Page 87 of From Ice to Grace
I bark out a bitter laugh. “Don’t twist this all on me, Murphy. If I remember correctly, you wanted out in six months. I’m not the one with a track record that suggests I’m terrified of commitment.”
His jaw ticks, something raw flashing across his face. “No, you’re just the one writing expiration dates in bright red ink while insisting on hiding behind rules. Hard lines and strict boundaries. Sounds like a pot-kettle situation.”
His words slam into me. He’s not wrong…but neither am I.
For a second I can only stare at him. “Declan Murphy, king of agreements and master of rules, wants to be mad at me? For playing by his own rules? For doing to you what you’ve been doing to all your girlfriends over the years?”
He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t have to. Which is perfect, because I have more to say to him.
I jab my finger into his chest, the golden flecks in his eyes sparking with challenge.
“Are you going to pretend like your other girlfriends left you high and dry? Like you’re the one who’s been hurt all these years? Like you were ready for more but they got tired of you and left?” I shake my head, unable to keep from laughing. “I’m not buying it, Murphy. In fact, I’m sure it’s the other way around. I bet you can dial a random number on your contact list, and that woman would come running back in a minute.”
His mouth curves, sharp and humorless. “Thanks for the compliment.”
“It’s not a compliment,” I bite out. “I’m telling you, you’re a coward.”
He huffs, running his hand through his hair. “Back to tossing daggers, huh?”
“No, seriously, Declan. I’m asking if this is why you do it.” I search his eyes, his face, for any indication that he’ll admit the truth. “Is that why you keep things shallow? Because you’re terrified of what would happen if someone actually stays…or maybe it’s because you think they’d leave the moment you show who you really are.”
My words hit, his head whips toward me, anger now flashing in his eyes.
“Why wouldn’t they leave?” he asks, suddenly so close as he leans down facing me head on. “I don’t have much to offer, do I? You told me I don’t have a lot to draw from, remember? That I am controlled by my basic human drives. A fight, a woman, a drink.”
His words hit me. I remember that night in the parking lot. I also remember that I regretted those words because they were spoken from a place of hurt. A wound that I haven’t properly healed from. And Declan’s reaction just shows me my words have been causing wounds of their own.
Before I can say anything, he turns away from me, stalking toward the bar. His hand closes around the bottle of amber liquid, lifting the decanter off the bar while grabbing a glass.
I can’t watch him drown the truth. I’m through the bedroom door, slamming it shut before I can watch him self-destruct by taking a sip of the drink he just poured.
19
DECLAN
I’m a world-class jerk.
I should’ve been able to let today slide off me. I’ve done PR before. I know how to smile and wave when it matters. But then I stepped into this decked out suite with the most beautiful woman in the world, and all it did was remind me that she was in no way mine. I have no reason to touch her or be close to her.
As soon as we got here, I saw the way her mind was working to make sense of the day we had. I had to take a minute to adjust to reality too. Being with Avah today, pretending to be her husband, was surprisingly easy. Too easy.
And that’s the problem. Easy makes me think about things I have no business thinking about.
Now, I’m back on the couch for the night. My wife is alone in our bedroom. And the bar is standing in the corner of the suite, mocking me.
The drink I poured myself is still sitting there…untouched. I wanted to show her that I’m exactly the guy she thinks I am. Someone who’s driven by a drink, a fight, a woman.
The thing is, I don’t want her to think that.
Not really.
And that makes me even more of an idiot. Instead of proving her wrong, I tried my best to prove her right.
Maybe I just wanted to give her a reason to hate me enough so we could actually end this in two years without complication. Hate coupled with rejection is something I can handle. What I can’t handle is the thought of her looking at me like I might be better than I am.
But when she slammed the bedroom door shut…I hated that sound more than anything. Because it meant she cared enough to be hurt. It meant I pushed too far. And in that moment, I knew I was pouring the drink to tick her off.
Not because I needed it.
