I fully expected Declan not to answer. I wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest if it caused him to storm out of the dining room. I wouldn’t have even been startled if I heard the crash of glass or porcelain.

  But after a moment of silence, Declan was still seated calmly and undisturbed in his chair. “I’m surprised you didn’t look it up,” he finally said. “You could find all the answers you’re looking for online about what happened.”

  “I only saw the car,” I admitted truthfully. “I want to hear what happened from you.”

  Declan shrugged, tapping his fork on the edge of his plate. “Nothing much to tell,” he said, looking over at me. “It was my fault. I got drunk, got in my car and crashed. Simple as that.” He returned to eating.

  I didn’t reach for my fork. Instead, I stared in confusion at Declan’s nearly untouched glass of wine. From what I’d seen of his regimented routines, health-conscious eating, and drive to keep his body in tip-top shape, I couldn’t see Declan doing something as reckless as getting drunk and driving. “You hardly drink,” I ventured softly, not expecting him to reply.

  “I did that night,” he practically whispered.

  I watched him closely and it seemed like he was about to say something more. It seemed like he wanted to say more. Pain, hurt, and anger seemed ready—eager—to spill from his lips. But Declan opened his mouth and promptly closed it. That was that. He chewed on a bite of pork chop and remained silent.

  I didn’t push him to say more.

  I grabbed my fork and settled back into the comfortable silence I was growing to like so much. I knew there was more to the story. There had to be. I just had to gain more of his trust for him to let me in. We had a conversation for the first time and that was enough for tonight.

  Baby steps.

  Baby steps, River.

  River

  To the relief of my liver, the staff and I decided to skip the pub that Friday night and opt instead for a relaxing night in. Oisin cooked up enough hors d’oeuvres and finger food to feed a village, David brought his playlist to teach Joan what the ‘kids were listening to these days’, and Joan, of course, brought the wine. I brought my portfolio to show everyone my photographs of New York City.

  It was a wonderful evening of laughing, eating, drinking, talking, and listening to music that David insisted was good. I couldn’t stop shovelling Oisin’s bacon-wrapped dates into my mouth, and I thought someone was going to have to wheel me to my room after we were done. As I plopped another one onto my salivating tongue, Oisin flipped through my portfolio, commenting on this photo and that photo. He was turning the page when Joan gave out a startled, “Oh.”

  All at once, our heads turned toward the door of the kitchen.

  There stood Declan: silent, unmoving, face unreadable.

  David jumped off the counter and placed his hands behind his back as if Declan was his drill sergeant at boot camp. His eyes darted to his beer and he not so subtly shifted to block it from Declan’s view.

  Joan set down her wine glass for the first time that night and Oisin hurried past me.

  My eyes, widened in surprise and confusion, shifted between all three of them in turn. Why were they so afraid of him?

  “Sorry, Declan,” Oisin said as he quickly switched off the stereo. “We just lost track of how late it was. We’ll keep it down.”

  “Sorry, sir,” both David and Joan promptly chimed in, averting their gazes and stepping back.

  Declan did not say a word. He just stood in the doorway.

  We all watched him, waiting…waiting…waiting…

  “Did we wake you?” Oisin prompted when there was still no response from our boss. “We’re terribly sorry if we woke you.”

  Still in the doorway of the kitchen, Declan remained silent, his form imposing in the narrow space, nothing but darkness behind him.

  I expected him to yell at us for being loud or yell at us for wasting his money on beers and chips or yell at us for, who knew, breathing too much of his air. But Declan didn’t yell at all.

  In fact, he didn’t even open his mouth.

  He merely stepped forward awkwardly, pulled a gym bag from his broad shoulder, and extended it toward Joan, whose eyes were still trained on her scuffed white sneakers.

  Joan’s eyes lifted hesitantly. She stared at the gym bag warily before glancing over at me, clearly unsure of what to do.

  All I could manage was a quick shrug of my shoulders. I had no clue what was in the bag or why he wanted Joan to take it.

  Declan cleared his throat as he pushed the gym bag toward her again. “It’s, um, well, I signed some stuff,” he said. I could have sworn he sounded…nervous. “And, well, it’s in here.”

  The confusion on Joan’s face only intensified as she stared at the bag, too unsure to cross the small distance between her and Declan to accept it.

  “Take it.”

  She jolted forward, grabbing the bag, and then looked over uncertainly at Declan for further instruction.

  “I think you’re supposed to open it,” I whispered, staring at Declan, who appeared ready to bolt right out of the kitchen.

  Joan nodded.

  Oisin and I both leaned closer as she unzipped the gym bag.

  Joan glanced over at Declan one last time for an approving nod, which he did not give, before reaching into the gym bag. She pulled out a rolled poster first.

  I watched Declan step back in discomfort as she unrolled it…a poster of Declan fighting in the cage, and it was signed.

  My eyes travelled over to Declan as Joan more and more eagerly pulled out shoes, shorts, gloves, hats, and all other kinds of memorabilia, all signed by him.

  He wasn’t looking at me as I stared at him, but instead he looked awkwardly at the laces of his sneakers. Who was this kind, generous, humble man?

  “You know his name?” Joan asked, startling me from my thoughts.

  I stepped toward her and looked over her shoulder to see that not only was all the gear and memorabilia signed, but it was also personalized. I even caught a glimpse of a letter he wrote Joan’s son. I wanted desperately to read it, but it was quickly covered by a t-shirt that Joan pulled out of the bottom of the gym bag.

  “I didn’t know that you knew I had a son,” she admitted a little sheepishly. “Let alone that he was a fan. And his name, I had no idea that you knew his name.”

  He was listening.

  He heard me.

  He remembered.

  I mentioned Joan’s son’s name offhandedly while I told Declan the fence story. I wasn’t even sure I would have remembered his name if the roles had been reversed, and I always made a point of remembering names. But he remembered.

  I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of my lips as Joan held one of the many t-shirts close to her chest.

  “You don’t know how much this will mean to Liam,” she said, choking up.

  Oisin reached over and softly rubbed circles on her back.

  David eyed a signed cap enviously.

  Joan was still trying to get it out. “It’s just, this is so...so...”

  Thoughtful.

  Kind.

  Generous.

  Sweet.

  Tender.

  Not exactly the words one would think to use to describe Declan Gallagher, ruthless fighter, MMA champion.

  Joan continued incoherently trying to express her thanks. “Sir, it’s just so...so—”

  “It’s nothing,” Declan muttered under his breath before promptly turning to leave.

  “Wait!” The word fell from my lips before I even knew what I was saying. Even to my own ears, it sounded loud in the expansive kitchen.

  I winced and bit my lip as Declan stopped and slowly turned around. His eyes landed on me.

  I immediately blushed. “Um, it’s just that…” I tugged at a random curl nervously. “It’s just, um, would you like a snack or something?”

  His eyes held mine.

  I could see the struggle play across his face. I wondered why it was so difficult for him—talking, laughing, smiling.

  My heart sank in disappointment as he opened his mouth to obviously decline.

  Joan jumped in, “Yes, sir, please?” She stepped closer to him before realising she was getting too close and stopping. “Come have a drink with us. We have plenty.”

  “You’d better stay before River here completely destroys the bacon-wrapped dates,” Oisin chimed in.

  I tossed a balled-up napkin at him, but he just laughed and winked.

  “You can even pick the music, if you want,” David said. He offered up the auxiliary cord after disconnecting his phone.

  “Stay,” Joan insisted as Declan hesitated.

  “Yeah, stay for a bit,” David added.

  Oisin walked over and slung his arm over Declan’s shoulder, and despite a little flinch of discomfort, Declan did not knock him out on the spot. “You know you want to,” Oisin said.

  Declan looked at me last.

  I could tell from his eyes that he was on the edge and he needed just one last shove. I was more than willing to give it. “Stay,” I mouthed.

  Declan sighed and threw his hands up in defeat. “One beer.”

  Everyone cheered. I grinned as Oisin popped the cap of a low calorie (shit) beer. Declan let David put his music back on, and the little impromptu party in the kitchen resumed.

  Declan remained silent, just listening, as the group chatted casually, but as he sipped his mostly untouched beer, I noticed him glancing at something behind me on the counter. Curious, I took the opportunity when he wasn’t looking, engrossed in one of Oisin’s enthralling cooking disaster stories, to check what was behind me.

  There on the marble counter I found, still flipped open to a picture of my reflection stretched across a graffitied wall, my photography portfolio.

  When I turned back, I caught Declan looking at it again. This time, he noticed I’d caught him and his eyes darted away in embarrassment. He didn’t look at it the rest of his time in the kitchen till he drank half his beer and excused himself to bed.

  As he left the kitchen, he looked back and I saw it. He looked again at the picture.

  What was it that intrigued him so?

  I couldn’t see it myself as I stared at it. But when I lifted my head to ask him, he was gone, back into the darkness.

  Declan

  It was stupid.

  As I made my way to the gym for my morning training session, I stared down at the little pink flower from the blooming tree in the garden resting so delicately in my palm. It was entirely by chance that I noticed it among the first rays of golden morning light outside my bedroom window. It was just a single bud of colour amongst the frost-covered branches.

  It wasn’t even particularly noteworthy. But as I dressed and went down for breakfast and stood against the large windows along the garden with my smoothie, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  After failing to convince myself to forget about it, I checked both ends of the long hallway to make sure it was empty before stepping outside, my bare toes wincing at the cold of the stones. I crossed the garden, tugged the flower from the tree, and hurried back inside to shake off the chill of the morning.

  I smiled down at the little thing as I laced up my shoes. It was petite, bright, and pretty, and I wanted to give it to the girl.

  As I neared the gym, I began to doubt myself. It was stupid. She deserved more than a frost-covered flower from the garden. She deserved a whole bouquet of flowers. She deserved a whole room filled with flowers. She deserved a mountain meadow all her own, a field of tulips, a thorny hill of wild roses, a lake of the brightest and most beautiful water lilies.

  It was stupid.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.

  It was stupid, but I thought she just might like it.

  Turning into the gym, I was resolute on giving it to her. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the girl, not in her office, but talking to Niall, my physio.

  The sight of it immediately caused a surge of jealously that tightened my chest and made my blood run hot.

  The two were just chatting near the door to the spa at the back of the gym, just chatting. But it looked so easy, the way it never was for me. Niall said something and the girl laughed, looking up at him as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. They stood close, closer than I ever dared to stand next to her, and both of them seemed perfectly comfortable. Her presence near him didn’t make Niall’s body tense, his chest rise and fall more and more rapidly, his jaw clench or his brow sweat the way it constantly did for me. Everything between them just seemed natural.

  They looked better together than she and I. Her dark, curly hair complemented his chin-length hair that somehow fell right back into place every time he ran his hands through it. They both had soft green eyes, they were both slim, both quick to smile, slow to frown. Together, they were a sweet, happy, normal couple.

  She and I were a mismatch. She was the delicate rose and I was the jagged, sharp thorn. The sharp lines of my face clashed with her soft cheeks, her soft lips, her soft eyelashes. I was brooding, dark, stormy. She was a pure beam of light.

  Niall and she were two puzzle pieces that fit. Where did that leave me?

  Niall laughed and touched the arm of the girl, making my jaw clench. He was clearly interested. And why wouldn’t he be?

  The girl was a magnet. Everything about her drew you in closer and closer, and the more you fought against it, the tighter the attraction pulled. Her eyes, soft, kind, and curtained by those long lashes, dragged you to the edge and you had no choice but to fall, fall, fall. I wasn’t even sure I had hit the bottom yet.

  There was something about her. Anyone who met her could sense it. She saw the world differently and she made you want to see it differently, too. She was unique.

  She was special.

  Why the fuck would she be interested in me?

  Crushing the little flower in my hand and tossing it behind me, I stalked over to the two of them.

  They each stepped back from one another when they caught sight of me approaching. Only guilty people would do that.

  Niall tried to smile casually at me as he extended his hand. “Declan, hey, what’s the—”

  “Is my watch wrong?” I asked, my tone clipped, anger thinly veiled.

  “What?” Niall asked.

  “That clock there on the wall.” I pointed to the wall above the cardio equipment. “Is it off?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a look on the girl’s face. I wasn’t sure, but it looked something like disappointment. For what, I didn’t give a fuck.

  “Declan, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Niall glanced at the girl for support.

  She had her gaze on her ridiculous colourful sneakers.

  “Are all the clocks in this goddamn gym suddenly wrong today or is it 8:07?”

  Niall glanced at his wristwatch and scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Sorry, I was just talking to River here and—”

  “I don’t pay you to talk,” I interrupted. “Either of you.” I looked toward the girl.

  Her eyes were narrowed on me. Anger had clearly replaced her disappointment.

  How dare she be angry at me. She was the one not working when she was supposed to be. I was the one with the right to be angry, after all. Not her.

  She didn’t flinch from my glare, but glared right back for a prolonged moment before she promptly, with a word of apology, turned on her heel and walked away. She marched straight to her little office and went inside, slamming the door behind her. It rattled in the high ceilings of the gym.

  “If you’re ready, sir,” I said sarcastically to Niall, nodding toward the door of the spa.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Niall jumped and moved to hold the door open for me. He jabbered on as we climbed the stairs to the therapy room. “How are you feeling since our last session? Any discomfort? I’m sure you have some soreness, but is there any unbearable pain still?”

  Not answering him, I went straight to the massage table and lay down. I stared up at the ceiling as Niall poked and prodded around my shoulder.

  “Hey, um, so that new girl,” he started hesitantly as he gave my arm an experimental rotation in its socket. “Is she—”

  “She’s not your type.”

  Niall paused and stared down at me.

  I continued to look up at the ceiling.

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he insisted, shaking his head. “I just meant—”

  “I know exactly what you meant,” I grumbled irritably. “You meant you want to fuck her.”

  Niall laughed uncomfortably. “Ah sure look, if you like her, I’ll totally back off—”

  “I don’t want her.”

  “Okay, but…”

  I turned my head to send an imposing glare up at Niall. “She’s not your type,” was all I said, making it more than clear to him that the conversation was over. Finished.

  Dead.

  But the truth was that the girl would be perfect for Niall and he would be perfect for her. They would laugh together, smile together, sing together.

  I could not give the girl laughter.

  I could not give her cheer.

  I would never sing with her.

  My chance with a girl like her was as withered as the petals of the flower crushed and abandoned on the gym floor.

  River

  I was licking my fingers from a brownie sundae Oisin made me for a Monday pick-me-up when I heard the shouting. It caused me to stop and strain to listen as the rain pattered loudly against the tall windows in the hallway overlooking the garden below. I didn’t have to struggle for long, because the shouting from the gym just up ahead grew louder and louder.

  My first thought seized my heart and made my veins run with ice-cold blood: Declan was hurt.

  Sprinting toward the gym, I ignored the black scuff marks my sneakers left on the polished hardwood floors. Chest heaving, I shoved open the gym doors and scanned the floor for Declan.

  But I found him, not injured, but instead arguing loudly with Niall. I sighed in relief. I barely had time to worry that I was starting to care for my employer a little too deeply when the argument dragged away my attention.

 

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