Page 30 of Wicked Ruin

“Bit of both, probably.”

“Very on-brand,” I say, but the truth is, I don't know what to do with that, so I pick up my water and take a long sip, looking out at the room instead of at him. He kept tabs. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, the story of every single thing between us.

Ashland's got Bronwyn laughing at something. Cavin has his hand at the small of Erin's back, and she's leaning into it without seeming to notice she's doing it. Everyone's found their people. Everyone's exactly where they're supposed to be.

“How's Dr. Rosenberg?” he asks.

I blink in surprise. “Grand.”

Something moves across his face. Not surprise, because he did say he was keeping tabs, but something else. Relief, maybe. Like he'd been holding a breath for ages and just now let it out.

“Good,” he says. Just that.

The music shifts. Someone's turned it up. The noise level rises around us, and we're suddenly in our own little pocket of relative quiet. I'm very aware that he still hasn't moved away.

Declan leans in. His eyes catch mine, and the air snaps between us. I draw in a breath, suddenly nervous, when he asks, “Are you happy, love?”

I blink in surprise and swallow hard. I didn’t expect him to ask how I am. Why did he do that?

I definitely didn’t expect him to call me love.

And I get it—it’s not that big a deal. Everyone calls everyone love. It’s not personal, and yet… everything Declan says to me feels personal.

I look at him then. It's a dangerous question, and he knows it. I can tell by the way he's watching me, careful and still, like he's not sure he wants the answer he's going to get.

“Are you?” I ask instead, deflecting.

Because the answer is no, I’m not happy. I’m sad and bereft, and I don’t know what my place is in this world. I’m lonely in a way I can’t explain without sounding ungrateful. My parents are gone, and my sister has Cavin, a baby on the way, and a whole life and family I’m welcome in but don’t quite belong to. I’m somewhere in the middle of it all. Loved, yes, but… peripheral. Not quite… anyone’s.

If there’s anyone I could tell this to, he’s sitting right in front of me. He doesn't answer. He picks up his drink, then sets it back down without drinking from it.

That's answer enough.

We sit with that for a moment. Two people who are not happy, in a room full of people who are, and neither of us is willing to say it out loud. It should feel awful. It doesn't. Instead, it feels like the most honest conversation I've had in months.

He looks over at me. “How many drinks have you had?” My heart thumps.

“Five, I think,” I whisper. No alcohol, but I love Declan, the dominant, the protector, and I’m curious how he’ll react. I like when he brings out his dominant, protective side.

“Five,” he repeats. “You'll wake up tomorrow with a headache. Might not remember what I'm about to say.”

I don't tell him I've been drinking nothing but Coke all night. Not a drop of anything alcoholic. I didn’t lie, but… My heart is pounding too fast, and I have to swallow three times. He's too close, his eyes tracking the perimeter of the room to make sure no one's listening.

“Things change sometimes, in our family. One night, you’re hanging out with your best friend, shootin’ the craic with her, and the next you’re shipped off to an undercover role for your family.”

Wait. Her? Best friend?

Did he just call me his best friend?

He swallows and blows out a breath, jerking his head toward Ashland. “Look at Ashland. We used to call him the Priest, you know. Fuckin’ celibate for years. For her.” He takes another sip of his water as he nods toward Bianca.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “One night you’re stressing about the grade your teacher gave you, and the next, you’re bleeding uncontrollably when you cut yourself and end up in the hospital.” I swallow hard. “I get it.”

He leans forward. His hand covers mine. “I know you do. Probably better than anyone in this room.”

He’s touching me. Declan’s hand is on mine, and it feels right and good, and I never want him to stop. I don’t even breathe, afraid that if I move the wrong way, he’ll think I’m uncomfortable and take his hand away.

“And I guess when you know things are going to change, it makes you think, you know?” His thumb brushes over the top of my hand. Once. Slow. Like he has all the time in the world and knows it. He’s touching my hand, and I’m turned on.