His response comes in seconds:
Declan:
Where do you want us to meet? Anywhere would be splendid.
I think for a while. The cabin is Declan’s sanctuary, the place where he first showed me who he really was beneath all the armor. It's remote enough that no paparazzi will find us, private enough for what I need to say.
What I need to do.
Ivy:
The cabin. I’ll drive myself.
Declan:
I'll be there. Thank you.
Sloane steps into the room and sits on the bed.
"I'm meeting Declan tomorrow at his cabin." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "I read his email, and I can't just walk away, not when he destroyed his entire career to protect me."
She studies me for a long moment, her hazel eyes sharp. Then she pulls me into a fierce hug.
"Don't let him hurt you again," she whispers against my hair.
"I won't."
But we both know it's a lie. Loving Declan Hawthorne means accepting the possibility of pain. The question is whether the love is worth the risk.
***
The drive to the cabin takes two hours. I memorized the route the last time we came here together, back when everything felt possible. Before I found out about the lies and the true person behind King.
The gravel driveway crunches under my tires as I pull up to the rustic structure nestled among towering pines. His truck is already there, parked near the entrance. My heart hammers against my ribs as I cut the engine.
I open the door and just sit there, breathing in the pine-scented air that drifts through my cracked window. The forest is quiet except for birdsong and the distant rustle of leaves.
Then the cabin door opens. Declan steps onto the porch.
He's wearing jeans and a dark Henley, his hands shoved in his pockets. His dark brown hair is messier than usual, longer on top and falling across his forehead. Those piercing green eyes find mine across the distance. From here, I can see the hollows beneath them, the sharp angles of his jaw more pronounced. He's lost weight. The sight makes my chest ache.
He looks wrecked.
I climb out of the car, my legs unsteady. We stare at each other, neither moving.
"Hi," I finally manage.
"Hi." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in days. "Thank you for coming."
"I read your email."
"I meant every word."
My throat tightens. I force my feet to move, climbing the porch steps until only a few feet separate us. This close, I can see the exhaustion etched into his features, the vulnerability in his eyes.
"You risked everything. You burned your entire life down to clear my name."
"Your reputation mattered more than my career."
