Just Friends(70)

“You’re kidding me,” I scoff.

“Unfortunately not.” He laughs, shakes his head.

The sentiment rings true. Platitudes were somehow the go-to encouragement in light of tragedy, yet all they did was remind me how far my experience was from the person saying them. Because if they were any closer, if they had ever felt something remotely similar, they’d never say something as useless as that.

“Did they even ask what bones you broke? How long you’d be out?”

He shakes his head no.

“Why does it seem so obvious and yet, no one just asks how you’re feeling about the whole thing?” I plead.

“They think it’s rude. They think they’ll be reminding you of it like it’s something you can forget about. Or they just assume everyone else is checking on you. Which ends up leaving you with no one checking on you.”

That lands like a blow to my chest. I blink a few times.

“Is that what’s happening to you right now, Blair?” he asks in a softer voice.

I press my lips together as hard as possible, but the corner of my lip wobbles and everything unravels. A choke of a sob breaks free from my throat.

I would feel more embarrassed if Declan didn’t look so unsurprised.

“Come here,” he whispers and pulls me into his chest. I grasp his middle from the side. Our bodies press together in our seated positions on the wood floor, and it feels like the past four and a half years never happened. He places his chin on my head, and I breathe in the comforting scent of him between disjointed breaths. “It’s okay,” he says gently, rubbing my back and placing his other hand on my head. “It’s okay, Blair. I’m here.”

His gentle words cause me to cry harder. Because against everything I’d expected from coming home, he was here, with me. Not an ounce of him seemed uncomfortable or panicked. He was patient and understanding and calm when I was anything but. When it felt like everyone else had disappeared into their busy lives, he was here, catching me.

“It will take time,” he coaxes, petting my hair with a soothing pressure. “I know it seems unbearable now, but in time, it won’t feel so impossible.”

Time.

It was the inevitable chasm I needed to cross in order to heal from this pain. But it also dawned on me that time was the one chasm between Declan and me, and in this moment, I knew it had done nothing to erase what I once felt for him.

The realization dries up my tears, and my breathing eases into a steadier rhythm. I wipe the hair from my face and look up at him. He looks down at me, gentle eyes searching mine, only a slight lean away. They flit down to my lips once, and they part by reflex.

“Blair,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” I rear back, but his strong arm is still holding me.

“Be your friend.” It comes out fast, like he’s scared for me to hear the words.

My eyes frantically search his face for a sign, but his eyes are full of dreadful longing, and he makes no move to lean away from me.

“I don’t want to be your friend either, Declan,” I whisper.

Something flashes in his eyes, like he’s passing through the realm of disbelief to awe and wonder, and then his mouth crashes into mine.

His lips taste the same. It’s the first conscious thought I have when our lips meet. But then, his hand drifts from my hair, around to cup my jaw like he needs to feel all of me to make sure I’m real, and I don’t think anymore.

His hand on my lower back presses into me like a plea. “Come here,” he whispers into my mouth, and I laugh by his ear as he helps me climb on top of him, paintbrush tossed to the side.

When I settle on top of him, he doesn’t rush in for more like I expect him to. Instead, he brushes front pieces of hair behind my ears, letting his eyes study me like he’s been waiting for the chance.

“I miss you, Blair,” he says gently, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone.

“Don’t miss me anymore. I’m right here,” I whisper, voice cracking.

I bend down to reach his lips and the kiss is less hungry this time. The first kiss felt like grasping hold of a fleeting moment. This one feels like coming home.

Our bodies meld like the memory foam of our skin, and blood, and muscle is made up of the outline of each other, and after a few minutes, I pull back to look at him, our noses still brushing. “I’ve missed you too, Declan. But what is this? What are we doing?”

“What we should have been doing four years ago,” he replies without missing a beat.

Our voices are hushed tones in the lamp’s glow. Like if we talk any louder, we’ll realize what we’re saying and revert to not saying anything at all.

“And why weren’t we?” I plead, not letting myself trust this yet.

“You know why,” he says, his voice softening, eyes melting into mine. I take advantage of the opportunity to stare at him. His swollen lips and searching green eyes, and something new above his left eyebrow, so small I never noticed it until now—a tiny scar. I brush my finger over the raised skin, swallowing the regret of our past.

What I would give to have been there for him in recovery.

His eyes dart between mine, reading the fear in them.

“I was friends with you for twelve years, Blair. And then I had none of you at all. But I can’t do it again. I can’t be your friend and pretend like I’m not picturing my life with you.”