Page 49 of Reaching Ryan

But it still stings to hear it said out loud.

“You’re right. You should’ve.” Declan sounds like he means it. Like he agrees with Ryan. “It would’ve better for the both of you if you’d have gotten the hell away from me.”

Ryan doesn’t answer him. Whatever happens between them next, it’s quiet. I’m still standing in the hall, listening intently when Declan makes his exit, nearly running me over with his angry, long-legged stride.

“Shit.” He mutters, giving me an absent-minded frown when he realizes I’m standing here and that I’ve obviously been eavesdropping on his conversation with Ryan. Instead of being angry, Declan sighs, the frown on his face sliding away into something closer to a grimace. “I’m really sorry about this, Grace,” he says, taking a swipe at his face with a hand that’s roughly the size of a catcher’s mitt. “If I’d have known you were here by yourself, I never would’ve—”

He thinks I was eavesdropping because having Ryan here scares me. Makes me uncomfortable. While both are true, neither are for the reasons he thinks. “It’s okay,” I tell him, waving off his apology. “We’ll be fine—besides, Henley’s only slightly less drunk than her brother is at this point. Calling her for help would be like asking the blind to lead the blind.”

Declan’s grimace morphs into a frown again. “Henley got drunk?” He says it like I just told him Molly’s dad is the Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Man.

“She came by to hang and we worked our way through a few bottles of Patrick’s wine and most of Cari’s junk food stash.”

When I mention Patrick’s wine, Declan flashes me a grin. A real one that sets off a pair of dimples that I’ve never seen before. “You drank Cap’n’s wine?” When I nod, he lets out a bark of laughter. “Good. Fucker deserves it.” While the laughter dies between us, Declan leans in on impulse and drops a haphazard kiss on the top of my head like I’m his favorite kid sister. “See you later, Grace,” he says before stepping around me to make his way down the hall.

He’s almost to the door before I give in and blurt it out. “I really hate your fiancé.”

Hearing me say it stops him in his tracks and when he turns, I expect him to go full-tilt ogre on me but nope—there’s that dimple-popping grin again. “She’s not my finance. Not anymore,” he tells me before opening the door and to disappear behind it.

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