Page 90 of Fumbled Into Love

I hang up the phone, turning to the two people who have somehow snuck deep into my heart and planted roots so deep they will live there forever.

The first time I heard about Declan, I thought he was an asshole. He dated Sawyer when she first moved to Seattle andblew her off, and I was convinced he was one of those people who only cared about themselves.

He proved me wrong.

While he did treat Sawyer poorly, he owned up to those actions, and he worked on himself. He apologized and was forgiven, and then he showed us all who he is. A friend who is loyal and outgoing, who only wants to find the family he’s been missing. A man who advocates for therapy and is willing to re-enact sex scenes at Book Club. Like every other person in the world, he wants a place to call his own, people to call his family, and someone to love.

How could I not become friends with someone like that?

It appears Declan may have also snuck into Deon’s heart because Deon does the one thing that scares him most in this world: Deon swoops a flailing Gordie into his arms and extends his geriatric demon cat to Declan so they can cuddle together.

I’ve never seen Deon pick Gordie up, and from the way Gordie flails, I can see why. It’s dangerous for Deon. I avoid focusing on Deon for too long, in fear the swirling feelings in my chest will overwhelm me.

He’s not what I expected, but he’s so much more than I could have ever anticipated or hoped for. But hoping Deon Adams will fall in love with me is pointless and foolish and will only lead to even deeper heartbreak. I need to remind myself of that.

Gently, I take Declan’s hand and throw my weight to pull him up from the couch. His eyes dart across my face, and the pain and sadness there crushes me.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper, and Declan nods, moving toward the door.

Deon hands him a sweatshirt and pants, and as we move to the door, a familiar and comforting weight falls on my lowerback. Lifting my head over my shoulder, my eyes connect with Deon’s.

He bites his lip.

“Do you—Do you want me to come?” He chokes on the question like he is afraid of the response.

For the first time since this whole thing started—since Deon walked into my apartment—I allow myself to say what I truly feel without any concern for my heart.

“I can’t do this without you. I don’twantto do this without you.”

I squeeze his hand before guiding Declan out the door. I don’t wait to for Deon to make a choice, but my heart thunders in my chest when I hear the jingle of his keys.

“I’ll drive,” he says, but nothing more.

Deon

Nathalie holds Declan in her small arms in the backseat of my car, whispering quietly, and with intense clarity, I know I’ll never be the same. I always believed finding Savannah in bed with Brian was my defining moment, the one that altered the trajectory of my life.

It wasn’t that moment; it’s this one right here. It’s watching the woman who I’m falling in love with comfort someone she loves. It’s her words, declaring she needed and wanted me with her. It’s because, in this moment, I am everything I’ve never been before: wanted, needed, leaned upon when the burden is too heavy to bear alone.

Nathalie murmurs, “It’s going to be okay,” and my body buzzes with the need to understand. I know only what Declan has shared about his life. I’ve never pushed to learn more, but as we pull into the driveway of Nathalie’s childhood home, I realize maybe I should have.

We grew closer when we were in Michigan—sharing a room allows you to learn a lot about somebody—but there’s a blank page where Declan’s past exists.

He’s never spoken about his time before meeting Henry at Notre Dame, and I’ve never asked.

Nathalie’s family darts out of the house, and Margaret nearly rips my door off the hinges as she hauls Declan inside, leaving Nathalie and me alone in the car. Nathalie crawls over the center console, her ass lifted directly in my face, and I jerk my head away. She settles into the passenger seat, none the wiser, I’m rocking a boner from her acrobatics in the car.

Her brown eyes examine me.

“How much do you know about Declan?”

I’m unable to hide my embarrassment.

“Not much. I’ve never really asked.” The confession sours my stomach. The last thing I want is for Nathalie to think I don’t care about him orher.

“Truthfully, I don’t think this is something he ever planned on telling you or anyone on the team.”

“What are you talking about?”

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