Page 108 of The Endless Want

“I am.” I shrug. “Not in a bad way.”

A faint smile touches her lips. She wraps her hands around the mug when I set it down in front of her, then lifts her chin, gathering her courage. I recognize the shift. She’s ready to talk—really talk.

I sit across from her. I don’t try to touch her. I don’t reach for her hand. I just give her space for the words she’s been carrying.

“Declan,” she begins, voice steadying, “you deserve to know what actually happened. With Liam. With me.”

My jaw tenses, but I say nothing. She deserves my silence more than my reactions.

She takes a slow breath. “When Liam came back… when all of that was happening… I didn’t choose him over you. I need you to understand that. I never loved him. I never wanted him.”

My throat tightens. The simplest truths can be the hardest to absorb.

“But,” she continues, “he was doing what you weren’t willing to do. And I don’t say that to hurt you. It’s just the truth.” She sets her mug down. “You were angry. You were reckless. You wouldn’t listen to anyone. You pushed everyone away, and Liam—he needed someone strategic beside him, someone willing to work with the Italians, someone who could be diplomatic when the rest of you were too proud.”

I stare at her hands. They’re trembling slightly, but not from fear. From relief. From finally saying the thing she’s carried for months.

“So I stepped in,” she says. “I worked with Liam because it was the only way to keep the Irish from collapsing. And yes, that meant I had to keep things from you. It meant I had to act like I was on his side more than yours.”

I exhale slowly. “And it meant lying.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “But not because I wanted to betray you. Because I wanted to keep the entire house from burning down.”

I look up at her. Her eyes are wet but fierce. She’s not begging. She’s not apologizing. She’s telling the truth the way she does everything—with precision, with intent, with her spine straight.

For a moment, I can’t speak. Pride has a way of rotting the parts of a man that should stay soft. I’ve let it calcify too much.

“I made assumptions,” I finally say. My voice is rough, not from anger but from the pain of honesty. “About you. About Liam. About what the two of you were doing behind closed doors.”

She flinches. “I know.”

“I thought…” I clear my throat. “I thought you’d chosen him. And that made me mean. Careless. Cruel.”

She blinks hard. One tear escapes down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away. She lets me see it. “Declan… you were hurt. I understand that logically. But emotionally it—” She swallows. “It broke something in me.”

“I know,” I whisper. “And I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widen—not because of the words, but because she believes I mean them.

“I’m sorry for all of it,” I continue. “For the assumptions, for the accusations, for losing my head when I should’ve been holding onto you. You were never the enemy. I made you into one because it was easier than admitting I’d failed.”

She exhales shakily. Not a sob—just a release.

I don’t reach across the table. I don’t ask for forgiveness. I just let the moment sit between us, warm and heavy.

After a long silence, she whispers, “Thank you.” That’s when I know we might survive this. Even if we don’t know how yet.

She takes a slow sip of her decaf and glances out the window, like she needs a moment to steady herself, and I let her have it. The morning light crawls across her skin, catching in the strands of her hair, softening her cheeks in a way that makes her look almost untouched by the world. It’s a lie. She’s been hardened and sharpened by every battle we’ve dragged her through… and somehow she’s still standing.

She pushes her mug away and folds her arms on the table, leaning forward slightly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why now?” She looks directly at me. “Why are you finally listening without blowing up? Why admit things you’ve refused to admit for months? Why are you suddenly willing to talk to me like I’m not the enemy?”

Her words aren’t accusatory. They’re searching. And she deserves the truth.

I inhale slowly, trying to find the right place to start. “Because I was wrong,” I say. “And because watching you carry my child… watching you do it alone… made me realize I’d become the exact kind of man I swore I’d never be.” Her eyes soften, and I shake my head. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m telling you the only honest explanation I have.”