Page 92 of Wicked Ruin

“It means—we live in each other's shadow. In each other's shelter.” He shrugs, like he's embarrassed to have said it. “My grandmother used to say it.”

His eyes are already on me, in that dark, unguarded sincerity that’s stripped of every layer of performance, vulnerable and pained. Something in my chest aches because I have never seen him look at anyone that way. I don't think he knows he's doing it.

“Declan, I⁠—”

He leans down and kisses me.

Not like before, with heat and need and urgency. This is slower. Deeper. His hand comes up to cup my face. I straddle his lap and kiss him back. I swallow his moan and my need to cry because I’m trying to ignore how every moment with him feels like it could be the last.

We move to the bedroom without speaking.

He undresses me slowly, in the dark, as if he slows down enough, time might do the same.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

I do.

“Good girl.”

We move together like we're trying to say something neither of us has the words for, as if we know the clock is running but won't look at it. His mouth finds my temple, my throat, the curve of my shoulder. My hands grip him like he's already leaving.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs into my hair when I come with my head back and my mouth parted. “I've got you.”

Afterward, he pulls me against his chest and doesn't let go. His breathing slows. His hand resumes its slow path through my hair, its own sort of comfort.

His heartbeat is steady under my palm. I match my breathing to his. Outside these walls, it feels as if the world is plotting against us, eager to tear us apart from each other, and the faster time ticks, the harder we hold on.

I close my eyes.

I don't sleep for a long time.

The rain has gone quiet, and I think this might be the most peaceful I've felt in years. Maybe ever.

I know what tomorrow might look like. But tonight, his hand is in my hair, and the room is warm. I let myself have just this one night when none of that is true yet.

I don’t ask him about Seamus, or Valentina, or what happens next, and he doesn’t offer any information. I tug on the familiar weight of my necklace and focus on here. Now.

Tonight we're grand.

Chapter Twenty-Two

DECLAN

Sour lollis. Small meals. Don’t let the belly get empty.

Yes, of course I can do this for her. One could argue it’s my fault she’s pregnant—the least I can do is find her something to ease her misery. Or maybe I’m just distracting myself from the real problem, which is that I’m not sorted.

What I do know is that the obstetric hematologist we decided on is Dr. Flaherty, and his Thursday cancellation is mine. I know because I spent fifty minutes on the phone with a receptionist, securing the appointment—because I know how to get what I want when I want it. The question is always what it costs. This one costs nothing.

On a Tuesday, I stop by the chemist on the way to her flat to buy some “sour suckers, something salty and sweet at the same time,” hoping it does the trick. I buy her some American-style kettle corn, salt-and-vinegar crisps, some electrolytes, turkey jerky, and a large package of chocolate because she always did like chocolate.

When she opens the door, she stares at me.

“You’re not wearing a hood.”

Maybe I’ve gotten too laid back about it. Still, she lets me in.

“What’s this?” she says with a smile, and I shut the door behind me.