Deon pulls the blanket tightly around Declan before his arms follow, holding Declan against his chest while he cries. Deon asks no questions, offers no words of comfort but simply allows Declan to fall apart in his arms.
Meanwhile, I’m in tears in the kitchen, watching them together.
You always hope when you fall in love, it’s with someone who, to their core, is a good, kind person. Someone who will lift you in your lower moments and cheer you on in your success.
It’s not something every person manages to find, but if you’re lucky, you’ll find that person. The one that leaps into action when your friend shows up on your porch in tears. Who doesn’t ask questions or demand answers but simply allows the other person the space they need to fall apart without judgment.
I was growing skeptical if I would ever find that person. I didn’t think I would find it in the man who has declared he doesn’t want a relationship, but here I am, holding a steaming mug of tea, struggling with the realization everything I have ever wanted is sitting on the couch and he’s not mine to want or have orlove, even if I think I might desire all of those things.
Swiping away the rogue tears, I hand Declan the mug of tea to help banish the chill.
“Declan,” Deon says softly, “Can you tell us what’s wrong?”
Declan stares down at the mug in his hands, and with a trembling voice, he mutters, “He’s gone.”
Two words are all it takes for my tears to return and for dread to sit heavy like a rock in my stomach. Two words to know Declan’s world has flipped upside down.
Deon’s gaze shifts to mine, his head tilting slightly in confusion while he holds Declan in his arms.It’s bad,I mouth, unable to explain any further without releasing every tear I’m fighting to hold back.
“Declan?” His head lifts, and the grief that lingers in his gaze knocks the air from my lungs. “What do you need?”
How do I help him with this?
Telling him how sorry I am doesn’t change the fact that the one person who loved Declan, who treated him like a son, is gone.
If he needs to sit here and cry for the next few days, we can do that. If he needs to break something, we can do that, too.
“I…I need—” His voice cracks, and my heart splinters at the sound, “Can we go to your house?”
The tears I was battling make a reappearance, and they begin to fall freely. My heart completely shatters at the hesitation in his gaze. I never realized…He considers them family. I knew he enjoyed family dinners, but if I had known how much they meant to him…shit, I’m crying again.
I can’t cry. He needs someone to take care of him, to hold him while he grieves, not cry. Deon’s brows furrow, but I ignore him, grabbing my phone to call my mom. She answers on the second ring.
“How’s my favorite daughter?” she laughs as she answers.
“Are you home?” I ask, jumping straight to the point.
She immediately notices the shift. “Nathalie, is everything okay?”
“I’m okay. Is everyone home?” I ask again, sniffling. I glance at Deon, who is whispering kind words to Declan, assuring him everything will be okay. Another piece of my heart becomes Deon’s as he holds Declan.
“Everyone is here…Nathalie, you’re scaring me.” My mom’s voice is wary and hesitant.
“I think—I think Alan died,” I whisper the confession so Declan won’t hear, desperately hoping it’s not true, but the way Declan begins to cry anew, I know I’m right.
My mom sucks in a sharp breath, and then rustling fills the mine, followed by a distinct groan.
“Qué?” I can hear my father ask, his voice groggy from sleep.
“No moresiesta,” my mom hisses. “Alan died, and you need to cook.”
There’s more rustling, and I glance at the guys, who are now both watching me with intense curiosity. “¿Mija, todo bien?” My father’s voice filters through the phone, and the sound soothes a sliver of the ache in my chest.
“No.” I hear my mother whisper but can’t make out the words.
“I will makepaella.” I can envision the small nod of his head with the statement. “Come home.”
“Thank you,” I choke out, unable to process the flood of emotion. “See you soon.”