Page 103 of Daddy's Ring
The last carpulls away and I'm left in the sudden quiet of Declan's house, my house,ourhouse—I don't even know what to call it anymore. I start gathering plates from the coffee table, stacking them carefully while my mind replays Naomi's words on an endless loop.
Either leave for real or stay for real.
The kitchen smells like garlic and wine and contentment. I run hot water in the sink, watching it steam up the window above, and start scrubbing a plate even though Declan has a perfectly good dishwasher. I need something to do with my hands, need the repetitive motion to quiet my racing thoughts.
Maeve went down without protest, exhausted from being passed around all evening like the world's most beloved football. She loved every second of it—all those faces cooing at her, making her giggle, treating her like she was precious. Sheisprecious. And Declan treated her that way from the moment he walked back into my life.
Not because he was trying to get to me. Not as some strategy. But because he genuinely cares about her.
I scrub harder at a spot that's already clean.
"You don't have to do that." Declan's voice comes from behind me, closer than I expected.
"I know." I don't turn around. "But everyone was here and we made a mess and I can't just leave it?—"
His arms slide around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. I go still, plate suspended in the soapy water, breath catching at the solid warmth of him.
"Everything okay?" His voice is low, careful. "You disappeared into the bathroom with Naomi earlier and came back looking like you'd been crying."
Of course he noticed. Declan notices everything.
"I'm fine." The lie tastes stale even as I say it.
"Zola." His breath is warm against my ear. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out."
I set the plate down in the dish rack with trembling hands. Turn in his arms so I'm facing him, my back pressed against the sink, nowhere left to run.
He's watching me with those dark green eyes that see too much, that have always seen too much. One hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"Talk to me, love."
The endearment breaks something in me. I reach up, covering his hand with mine, pressing it harder against my face like I can absorb the certainty in his touch.
"I've been holding back." The words scrape out of me. "Since you came back. Since you showed up at the bookstore. I've been so scared of letting you in again, of needing you, of building something real because what if it ends? What if I lose you? What if I let myself have this and the universe rips it away?"
Declan's quiet, just watching me, letting me get it out.
"My whole life I've protected myself." My voice cracks. "After Mom died, I learned that people leave. That you can't count on anyone to stay. So I handled everything alone. Never asked for help. Never let myself need anyone because needing someone means they can hurt you when they go."
"I know." His other hand comes up to frame my face. "I've always known that about you."
"And you loved me anyway." Tears are sliding down my cheeks now, hot and unstoppable. "You took care of me anyway. Made me feel safe. And when I left, you just... waited. Kept everything. Kept hoping I'd come back. Eight fucking years, Declan."
"I would have waited longer." He says it simply, like it's obvious.
"That's the problem." I press my palms against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath them. "You love me that much. And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to be worthy of someone who kept a whole house like a shrine, who never moved on, who chose me over everything."
"You don't have to be worthy." His thumbs wipe away my tears. "You just have to let me love you."
"I'm terrified." The admission is raw. "Of your world. Of losing you to violence or betrayal or just the reality of what you do. Of ending up alone with Maeve and this massive hole where you used to be."
"So what are you saying?" His voice is careful, controlled, but I can see the tension in his jaw. "Are you leaving again?"
"No." The word comes out fierce, certain. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I don't want to leave. I don't want to keep protecting myself from possibilities. I don't want to live life waiting to lose you, trying to keep you at arm's length in case it all falls apart."
Something shifts in his expression—hope, maybe, or relief.
"I want you." I curl my fingers into his shirt. "All of you. The dangerous parts and the gentle parts and everything in between. I want to stop being terrified of needing you. I want to build something real instead of just surviving."
