“I can’t,” he mumbles quietly.
“When I needed you in uni, you were there. When I was in the hospital in Italy, you were there. Please, Colin, let me be there for you. Let me in.”
“It’s not that easy, Shelby,” he mutters.
“Why not?”
He turns toward me with red-rimmed eyes, and still…no tears. “Because this isn’t an arsehole in an alleyway we can punch and make go away. This isn’t a wound that heals with medicine. Don’t you understand? I’mbroken.”
“I don’t believe that,” I argue.
“Well, this is just the way I am, Colin. You can either accept it or…” His voice trails and something inside of me shatters.
“Well, I can’t keep doing this,” I say with a sob.
He hangs his head, and it only makes it hurt more. Moments pass by as I wait, but he gives me nothing.
“Declan, say something!” I cry.
“I don’t have anything to say,” he replies.
“Really?” I shout as I stand up. “After eight years, you have nothing to say?”
“Colin, if you want to leave, then you should leave.”
My mouth drops open as I stare at him in shock. This is the man who broke another man’s nose for hurting me. This is the man who called me his. Who told me I was the best thing in his life.
“Well, if you won’t fight for me, then maybe I should.”
The old Colin would have never left. The old Colin would have never walked out that door, but the old Colin is the one whogot me into this mess in the first place.
If Declan has taught me nothing else, he’s taught me that I’m worth so much more than this.
So, in an angry huff, I slip my pants back on and throw a shirt over my head. Declan doesn’t even move as I pull on my shoes.
But I see him flinch out of the corner of my eye when I tear open the door and march angrily out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Colin
I’m fuming as I make my way down the stairs, following the sound of the music and laughter. It seems to be coming from the parlor, but before I reach the room, I drop onto the stairs of the house and put my head in my hands.
What am I doing? I can’t go to that party. Not like this. Not without Declan.
But this need to be so defiant burns inside of me. I would rather make him angry just to get a rise out of him than be complacent and get nothing. I need to take a stand in order to have what I want—which is him, all or nothing.
So I stand from the stairs and march toward the sound of the music. I first notice that the lights are low and the music is loud, almost as if the people in the room are trying to hide what is happening there.
But as I turn the corner into the parlor, I realize that it’s just a normal party. People are congregated in pairs and small groups. Everyone seems to be having a good time, drinking and dancing.
“Well, hello there,” a beautiful woman says as she nods at me. I slowly meander my way into the room, not making eye contactwith anyone but feeling them all stare at me like I’m fresh meat. I go straight for the bar, in desperate need of a drink.
There’s no bartender, so I help myself to a glass of wine, guzzling it down far too fast. And then filling it again.
It’s then that I look at the party again and start to notice something different—the way people are gathered, the way they are moving. This isn’t a regular party at all. It’s a sex party.
My eyes catch on a man, sitting on a lounge, watching the woman across from him as she writhes on another man’s lap. But it’s not her that interests me, it’s him.
