declan . . . this is everything you’ve ever wanted.”
The muscles tense along his jaw. “Because last night when I was sworn in as District Attorney―when I took the first major step in getting everything I’ve worked for, and fought for, and dreamed of, it meant absolutely nothing. None of it―the job, my career, my fucking life― means anything without you.” His hand strokes my face, his touch so gentle I barely feel the caress. “I need you, Melissa,” he says, his stare drilling into mine. “For all the good, and all the bad. I need you with me for all of it.”
His words drill down to my soul. I try pull away, too afraid to believe what he says.
Declan won’t let me, keeping his arm fastened around my waist.
He lifts my hand and places it over his chest. “If you don’t believe me, feel me. Feel my heart. It hasn’t been the same since you left me.”
Beneath my palm, the strong steady beats increase in speed, matching mine as it races ahead.
“I’m tired of being apart,” he tells me. “Of trying to be something, when I’m nothing without you.”
I pull my hand away. “Declan, I’m never going to be everything you need.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You already are, Melissa.”
I breakdown, and it’s that ugly, awful cry that women hate. Declan doesn’t care, bending forward and kissing my lips. “I know you’re afraid you’ll lose your family if you lose your dad,” he says. “But as so long as you want me, I swear to Christ you’ll never be alone.”
When his mouth again meets mine, the walls I so carefully solidified come down in one mighty crash. I reach for Declan’s sweater, pulling it off. My pants follow as he yanks them down. I barely finish peeling off my sports bra when he pushes his hard length inside me.
My spine bows back and I bite back a blissful scream.
“I love you,” he says, thrusting hard. “I’ll love you forever . . .”