by Cecy Robson
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 wa
s 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 . . .”
Epilogue
Melissa
The wrap securing our newborn infant keeps her close to my skin. But as the hearing screener continues to fiddle with her portable laptop, I feel the need to clutch my baby closer and protect her from what I’m certain the screener will say. Allanah is content against my skin, having had her fill of milk. Declan sits beside me, his thumb smoothing over my hand as he patiently waits for the test to finish.
I’m not so patient. I’m scared.
I release his hand and sign, I think there’s something wrong.
I’m not familiar with the device the screener is using. I only know it’s measuring our daughter’s ability to hear and it’s taking too long to get the results. This machine, as high tech as it’s supposed to be, is incapable of predicting how other children will treat her if she’s hearing impaired. It won’t help her through her struggles when she tries to learn to speak with her hands. Nor will it shield her from the stares cast her way. It won’t protect her from harsh words or explain to her why people can’t seem to understand her.
It will only tell us one thing, and despite that I’ve prepared myself for the possibility that she may not hear within normal limits, my fear remains.
Declan doesn’t seem worried. He shifts his position in the hospital bed, angling closer. There’s not much room, but as always, he knows when I need him close. We don’t know that yet, he signs. But if there is, I promise we’ll get through it.
His motions aren’t smooth. He’s still learning ASL. But I understand him, and sense his devotion behind every gesture.
There’s no flicker of doubt in his expression, nor does he show any fear. That’s good. One of us needs to be strong and I’m not feeling very strong at the moment. Did I survive my childhood? Yes. I did. That doesn’t mean I want my child to face the same struggles I did.
“I’m sorry, Mayor and Mrs. O’Brien,” the screener says. “I have to adjust the probes. I don’t think they’re in the right spot based on these readings.”
She repositions the circular devices on our baby girl’s head. I kiss her cheek when she fusses and whimpers. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I whisper.
The screener smiles when Allanah settles against me. “That’s right, peanut,” she says. “Just cuddle with your mama.”
Declan looks to where Curran and Tess sit by the window. “Curran, it’s late. We’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow, all right?”
Curran exchanges glances with Tess. The entire family arrived to meet Allanah, but they’re the only ones who remain.
“Okay,” Curran says. He adjusts Fiona and Clodagh where they’re fast asleep on his shoulders, and stands. “Call us if you need anything. Otherwise, we’ll see you at your place tomorrow.”
Like Dad and Mae, and the rest of the O’Briens, they hesitate to leave. I love them for it, I do. But as soon as the hearing screener announced who she was, it’s like all our worries clouded the room and thickened the air with tension. They piled out quietly at Declan’s request for privacy. Curran and Tess stayed when I insisted she finish feeding Curran, Jr.. Initially, I stayed positive and hoped for the best. But now . . .
I barely notice them, too worried about our little one.
“It’s going to be all right, love,” Declan tells me softly.
What if it’s not? I sign, trying to keep our conversation private.
He smiles gently. Your dad raised you, on his own, barely knowing anything about children. Our baby has you, she has me, and so much more we’ll be able to give her. No matter what, she’s going to be okay, and so will we.
I don’t want her to endure what I did, I admit.
He considers me, as if finding his words. I hate what you went through and that some people were too ignorant to see past your hearing impairment, he motions. But I love who you are, and who you became. You’re the strongest person I know, and the best part of my life.
I smile, my husband’s sweet words warming my heart like no one else can.
The hearing screener glances down at Allanah and carefully removes the probes. “Okay. We’re all done, passed in both ears.”
I fall completely still. “There’s nothing wrong?”
“Not at all,” the woman assures me. “She’s perfect.”
Declan doesn’t miss a beat, leaning in close and kissing my lips. “She’s perfect,” he repeats. “Just like her mama.”
Dedication
To R for her knowledge and her heart.
Acknowledgements
&nb
sp; This was a challenge, not simply because of the subject matter Declan and Melissa faced, but because of who they were when they faced it and who they became because of it.
To those who can related to Declan and Melissa, this is for you. I hope I honored you and did you justice.
To Nic who suggested I give Melissa a quirk. May shirtless pirates and studly Scots be forever in your future.
To Jamie, who always loved this story, and who showed me just how beautiful these characters could be.
To Gaele who “really liked these two”. You were right. Thank you for allowing them into your heart.
And to Kim, for all the support, hard work, and enthusiasm. I owe you a box of truffles.
Photo by Kate Gledhill of Kate Gledhill Photography
CECY ROBSON is a new adult and contemporary author of the Shattered Past series, the O’Brien Family novels and Carolina Beach novels, as well as the award-winning author of the Weird Girls urban fantasy romance series. A 2016 double nominated RITA® finalist for Once Pure and Once Kissed, Cecy is a recovering Jersey girl living in the South who enjoys carbs way too much, and exercise way too little. Gifted and cursed with an overactive imagination, you can typically find her on her laptop silencing the yappy characters in her head by telling their stories
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By Cecy Robson
The Shattered Past Series
Once Perfect
Once Loved
Once Pure
The O’Brien Family Novels
Once Kissed
