Something shifts in her expression, a crack in the armor she's been wearing for days. I lean in, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted to. She doesn't.
Our lips meet, soft at first, then deeper, harder, her hands wrap around me, careful of my wound but still pulling me closer.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. I rest my forehead against hers, unwilling to put any more distance between us than necessary.
"So stay," I say simply. "Not as my medic. Not as my employee. As my person."
She takes a shaky breath. "Okay," she says. "In truth, it's all I ever wanted because," she pauses and looks up at me, "I love you too, Declan. More than anyone ever could."
31
LYRA
Steam curls around me as I press my hands to the shower tiles and look down, letting the hot water pound against my back. It's been two whole weeks since Declan looked me in the eyes and told me he loved me, and I stopped running long enough to say it back.
It's been two weeks since we said it, I love you. And in those fourteen days, something in me has begun to heal. Not just the surface wounds or the haunted flashbacks, but the deeper things. The bruised pieces I'd locked away. The parts that always whispered in my mind that I'd never be safe, never be loved, never be allowed to stay.
But they were wrong.
I still wake up sometimes convinced it was a dream, that moment in the library when Declan cornered me against the bookshelf, his eyes fierce as he said those words to me:I love you, and I'm not going to ever stop.
The memory makes my stomach flutter even now.
And I'm proud of Declan. He's listened to everything I told him to do. He doesn't limp anymore. The wound on his side is almost completely closed up, and ibuprofen keeps his pain at bay.
He's himself again, smiling, brooding, maddeningly observant. The man who notices things about me most never would. Like how I only ever wear that navy sweatshirt when I feel extra lovey and emotional, or like what he did this morning.
I woke to the most delicious smells drifting up from the kitchen. I walked downstairs in one of Declan's white undershirts and leggings and found him sitting at the island surrounded by pastries and breakfast foods. He'd had my favorite bakery bring one of everything from their menu. We sat and ate far too much, feeding each other bites of croissants and danishes until my stomach hurt from fullness and laughter. Afterward, I gave the leftovers to the staff, who seemed surprised by the gesture.
Even when you think Declan isn't paying attention, he is. He notices everything. I hope he'll always be like that.
Overall, since we stopped pretending and started this, whatever this is, it feels more real than anything I've ever had. Maybe that's why I can't stop replaying every second of our time together.
Like now, as I work shampoo through my hair, remembering the look on his face when he tried to surprise me with the medical room in the basement. The disappointment that flashed across his face when I told him Nina had already shown me. The look on his face was almost comical. But once I explained why, and that I'd been too focused on saving his life to appreciate the gesture, he loosened up.
So he walked me through everything, and I finally was able to take it in. To really see what he'd created for me. I still can't believe he did that for me and how happy it made me to have him support my skills and want to see me succeed in whatever I end up doing. I went about life thinking my medic background was a curse thrust upon me, but Declan's enthusiasm and passion for wanting to see me succeed with it really made me… well, I can't even put it into words, but amazing.
And to thank him, I may have matched his energy with a very enthusiastic thank you on my knees. The thought sends a tingle right between my thighs.
I turn the faucet off and step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a soft towel. Despite how perfect things have been lately, I'm buzzing with something else today. Anticipation, excitement, and nerves.
Tonight is the first tournament since the attack. We missed the last one while Declan was recovering, but tonight, we're going, and I get to work again.
It's a pretty big tournament, with fighters from all over the Northeast. Declan says I need security from now on, so two guards have been assigned to me, George and Nathan.
They've been with me for a few days now. Nice enough guys, but always hovering and kind of stiff. George talks to me about his kids, and Nathan barely speaks, but his eyes miss nothing.
I don't know. Declan says it's necessary. I don't 100 percent agree, but he says he listened to me on what I know, so I should listen to him on what he knows. I don't disagree with that, so I have bodyguards now.
I finish getting dressed, twist my hair up, and step into my boots. I go over my bag of medical supplies I've packed, double-checking everything. Some habits never die.
I sling the bag over my shoulder and make my way downstairs, right on time.
Declan is waiting by the front door. He's had a few things to take care of before leaving, calls with Shane, something about shipping logs or something. I have no idea. I didn't ask for details. There are parts of his life I'm still learning to navigate, boundaries we're still defining on what I need to, or want to, know about that life.
"Even in work mode, you look sexy," he says and leans down to kiss me.
"You're one to talk, Mister perfectly tailored suit. You know what it does to me when I see you wearing one."
