Declan

---

The next morning, after a shitty night’s sleep, I was in my shop way earlier than I should have been.

There was no point in doing anything else. Like always, the memory of her eyes was haunting me, just like the memory of those words I’d said the night before, and nothing I could do would take that away.

I didn’t want to think about it either, but there was zero chance I’d forget, so I decided to put some of that restless energy to use.

The alternative was to sit around, reeling, fighting with regret.

No fuckin’ thanks.

I hated regret, hated it more than almost anything, and refused to entertain it, especially when there was no reason for it.

I’d said what I’d said, something that I knew was the truth, so Michael’s reaction to it, her reaction, wasn’t my concern.

Or at least that was what I told myself, over and over again.

By midmorning, I was no closer to believing it, but at least I had found some distraction. That distraction came in the form of my latest project. A seventies classic muscle car through and through. By the time I finished with it, it would be in pristine condition, better than it had been when it rolled off the assembly line all those decades ago.

And each and every part of the vehicle would be touched by me, restored and again made beautiful through my labor.

If I were a man amused by irony, something that I definitely was not, I would have found the whole thing ironic.

I had first learned about cars when my father had decided I was old enough to start stealing them. Tall enough to reach inside, still skinny enough that my arm would fit if the window was cracked, hand still small enough to slip under the console and manipulate the wires underneath with far less trouble than he would have had.

I hadn’t been as enthusiastic about cars back in those days, not like that had mattered. It hadn’t, not at all. Nor had my tears or my pleading not to be involved.

But, despite that somewhat awkward introduction, I had grown to love vehicles. I’d stopped stealing them, but restoring them was a bug that had bitten me and never let go.

And, though my family business had grown far beyond stealing cars, there was still a certain simplicity in working with them. In a lot of ways it was like a puzzle, my goal to fit the pieces together until the whole machine worked.

Complicated on the surface but as simplistic as that underneath. The right combination of parts with the right effort would bring the results I wanted.

If only people were that straightforward.

They weren’t.

And that was why I was content to work with my cars and leave the rest alone. It pleased me that my brothers had found happiness and settled down.

Though I’d never told them, I often wanted a similar thing for myself. Had imagined myself with a family, someone to call my own.

But just as quickly, I imagined how that would turn out. Despite my best intentions, I knew I would wreck that family. Knew that I would destroy the woman stupid enough to tie herself to me.

So I did what was best and watched my brothers find happiness and peace and contentment with their families as I accepted that such a life could never be mine.

It was too risky.

Almost as though I had conjured her, my mind drew an image of Grace. She was the very last person I should be thinking of, especially in relation to this.

Still, though I knew it was insanity to even entertain the prospect, what my mind knew and what my heart, and body, wanted were two different things.

This thing with Grace, if I could even call it that, was ironic. I was irrevocably drawn to her.

Her softness, her gentleness, simultaneously pulled me closer and left me no choice but to keep my distance.

I wouldn’t say that she was fragile, not exactly, but there was a softness to her that attracted me and terrified me.

I sometimes caught glimpses of the quick little smiles she would toss at Sean. The way she might lift her lips, give a subtle nod to a regular customer at the pub.

Each of those smiles, the slight shift in her expression, the slight brightening of her eyes, was like a sip of water in the desert, something I wanted to bathe myself in, drown in.

Consume.

And it was that last feeling, that unrelenting desire, need, to possess her, bask in the glow of her gentleness and warmth that made me keep myself away. I knew this story and even more importantly, I knew exactly how it would end.

Grace went out of her way to avoid me, and though she was sly about it, impressively so, I didn’t miss the fact that she wanted nothing to do with me.

Still, I was certain that were I to put my full attention on it I could woo her. That wasn’t based on my own confidence in my looks, my money, what little status I had. What I knew of Grace told me she probably wouldn’t be impressed by any of those things anyway.

What I had was persistence.

When I had put my mind to something, kept my focus there long enough, hard enough, I had never not gotten my way. I was certain things would be the same with Grace, and that was a chilling thought.

I didn’t want to wear her down, persuade her. Though I knew I had the capacity, doing so would come at too high a cost. A cost I wouldn’t make her pay.

So I kept my distance and felt myself break inside a little more as I realized again that what I felt for her was never to be.

It had been easier before when I was convinced she had feelings for Sean. As fucked up as it was, that would have given me some measure of comfort. At least then I would know where she was, who she was with. And if it couldn’t be me, Sean was a good second option.

Sure, it might have crushed me to have seen her and Sean together, building the family I wanted to be mine, but I could have lived with it.

It seemed that wasn’t to be either, though.

Sean had chosen someone else, and I wasn’t sure how Grace felt about that, or whether that development would change things.

It had been a couple months since Sean’s wedding, and every day I waited for the other shoe to drop. I was positive that Grace would say it was time for her to move on.

Even here in my shop, knowing that Grace was safely home where I had left her, thinking that made me a little panicked. My hands, usually so steady with my tools, shook ever so slightly.

Each day she stayed I counted as a blessing but also torture. It only prolonged the eventuality of her leaving and at the same time gave me more time to feed the fantasy that something might change.

This situation was fucked, and I wasn’t doing anything to make it better.

Perhaps what I had said yesterday would bring things to a boil and put me out of my fucking misery.

I hated to see her leave, but I would understand, and the sooner she did, the sooner I could set myself to the task of forgetting about her and do a better job of pretending that her walking away hadn’t taken a piece of me with her.

By afternoon I had made as much progress as I would be able to on the car and had brooded myself to exhaustion. I finished what I was doing and put away my tools after I cleaned them. Then I carefully scrubbed my hands, trying to wipe away all traces of oil and grease, but knowing that I would fail.

As soon as I finished, my cell phone began to ring. I knew who it was before I even looked at it.

“Hello?” I said, waiting for the exuberant response I knew I would receive.

“Declan!” Sean called, proving my hunch right.

“Hey, Sean,” I said.

I walked around the shop and headed back up to the living area and sat down on the couch, waiting for the rest of this conversation.

“You’re calling me from vacation?” I asked.

“Is that what you call it?” he responded.

“What do you call it?” I said.

“I call it paying out of the ass to stand in line in the baking sun for hours to spend five minutes on a ride or with a teenager dressed up as a cartoon character,” Sean said.

“Isn’t that supposed to be vacation?” I asked.

“No, vacation is sitting on a beach somewhere with a drink in a pineapple,” he said.

“And topless waitresses, right?” I said, referencing the last vacation Sean had taken.

“The only person I want to see topless is Jess, but I like the way you think,” he said.

I laughed, appreciating how my brother didn’t try to pretend that he wasn’t hopelessly in love with his new wife.

“So you’re not having the vacation of your dreams?” I asked.

“The kid is on cloud nine, and so is Jess. So, this is, without a doubt, the single best vacation I’ve ever been on,” he said.

“Good to hear it,” I replied. I meant it too, and focused on that, ignoring the twinge of envy that threatened to rear its head.

“Except,” Sean said, his voice lowering slightly, “I got a call from Michael while on my vacation. He tells me that my second oldest brother is being a dick to my manager, who also happens to be my best friend.”

And just that quickly the topic had shifted to the one I had known was coming, but still found myself surprisingly unprepared for.

“You and Michael, still gossiping like little old ladies,” I said.

“Yeah, and Declan, still being an asshole,” Sean said.

“I don’t know what Michael told you, but I’m not an asshole,” I said.

“If I called Grace, would she agree?” Sean asked.

All traces of humor that had been in his voice moments ago were gone, and I could clearly picture his expression. My usually easygoing brother was fiercely protective of Grace. Something that both made me happy because he was looking out for her, and annoyed the shit out of me because it made me insane with jealousy.

“I don’t know what Grace would say. And I don’t care,” I said.

A lie that I was sure Sean didn’t miss, but he didn’t address it. Instead he said, “Well I care. You should apologize to her.”

“No fucking way,” I said.

“Why am I not surprised you said that?” he responded with a sigh.

“If you aren’t surprised, why even suggest it?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I thought you were man enough to acknowledge when you’re wrong,” Sean said.

“Whatever, Sean,” I said.

That was an impossibly lame comeback, but Sean had lost his fucking mind if he thought I was going to apologize to Grace.

Not that I was above saying I was sorry.

I wasn’t, or at least I thought I wasn’t, and besides, apologizing to her would mean talking to her, and talking to her was something I hadn’t quite gotten a handle on yet.

Something I didn’t plan on getting a handle on either.

“So you’re going to apologize?” Sean said.

“No,” I said firmly.

“But you are going to stop being a dick, right?” he asked.

“I’m not a dick. But I’ll stay out of Grace’s way,” I said.

“Well how fucking generous of you. Be nice, Declan,” he said.

“I’m a teddy bear,” I said.

Sean didn’t take the bait of my offered humor. “I’m serious. Do I need to ask Michael to look out for the pub?”

“No,” I said through teeth that I now clenched.

As irritating as it was to be in her presence every day, the idea of foisting the responsibility off to someone else was something I couldn’t deal with.

More importantly, I didn’t want to risk losing any more time with her than I already had. It was shallow time, empty, but I would take what I could get.

“Best behavior, Declan,” Sean said.

“Sean, I’m not your fucking kid,” I responded.

“Then don’t fucking act like him,” he replied firmly.

“Enjoy Florida,” I said.

“Talk to you later,” he replied.

He hung up, and after I hit the End button, I stayed seated on the couch, wondering about the mess I had gotten into.

For an instant, I considered calling Michael to chew his ass out for being a snitch, but decided I would address that point the next time I saw him. I was a little raw as it was, and Michael being Michael, he would only make that feeling worse.

And besides, if I were being honest, something I would only be here, alone in the confines of my home, I definitely knew I was wrong.

What I said might’ve been true, maybe, but what was important was that Grace hadn’t deserved that kind of treatment.

Whatever her relationship with Sean, she had been nothing but polite to me, if distant. And I swore to myself I wouldn’t be the kind of asshole to step on people, one who tried to hurt someone simply because I could.

I looked at the clock, saw that somehow the afternoon had slipped past. I was due at Boiler Room in a couple of hours.

They ticked by slowly, my emotions shifting from dread to excitement, then back to dread again only to end up at excitement again. Grace might get past my defenses like no one else could, but at least I’d get to see her, experience one of the few moments I had to look forward to.

That anticipation powering my steps, I got off the couch.

---

Grace

---

I had debated calling Sean, asking him to have Michael or Patrick come to the pub if he insisted on one of his brothers being there, but pride—and stubbornness—had kept my lips sealed. There was also the not small fact that if I had done so, Declan would know the reason why. And knowing him as I did, having observed him over the years, he would find that sort of thing weak.

And that, I simply could not bear.

People could think what they would about me, that I was tentative, quiet, a pushover, and while some of that may have been true, more so in my past than it was now, I would never add fuel to that fire.

I was my own woman, one who had fought hard for the independence I had, the life I now lived. No matter how uncomfortable I might be, how irritating Declan might be, I wouldn’t give that up for anything.

So, I wasn’t surprised when I drove through the gate into the Boiler Room employee parking lot and saw a car that I undoubtedly knew was his.

I never knew what vehicle he might be driving, but like always, this one was a classic, matte black paint on the muscular body, the rims and wheels polished to a high shine.

I’d learned through overhearing various conversations that Declan was a bit of a car obsessive, and that little piece of information explained why I sometimes caught sight of a streak of oil on the back of one of his hands, hands that I suspected he worked with every single day.

Before, that had always confused me. I didn’t exactly know what his business was, or what Sean’s was for that matter, but Declan had always struck me as a working man, and his obsession with his cars went a long way to explain that.

Again like always, I had to force my mind from going down that path.

It was so easy to imagine Declan, his body under the car, strong, competent-looking hands working on this or that.

I had often imagined those hands working over me, rough yet soft, demanding and restoring all at the same time.

Even now, as I tried to keep my mind off that thought, I felt myself responding. The little spark of desire deep in my core that would become an inferno if I let it. The way my nipples pulled tight, tingled with anticipation of his calloused hands against them…

Had I not had my lips pressed together tightly, a moan surely would have slid from them, my reaction to even the thought of Declan more intense than any I’d had before. Which was absolutely no good, something I needed to tamp down.

Sean’s stray.

Remembering those words had the desired effect, and my breath slowed, leaving me with some semblance of calm, shaky though it was.

I got out of my car, walked into the pub, and ignored Declan as he pulled the chairs from a table.

That was still impossibly difficult, the last remnants of my upbringing making it incredibly hard for me to be impolite.

But the risk of speaking to him, engaging, was far too great even though my skin crawled at the prospect of being rude.

The way I saw it, one of two things could happen. I would say hello and he would ignore me. Or I’d say hello and he would talk to me.

Both had their cons, and neither was something I wanted to deal with, so I swallowed that instinct toward politeness and went back into the kitchen. The urge to bake was strong, almost overwhelming, but I knew that was simply an offshoot of the nerves.

I didn’t have time, and suspected Declan was savvy enough to suss out that I was hiding from him in the kitchen.

Couldn’t have that either.

So, I began to warm the oven so that it would be ready for the small orders that would come in when the pub opened, and then made my way back to the bar.

Declan had finished unloading the chairs and was now propped against the bar, a glass of water in his hand.

I didn’t dare look at him, but through my periphery, I saw him swallow, saw the strong play of his throat as he drank, felt my palms begin to burn with the desire to touch him.

And just as quickly, shame—deep, intense, all-consuming—came over me.

How many times did I have to relearn this lesson? Why could I not accept, understand, control the needs that had gotten me into some of the worst situations of my life?

I reminded myself that before Declan, I had done just that, done it better than I had ever before, than I had ever thought possible. But that meant nothing.

Before Declan, I hadn’t even been tempted, hadn’t had even a hint of getting myself into something that I knew I shouldn’t.

But now, every time I saw him was a trial, a test, one that I knew I was destined to fail.