I melt into his embrace, grateful for his always-present patience and understanding.
“That sounds perfect.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DECLAN
Snow fallsin lazy spirals outside my D.C. townhouse, each flake glowing briefly under the street lamps before vanishing into the white-dusted street. The row of brownstones across from mine look like it belongs on a Christmas card — garland looped over railings, candles flickering in windows, wreaths fat with ribbon and pine cones.
My place is the only one dark. Bare. A black hole in the middle of all that cheer.
The sound of voices drifts up from the sidewalk — neighbors stumbling home from a party, flushed with wine, laughing too loudly and humming bits of carols as if they can’t hold all the happiness inside them. It’s a reminder of what this time of year is supposed to represent. Togetherness. Celebration. Family.
Not for me.
I pour another glass of bourbon, the ice clinking in the silence. I’d invited Joshua to fly out for the holidays, but he claimed he had too much going on at work. I told him I understood, and I do. It’s not the first Christmas I’ve spent alone. Hell, nearly every Christmas of my adult life has looked just like this — dark room, half-filled glass, silence for company.
I’ve always insisted I prefer it this way. That it’s easier. Cleaner.
So why does the silence feel unbearable tonight?
Because I met someone who saw who I really am. Someone who slipped past every wall I built.
And what did I do? I shoved her away. Like the coward I am.
But what choice did I have? Claire is Joshua’s friend. Hell, they were more than that once. That’s reason enough. Isn’t it?
Or is that just an excuse I’ve clung to because the truth is worse?
Joshuaisreasonable, like Claire insisted. If we explained everything, if we told him how it happened, he’d understand with time.
It wasn’t about Joshua. It’sneverbeen about Joshua.
I’ve spent years convinced I don’t deserve good things. That I destroy whatever I touch, as my father loved to remind me every chance he got. It’s probably why I pursued something with Claire. I didn’t think there could be a future with her because of her relationship with Joshua. She was…safe.
Until she insisted she was willing to fight for me.
But I wasn’t willing to fight for her.
The sound of the doorbell echoes through the quiet house, jolting me from my thoughts. I nearly ignore it, but something in my gut tells me to answer it.
Setting my glass on the coffee table, I cross the hardwood floor and check the peephole. Snowflakes blur the edges of the figure standing there, but I recognize the stance instantly. Because it mirrors my own.
I swing the door open. “Joshua… What are?—”
The punch comes fast, a sharp crack against my jaw. My head snaps to the side, the sting flaring hot before settling into a dull throb.
I rub my cheek, stunned. “What the hell was that for?”
His eyes blaze, his breath visible in the frigid air. “For Claire.”
I stare at him for several long moments before pushing out a long exhale. I should have known this was coming.
“She told you about us.”
“She didn’t have to. I figured it out a while ago.”
“You did?”
