Page 37 of Declan
“Fuck Cara, that’s not...” He groans, dropping his head in his hand.
I stand, phone clutched in my hand, but forgotten for the moment. “Why do you do this?” I ask him quietly. “You never say what you mean. What you want. The closest you came was the night at my club. You told me you were jealous. You told me you want to be friends. What else do you want to say? Why can’t you just talk to me?”
He drops his hand, pinning me with the biggest glare to ever grace his face. It’s the fiercest I’ve ever seen him. “You’re intimidating as fuck. You’re a walking wet dream, and I spend the entire time you’re near me trying to not come in my pants. I feel like a fucking idiot around you.”
He’s off the bed and slamming into the bathroom before I can take my next breath. Of all the things I imagined coming out of Declan’s mouth, that wasn’t even in the top hundred.
Staring blankly at the phone in my hand, toes freezing, mind spinning, I just breathe. When my mind settles, my feet take me straight to the bathroom door. I’m about to knock to say...I don’t know what, when the shower comes on. Slumping back onto the bed, I slap at my phone, willing its display to change. But it stubbornly refuses to. That fucking No-Service message is where my bars should be.
Not only am I stuck in the middle of nowhere with him, but I’ve also lost contact with everyone I know and love. I’ve lost contact with Bree. That thought is the one that breaks me. I haven’t gone a day without talking to her in a decade. I’m not fucking starting now.
Diving for the ancient phone on the table, I scream in frustration at the lack of a dial tone. I am not letting this storm fuck with my life like this. I rifle through my bag, and after a quick check that the shower is still running, strip and throw on the warmest clothes I have, leggings and a t-shirt. Then I throw Declan’s hoodie back over it. All that’s running through my mind is getting to Bree, or at least getting to a working phone to talk to Bree. It’s not just for her. I have to know she’s okay. I have to.
I’m panting, slapping at the stupid locks on the door, trying to get out when powerful arms wrap around my waist.
“Cara, what the fuck? Stop. Stop. You can’t go out there like this.” I’m fighting, trying to peel those hands away from me so I can get out. Get away. Then I’m spinning and being dropped onto the bed. Declan backs away, planting his back against the door. Logic would have me sit here, calm down, and come up with a plan to reach Bree. But the panic, the overwhelm, the same ones that I’ve been struggling with since that night, are in full control.
I’m jumping off the bed and running at Declan before I even realize it. Pushing, pulling, trying anything I can to get him out of my way. Other than rocking him slightly, I can’t get him to fucking move. He doesn’t fight back, doesn’t react, just stands there like a fucking wall as I burn myself out. When I have nothing left, I fall to the floor.
My knees never hit the rust-colored carpet. Instead, I’m pulled into Declan’s bare chest, and he drops to the floor with me curled in his lap.
I’m not sure when my panting breaths turn to sobs, but they tear through my body with the force of a hurricane. I’m so fucking scared. I have been for weeks, but I’ve been keeping it together in front of Bree. Not letting myself fall apart until I’m in the silence of my car. It’s always been my job to make sure she’s okay. To be the strong one. I am not okay, but knowing she was, that she was alive and breathing, helped me keep my shit together. But I think I’m cracking, crumbling.
And the man who ran every time I cornered him at work is humming to me, petting my hair, and rocking us. The beat of his heart is steady, where mine is racing. Everything about him seems solid and in control. When I so am not.
Whatever fucking planet I’m on right now, I think I want to move here.
19
DECLAN
I ran to the fucking bathroom. What am I? A teenage girl? I flip the shower on, letting it warm while I mentally beat my head against a wall. Why the fuck do I just blurt shit out like that? Christ, watching Zach pick up women is like watching an elite gamer. Me, on the other hand? A mom playing Pac-Man at an arcade. There is absolutely no comparison.
I strip off my hoodie and t-shirt, bracing my hands on the sink. I look like a grown-ass man. Why the fuck don’t I act like it? Time to stop hiding from this shit and just tell Cara what’s going on in my head.
Decision made, I slap off the shower and wrench open the bathroom door, ready to man the fuck up, when I spot Cara at the door, feet still bare. It’s not until I get closer that I realize she’s gasping, freaking the fuck out. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but she can’t go out there like that.
I wrap my arm around her waist, trying to get her to calm down, but it’s like she doesn’t even hear me, pulling and tugging at my arms. I’m freaked she’s going to hurt herself. I lock my fingers, making it impossible for her to get loose. Old me might have had a hard time holding onto her. New me doesn’t.
Picking her up, I drop her onto the bed, then back up and block the door. She’s not getting out of this fucking room in the state she’s in. My stomach clenches when I get a good look at her face. Her eyes are red, mouth twisted. Her blonde hair, already mussed from sleep, is tangled and staticky. Whatever the fuck happened must have been bad. I’ve never seen her like this. Not even the night at the hospital. She was wrecked then, but still present. But not now. Now? Cara’s left the building. It’s just pure desperation left in her.
I’ve seen this before, in one of the other kids at my sixth foster home. He’d been hurt pretty badly...he never told us how, but I imagined the worst and probably wasn’t far off. He used to get triggered by the littlest things, and he’d fucking bolt. Didn’t matter where we were or if where he was running to was safe. He just...ran. Into the street. Into traffic. Into a field. His body was pure flight, trying to escape the perceived threat.
She flies back at me, trying to move me, but she’s got no fucking chance. Not in this state. I have no doubt, if she was thinking clearly, she’d be able to make me hurt. But not right now. Not like this.
Finally, she runs out of steam, her hands dropping, head falling forward. She drops. I can’t let her hit the floor, pulling her into my arms instead. Then together, we curl onto the ancient carpet. Her heaving breaths change to sobs, and I pull her closer, humming some stupid video game theme stuck in my head. Then we rock.
Jonas always liked the rocking. We didn’t always get to help him when he was struggling, sometimes being touched was too much. The best thing was to leave him alone. But other times, he’d let us sit with him, holding the back of his neck, and we’d rock. It helped him process whatever he was struggling with in the moment. Maybe it will help Cara. Whatever is happening, I need it to stop. I can’t fucking bear seeing her this hurt without knowing what I can do to help. To make it better.
I don’t know how much time passes, but the room lightens, and my ass is completely frozen from the cold air coming under the door. Thank fuck she didn’t make it out there in this weather.
Finally, her sobs slow. She’s boneless against my chest, trusting that I’ve got her. Something about her vulnerability settles me. Balls to the wall Cara turned me into a teenage boy. Vulnerable, crying Cara has stripped that kid away, leaving only the man.
Stroking her hair, I press my cheek to the top of her head. “What’s happening? Talk to me.”
“Nothing,” she mumbles, halfheartedly pulling away. I tighten my arms, and she gives in right away, dropping her head back to my chest.
“It’s not nothing. We both know that. I promise you can talk to me.”
