His expression changed, just a little. “I should.”
That answer settled in me.
I reached for his hand, then paused, because suddenly I didn’t know if I was allowed to initiate after all that.
Declan noticed. “You can touch me, Jace. If that changes, I’ll tell you.”
I took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine.
“What about Vanessa?” he asked quietly.
Guilt came back like a bruise being pressed.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “That’s a coward answer, but it’s the true one. I know I can’t keep pretending everything is fine. I just don’t know how to blow up someone else’s life because I finally figured out mine is a mess.”
He sat beside me, still holding my hand. “Olivia and I need to talk too.”
“Do you still love her?”
He was quiet long enough that I regretted asking.
“Yes,” he said finally. “But not the way a husband should.”
It hurt, even though it wasn’t about me.
Maybe because it was.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, our hands still linked between us. “I don’t want to be the reason you become someone you hate.”
“You aren’t responsible for my choices.”
“No, but I’m in them.”
His thumb moved across my knuckles. “Yes.”
No lie. No easy absolution. I respected him more for not offering one.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket across the room.
We both looked.
Roman, probably. Maybe Vanessa. Maybe both, because apparently consequences had excellent timing.
“I should go,” I said.
“Yes.”
Neither of us moved.
Then Declan stood and handed me my shirt. I buttoned it wrong the first time. He watched for three seconds, then silently fixed the middle button I’d skipped.
The tenderness of it almost undid me.
At the door, I turned back.
“Nothing at work,” I said.
