Page 110 of The Endless Want

“I used to come here with Finn,” I say, surprising even myself with the admission. “Before… everything.”

She nods, her expression softening. “He’s good for you. Even if you two pretend you hate the idea.”

I smirk. “Don’t tell him that.”

A beat of silence follows—comfortable, warm. She looks down at her water glass, tracing the condensation with her thumb. “Declan?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“What do you really think of all this? The baby. Me. The fact we’ve managed to ruin each other and somehow still…” She trails off, searching for a word that doesn’t cut. “Still end up here.”

I lean back in my chair and let the evening breeze run across my arms. “I think we’ve both been doing the wrong dance for a long time. You and Liam—your alliance—it made sense on paper. You were the only one who could keep him balanced. The only one who knew how to speak his language without letting him bulldoze everyone.”

“That’s not what you thought before,” she says softly.

“No. Before, I let my pride talk.” I let out a breath. “And when you lie to yourself long enough, the lies start sounding like facts.”

Her throat works. She doesn’t interrupt.

“You made a choice,” I continue. “And I wasn’t part of it. I didn’t want to look at why. Because if I did, I’d have to admit that maybe you didn’t trust me. Or maybe I never gave you a reason to.”

Ailish’s eyes widen, and something like shock flickers through them.

I press on before she can speak. “I didn’t want to listen to Liam. And you listened to him because someone had to. If you hadn’t stepped in, we’d be ash on the docks or buried in the walls of some warehouse by now. You didn’t betray me. You kept the Irish alive.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She looks shaken in a way I can’t quite decode, like she expected me to say anything but that.

Finally, she whispers, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say something like that.”

The server appears with two steaming plates, placing them down quietly before retreating. Ailish touches her fork but doesn’t lift it. She’s staring at me like she’s trying to understand the shape of something new.

I break the silence first. “Ailish… I’m not saying I handled things well. I didn’t. But I’m trying now.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I can feel the difference.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Have you forgiven yourself for everything that happened?”

She closes her eyes for a moment, then shakes her head faintly. “Not fully. But I’m trying too.”

We eat slowly. The conversation drifts between business and old memories, skipping the jagged parts for now. After dinner, she moves to the low wall, resting her hands on the stone railing as she looks out over the city. Her back is to me, her hair catching the faint rooftop breeze. I step behind her, careful not to stand too close.

“You ever think,” she says quietly, “that maybe we weren’t meant to do things the easy way?”

“No,” I answer. “I think we were meant to do things the right way. We just didn’t know how until now.”

She laughs softly—gentle, warm, real.

After we finish our time on the roof, I drive her back to the townhouse. She doesn’t ask me to come inside, and I don’t push. Her fingers linger on the car door before she steps out, like she wants to say something more. She doesn’t. She just gives me a small nod and disappears into the building.

It takes me a long time to start the engine.

The next morning, I wake with the strange sensation of having slept deeply—peacefully—something that hasn’t happened in months. I don’t dream of Russians or gunfights or the way Ailish once walked past me without meeting my eyes. I dream of nothing at all. Just darkness and rest.

By the time I shower and dress, the weight of responsibility settles back onto my shoulders, but it’s different now—less like a chain, more like armor I’m choosing to put on. I make coffee, drink it standing at the kitchen counter, and think about the rooftop, the way Ailish looked in the city lights, her hand drifting toward her stomach like she was reminding herself that she isn’t alone anymore. I think about the way she listened to me, the way she looked at me, the way she didn’t flinch when I admitted the hardest truths.

I think about the baby.

And that’s what pushes me toward my phone. Liam answers on the second ring. His voice is low, composed, already tired and already ready for war. “Declan.”