Fighter's Kiss: An enemies-to-lovers MMA romance (Irish Kiss Book 3), page 19
I groaned in response.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, laying a hand on my arm. “I’ll leave you to your decision. I swear I won’t say a single word to stop you.”
I narrowed my eyes warily at him.
“All you have to do is look at this, okay? Really look.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
Oisin squeezed my arm and pressed, “You’ll look?”
“Yes,” I grumbled.
“You promise?”
“Yes, yes,” I complained, “I promise I’ll look, okay?”
Oisin patted my arm before standing and giving the top of my head a kiss. “He’s crazy about you, my little voodoo queen,” he whispered. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
With that, his quiet footsteps echoed through the kitchen and then out into the hallway before they faded away, leaving me alone with just my tumultuous thoughts and the computer screen.
I didn’t want to look.
I wanted to wobble over to the wine cellar, grab another bottle, and stumble upstairs to drown my sorrows in bed. I wanted to press “Send” on my typo-filled resignation letter and book the next flight out of here. I wanted to forget that I was ever stupid enough to let my heart fall for Declan Gallagher.
But I promised.
So I looked.
Oisin had pulled up the front page of The Irish Times. I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw my own face smiling back at me from the red carpet. But once the shock of that faded, my eyes moved slowly over to Declan.
He wasn’t smiling for the camera, but he was smiling. Scooting up closer to the counter, I adjusted the laptop screen and clicked to zoom in on Declan’s face. I’d never seen him smile like he was smiling in the photo.
His lips, always frozen in a dark scowl, were pulled up into a wide, unfiltered grin as if he wasn’t surrounded by dozens of cameras and instead, he was just alone with close friends. The dark bags I’d grown accustomed to seeing under his eyes were replaced with fine laugh lines as his eyes crinkled in joy. Even the colour of his eyes seemed different to me. Normally, a storm waged in those icy blues, but his beaming smile brought rays of sunshine to crystal-clear aquamarine waters. The past that followed him like a heavy weight around his ankle and creased his forehead was gone. He seemed happy.
Oisin thought this proved that Declan had feelings for me, because Declan wasn’t smiling at the camera; he was smiling at me. As I stared at the picture, alone in the kitchen for who knows how long, I wanted more than anything to believe that. But I wasn’t sure I could.
Because the truth that I couldn’t avoid was—Declan never let me see him smile like this. The camera caught him with his guard down and it was a beautiful, rare, special moment, no doubt. But every good fighter knows he’ll fall without his defences, without his protection, without his guard up, always up.
So would Declan Gallagher be willing to fall?
Willing to fall for me?
Declan
“I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t focus on training. I can barely stay still long enough for my physiotherapy.” Sagging in my char, I closed my eyes and rubbed my throbbing temples.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I continued, feeling weary even as my heart pounded rapidly in my chest like it was about to burst out. “I must be sick. Doc says I’m fine, but I’m not fine.”
I felt my forehead for a fever. It had to be a fever after all. What else burned your body and dried your mouth one minute and then froze your veins and poured oil over your palms the next?
“Something is wrong,” I groaned. “Something is terribly wrong.”
Opening my eyes, I looked between my two best friends on the split screen video call on the computer in my room. Each was silent as I waited.
Danny rubbed at the back of his neck, his dark hair falling over his blue eyes, his muscled limbs hanging over the guitar in his lap; always the guitar. Or these days, Ailis, his wife. I barely recognised his Dublin apartment in the background now that it actually had furniture, throws, candles, and art on the walls in it—thanks to Ailis.
Diarmuid, dark hair pulled back into a man bun, scratched his beard and cleared his throat quietly so as not to wake Saoirse, the girl he chased halfway across the world. It was in the middle of the night where he was in Brisbane, Australia, but he woke his ass up just because I needed him. Any time I needed him, he was there for me. I’d do the same for him. He knew that.
My eyebrows furrowed as I looked again between them. “What?” I asked. “You know what it is?”
“Dex,” Diarmuid started, his words measured. “Anything new going on with you? Anything different?”
“What the bollocks does that have to do with anything?”
Danny strummed a chord and shrugged. “You get a reaction and you go to the doctor, yeah?” he said. “He asks you if you’ve changed your detergent or cologne, right?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah…”
“Well…” Diarmuid gave me a pointed look through the screen. “What’s your new detergent, Dex?”
I threw my hands up in frustration. “Are you two fecking kidding me? I call you for help for a serious problem, a fecking serious problem, and you suggest it’s because of a new detergent?”
“Dex, you eejit.” Danny sighed. “How did you make it out of high school? It’s a metaphor.”
Diarmuid nodded and explained, “We’re talking about that girl.”
“What girl?” I asked, the tips of my ears suddenly feeling hot.
Both Danny and Diarmuid laughed.
“Oh, come on!” Diarmuid’s ring-covered hand thudded the table. “We’ve all seen the pictures.”
“I don’t even watch TV and I’ve seen them,” Danny added.
“River?” It wasn’t a good sign that saying her name aloud sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. “My personal assistant? What does she have to do with my illness?”
Shaking his head, Danny chuckled and then asked, “Tell me this, Dex. Did you experience any of these symptoms of yours before she showed up?”
I considered his question. My life without River seemed to be lifetimes ago. I couldn’t remember feeling like this: panicked, restless, anxious, excited, and alive. I remembered waking up, training, sleep. Repeat. It was like living in a fog. Everything was grey. Everything was out of focus.
I was numb.
“I guess not,” I answered slowly before finally looking up at my two friends, suddenly feeling lost.
Diarmuid smiled. “You’ve got it bad, my friend,” he said.
“There’s no hope for you.” Danny grinned. “No hope at all.”
Diarmuid nodded. “No recovery.”
“No one survives what you’ve got, Dex.” Danny winked.
Unblinking, I stared at each of them as I considered what exactly they were implying. I slowly shook my head. “No, no,” I insisted. “That can’t be it. With Giselle, I never felt like this.”
Both Danny and Diarmuid just continued to stare at me, not saying a single word.
“I never felt this way with Giselle,” I repeated softly.
Diarmuid finally leaned forward closer to the webcam and smiled before saying simply, “Exactly.”
My hands shook as I wiped my damp brow. Why was I sweating so terribly? Maybe Danny and Diarmuid were wrong. Maybe it was the flu. Maybe it was the onset of food poisoning. Maybe it was a rare brain condition never known to exist before now.
Anything felt like a more promising diagnosis than…that.
If it were the flu, I would know what to do. I’d sleep it off. I’d drink lots of water, place a hot towel over my eyes and moan and groan till it eventually passed. And it wasn’t like I wanted to cling desperately to a toilet for the next twenty-four hours, but I at least understood what food poisoning was and how to deal with it. Hell, even if it were an incurable brain condition, I’d at least get some goddamn morphine.
What the fuck was I supposed to take for…this?
My voice was quiet as I stared at my fingers, clammy and shaking in my lap. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I admitted in a hushed whisper.
A laugh from Danny brought my gaze back up to the computer screen. “Fuck, Dex,” he said. “Nobody does. That’s the mystery of it.”
“The beauty of it,” Danny joined in.
I sighed. “The agony of it.”
Both of my friends chuckled.
“It hurts like hell,” Diarmuid nodded. “But—”
“It hurts so fucking good,” Danny finished for him.
I buried my face in my hands and groaned. What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
“You have to go to her,” Diarmuid said as I squeezed my eyes tighter shut. “You have to tell her.”
“He’s right,” Danny said. “As much as I hate to admit it, Diarmuid’s right, Dex.”
I groaned even louder. I wasn’t sure I could do it. Going to her, looking into her sweet, soft eyes that always seemed to be searching for something in mine… I wasn’t sure I could lower my defences, drop my guard, remove the mask I’d grown so accustomed to wearing. I couldn’t even admit my feelings to myself, I thought. How the hell was I supposed to admit them to her?
My heart pounded painfully in my chest and I rubbed at it with one hand while dragging the other across my eyes. “I think I’m having a heart attack,” I told my friends. “Is that normal?”
I checked the screen with one eye peeked open to find them both laughing and nodding.
“Perfectly,” Diarmuid said.
“Just wait for the nausea,” Danny joked.
Or at least I hoped he was joking…
“How do I tell her?” I asked, staring at the ceiling with my neck resting against the back of the chair. Maybe there were answers somehow written up there. But I didn’t have a chance to see, because my phone vibrated on the desk.
“All you can do is be honest,” Diarmuid was explaining as I glanced at the screen.
It was a text from Seamus. I was going to ignore it till I was done talk to the boys, but River’s name in the message caught my eye. I was pushing my chair out from the desk before I had even finished reading the message. “I’ve got to go,” I said hurriedly.
“What? Now?” Danny asked with a half laugh. “Right this second?”
I didn’t answer. I barely registered the concern on their faces as I stood and dialled Seamus’s number.
“Declan, what’s going on?” Diarmuid called as I ran toward the door, not even bothering to hang up the video chat. “What’s wrong?”
I sprinted down the hall and pressed the phone to my ear, begging Seamus to answer quickly because each ring was like a knife in my heart. Hurry. Hurry!
River was leaving.
River
Alone in the darkroom I had only one photograph to develop before I left the manor.
It was a photograph of Oisin, Joan, and David at the local pub one rainy night, the only image of my time in Ireland that I wanted to keep. The rest I would do my best to forget: the image of piercing blue eyes, of callused, scared hands, the image of lips, soft and full, drawing closer, closer, clos—
If only those images could be as easily destroyed as the delicate film in my camera.
I’d already gone through most of the steps needed to develop the photo. I’d measured out the chemicals, used the enlarger, positioned the image on the masking frame, checked the sharpness, and made the test strip. But I’d hesitated before putting the exposed paper into the developer. I wasn’t entirely sure why. The sooner I did that the sooner I could leave this place.
That was what I wanted, wasn’t it?
Before I could answer the question rolling around inside my head, I plunged the paper into the tray of developer and gently rocked it back and forth to submerge the whole sheet. I wouldn’t admit it aloud to anyone, but truthfully, I was afraid of what my answer would have been. So to drown out my thoughts, I busied myself the only way I knew how…with my work.
There was a peace, after all, to working steadily, gently, carefully in a darkroom; a peace that I hoped would calm my heart after making the decision to leave.
A peace that was, of course, promptly destroyed.
The door to the darkroom swung open, slamming against the wall.
I winced at the flood of light from the hallway outside as Declan stormed inside, waving a piece of paper wildly in the air.
“Declan, what the—”
“No!” he shouted as he stalked toward me. “I do not accept this.”
I stumbled back in surprise when he shoved the piece of paper against my chest.
He pointed a finger at me. His voice shook when he repeated, “No.”
I looked down at the space between our feet where the paper had fallen to the ground. It was the resignation letter I sent to Seamus. Slowly, I moved my eyes back up to Declan’s face, no more than a darkened silhouette against the light from the hallway. Anger burned in my chest and I clenched my hands into tight fists.
I hadn’t seen him in days, days. And he had the nerve to burst in here in a wild fury like a Category 5 hurricane, destroying my photographs and demanding that I stay.
No.
Fuck no.
“Are you going to tie me up in the kitchen, Declan?” I hissed, glaring up at him.
He loomed over me, still and silent save the rapid rise and fall of his chest and his raspy breath.
“Huh?” I stepped closer, the sole of my sneaker crushing the resignation letter. “Are you going to lock me in the cell you call my office?”
I could feel the heat from his skin as I moved even closer to him.
“What are you going to do to stop me?” I whispered. “Put handcuffs around my wrists and chains around my ankles?”
Declan’s breath caught in his throat. Still, he did not speak as my chest grazed his. I had to tilt my head back to see up into his face, I was so close.
“Because that’s what you’re going to have to do to get me to stay.” I waited for another tense, quiet moment.
Declan remained motionless, frozen.
My shoulder shoved into his as I slid past him toward the door. I would go to my room and pack right then and there. I’d stay in town till my flight home.
Declan caught my wrist. He turned his head, but his piercing blue eyes were still hidden in the shadow. His voice was dark as he repeated, “I do not accept.”
I tried to tug my arm away from him, but his grasp was far too strong to escape from. If Declan wanted to hold me in place all afternoon, I would be helpless to stop him. If he wanted to pin me there in the darkroom all through the night, there was nothing I could do. If he wanted us to starve together in that dim light, well then, we would starve.
“Let me go.” I tried and failed to keep my voice from shaking in anger.
Declan was quiet for a few seconds that each felt like years before he said again, “I do not accept.”
“Stop saying that,” I said through gritted teeth as I yanked my arm again to free myself.
“I do not accept,” Declan repeated.
I pressed my face close to his and hissed, “I. Do. Not. Care.”
Declan glared down at me.
I glared up at him, not intimidated by the face that men three times my size had cowered from in the cage. “You have been the worst employer I’ve ever had,” I said. “The absolute worst.” I felt my heart rate begin to beat out of control as I grew more and more frustrated. “You’re moody and unpredictable,” I started. “You’re impossible to please and refuse to adhere to even basic standards of manners. A ‘thank you’ or ‘please’ from you is as rare as a sunny day in this country.”
You’re passionate and untamable and there’s a fire in your soul that lures me in like a moth to a flame. I can’t explain why but you’re irresistible to me. You’re impossible to get out of my mind, no matter how hard I try. A day without a thought of you, a night without you in my dreams is as rare as a sunny day in this godforsaken country.
I jutted my chin up defiantly at Declan as I went on, “You’re stubborn as an ass and can’t admit when you’re wrong, which is, by the way, far more often than you realise. You never laugh. You never joke. You never smile.”
You laugh, but never when I am close enough to hear it. You joke, but never with me. You smile, but the only reason I know you smile is because a camera was lucky enough to catch it. I want to see you smiling down at me. I want to see it with my own eyes. I want it more than maybe anything. But you’re as stubborn as an ass!
“You’re demanding.”
You’re intoxicating.
“You’re rude.”
You’re seductive.
“You’re selfish.”
You’re driving me wild.
I growled in frustration when I again tried to tug my hand free, only to have Declan’s grip on my wrist tighten. What made me even more furious was that I liked it.
“You’ve reduced your whole world, your entire existence to a thirty-foot diameter,” I growled. “You’ve literally caged yourself in, Declan, and you’ve convinced yourself that you like it, that you need it. You train and you train and you train and you think it will make you happy. You think a fucking belt will complete you. And you think if you let anyone in, it will all fall apart, and you have no fucking clue that maybe that’s exactly what you need.”
By the end of this, I was left gasping, my lungs burning for air. As I gulped in greedy breaths in the ensuing silence, nothing seemed to fill them. They burned and burned and I felt like I was trapped underwater.
Declan stared darkly down at me, red hot embers in his eyes. “And you are infuriating.” He took a step toward me.
I stood my ground.
“You’re annoying.”
Even as the truth spilled from his mouth, I lifted my chin.
“You’re always bleedin’ late ’cause you get distracted by feckin’ raindrops.”
Closer he moved. Stronger I stood.
“You come in here not even knowing what my sport is and yet you’re arrogant enough to believe you know what’s best for me—for me.” He stopped right in front of me.
