Something about the angle of his head doesn’t sit right with me though. Panic courses through my veins. Did he come down here to work and have a heart attack?
I’m no longer pissed off about him leaving me in his bed to suffer the consequences of getting caught alone. I dart around the desk until I’m standing directly in his line of vision and cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the small scream that will bring Orla rushing into the room.
His eyes are open, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Declan?” It’s barely a whisper.
His face looks gray. His eyes are bloodshot. His lips are not turning blue, but I’ve never studied first aid, so I don’t know what any of this means. I don’t even know how to administer CPR. But it’s too late to think about it now.
I move closer, staring at his chest, willing him to take a breath and not be dead.
Is his chest moving? I’m so lightheaded, I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or not, so I take another step and place my hand on his chest above his heart. I let out a groan of relief when I feel his heartbeat against my palm.
“Thank you, God. Thank you,” I murmur a silent prayer.
I drop to my knees beside him and cover his cold hands with mine, catching a glimpse of the empty decanter. He’s drunk. Not dead.
“You can get as drunk you want, Declan, but don’t you dare fucking die on me.”
He must hear me because he rolls his head across the back of the seat and faces me with his glazed eyes. “Amelia?” he rasps.
“You weren’t there when I woke up, and I thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
I feel stupid now for thinking that he and Orla had been sucked through a glitch in the universe, never to be seen again. I was still half asleep. I can be forgiven for my wild imagination. Now, all I need to do is get him back to bed to sleep off the liquor.
“You could’ve talked to me, you know, if something was bothering you.”
Carol always claims that people tell the truth when they’re drunk. I realize what this means—he’s having second thoughts—but right now, I’ll deal with second thoughts and guilt. I’ll even deal with getting fired as long as I know that he’s alive. Anything is preferable to the panic I felt when I thought that he was dead.
He stares at me, expressionless, and then his face crumples, and tears squeeze from the corners of his eyes.
My heart doesn’t seem to know what to do with this. I swallow hard. I realize that I barely know Declan, but this isn’t the man I shared a bed with. This feels like a shell of the person who hugged me against his naked body on the beach.
“Declan…”Fuck. I don’t even know what to say. “I never wanted to … cause you any trouble. I’m sorry. If you say that you want me to leave, I’ll go. I won’t tell anyone what happened. I won’t?—”
I stop when he reaches up and touches my hair. Tears are still collecting on his lashes. His head is still resting on the back of the seat. But he’s aware that I’m here. It’s a start.
Whichever way this goes.
“No… Stay…”
My heart swoops; it can handle staying.
I smile. “Of course I’ll stay. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
I slide an arm around his shoulders, but he swivels the seat away from me, so that I can’t help him. “Brandy.”
“You’ve had enough to drink.” Okay, so I don’t like how much I sound like my mom right now, but it’s true. I won’t help him drink himself into a coma. “You should get some sleep.”
“No!” The vehemence in his voice makes me pull away. “Ruairi… My… fucking… fault.”
“What’s your fault, Declan?”
“Ruairi,” he repeats. His lips are set into a grim line now. His eyes are dry.
“What about, Ruairi?”
He turns his bloodshot gaze on me, and there’s no recognition. Whatever is going on behind his eyes, he’s no longer in the room.
