He opened his eyes again and noticed a shadow peeking out from the side of the pool. For a moment, his oxygen-starved brain thought it was Oliver, bringing him his morning cup of tea like he’d done so many times before.
It wasn’t Oliver, of course, but Imogen. He surfaced, gasping for breath and taking in her sympathetic expression.
‘We’re heading out in a few minutes.’
He was grateful that she didn’t ask him if he was okay. But, he supposed, if you found your fake boyfriend sitting at the bottom of a pool, moping over another man, it would be correct to assume that no, he wasn’t okay. He nodded and pulled himself onto the deck, taking the towel Imogen offered him.
It was the last Saturday before the finale, the final day off to relax before the hardest week of all. They were going back to the beach, and Declan was pointedly ignoring the irony. He threw on a shirt before heading out.
When they got there, the brisk ocean breeze swept over his face, catching his hair. The others raced to the water, jumping in with shouts of laughter, but he walked down the beach, ditching his shoes, his feet sinking into the sand. He sat, watching the waves crash. He couldn’t be sure how long he stayed there, his thoughts circling nebulously.
Someone sat next to him. He figured it was Imogen, coming to tell him he should go for a swim. But it was Maeve.
‘Hi,’ she said, when he glanced over at her.
‘Hi,’ he replied, his voice rough with disuse. It was the first thing he’d said all morning.
‘It’s weird without him here, huh?’
Declan sighed. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t know what he could even say.
‘I was going to talk about you with Oliver today,’ she said, looking at the ocean.
Declan turned to her, but she stared steadfastly at the waves. ‘What?’ he asked finally.
‘I could tell he was upset about something – about you – but he wouldn’t say anything in front of the cameras. I was hoping to catch him alone.’ Maeve squinted at him. There was something cold in her tone, and it registered that she wasn’t trying to comfort him, she was upset with him.
‘Oh,’ Declan said, feigning ignorance.
Maeve shook her head emphatically. ‘Don’t do that!’ she said, her nostrils flaring. ‘Tell me the truth. For once in your life, stop acting the fool.’
And Declan felt so tired. He was tired of keeping secrets, tired of pretending. He was tired of holding all of himself in and keeping everything he wanted wrapped up so tightly that he might burst.
‘He and I, we weren’t—’ Declan didn’t know how to start. ‘I kissed him.’ He was overcome by a sense of weightlessness, the burden finally lifting.
He watched as Maeve’s anger froze on her face. ‘What?’
‘I kissed him,’ he said again, more firmly. ‘And I fucked it up.’
Maeve’s eyebrows shot up, the line of her mouth softening, and then, surprisingly, she laughed. ‘Shit,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I thought that might be it.’
It was Declan’s turn to look surprised. ‘You knew?’
‘I suspected,’ Maeve admitted. ‘Male rituals are so weird, I couldn’t be sure.’
Declan let out a long breath.
‘You weren’t obvious,’ she reassured him. ‘I was only trying to look out for Oliver. Jack definitely doesn’t know, the dolt.’ She said it with such affection that Declan’s chest ached. ‘So, let’s have it, what happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ Declan said.
Maeve gave him a stern look. ‘Yes, you do.’
‘I fucked it up,’ Declan said again.
‘How?’
Declan squeezed his eyes shut. His head throbbed, the ache in his chest becoming almost unbearable. He couldn’t breathe. ‘I backed out as soon as it got real.’
