Page 58 of A Summer Thing

I wasn’t sure if her goals had changed. If she needed more time, more space, to work on herself. I’d give her anything she needs, but I won’t lie and say it isn’t the fucking relief of a century to see in her eyes that I’m what she needs.

“I love you, Declan. Fuck, do I love you,” I tell her, framing her face within my palms. A gesture that never fails to have her cheeks flushing, eyes flaring, breaths shallowing.

A gesture that never fails to feel as if I hold the entire world between my palms. My entire world.

Because the truth is, I’d give up everything for her, and I wouldn’t bat a fucking eye while doing it.

Nothing matters to me as much as she does, and I have every intention of showing her that for the rest of my life if she’ll let me.

But we have a lot to talk about first. A lot to settle between us.

I need to make sure we’re both healthy and healed enough to be good for each other, to lean on each other when life inevitably gets hard.

Because once we move forward from here, there’s no going back for me.

I glance around the busy coffee shop, the hushed murmur of conversation a constant hum in the room. Taking Declan’s hand in mine, I ask, “Can we get out of here? Go somewhere a bit quieter, so we can talk?”

Blue eyes pierce mine, hand squeezing tighter at my own. “Yeah, of course we can.”

______

I could always talk to Declan—could always listen to her talk all day in return if she wanted—but after missing out on conversations with my best friend for the past few months, I want to do nothing but listen to her speak. The tone of her voice is a fucking melody I never want to end.

We head into my brother’s brownstone—empty with him and Bee gone for the weekend—and I lead her into the room I’ve stayed in off and on all summer, waiting on her return.

Thank fuck I was here when she called.

All thanks to Addy for tipping me off when I checked in with her last.

Declan sits on the edge of my bed, and I sit beside her, and we delve deeper into our conversation.

She tells me about therapy, and how often she went this summer.

About the shit that went down with her sorry excuse for a mother during the holidays.

About the kind of people her parents have always been to begin with—something she’d never divulged to me before.

A father with a temper and a giant as fuck chip on his shoulder, and a mother who did nothing but stand by and watch him take his grief out on her, doing the same herself more often than not as well.

I grind my molars, clenching my free hand in a tight fist, as she recalls some of the fucked-up moments from her past. Even more so when she explains what life looked after her brother passed.

It’s no wonder she left home three years ago and didn’t look back until only recently.

It’s no wonder she plans to go no-contact with her parents from here on out.

And it’s no wonder she never talked much about her family in the first place.

It goes without saying, I’m lucky as hell to have the family I do, but I know well enough to know it isn’t like that for everyone.

For many, it’s the people met and relationships made outside the ones we’re born into that make a true family.

The connections built while striving for better than what’s being left behind.

The kind I’ve watched Declan start building since that first night of our first summer together.

I tell her about going back to therapy as well.

About the connections I’d started to make between my relationship with Brenna and ours.

As hard as they are to admit to her, they’re things I stand firm on not carrying into our relationship moving forward.

Closing ourselves off from one another when we’re going through it, shutting the other person out, drowning without being willing to grab the others’ hand when we need help out, running away at the height of an argument or disagreement when emotions are running high.

Things I hadn’t realized were so goddamn triggering until we were in the thick of it.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she says, but she doesn’t need to be sorry.

A swift shake of my head tells her all I need it to.

But she continues on with, “I am sorry, though. And you deserve that apology. I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.

Everything just seemed to kind of rush up on me at once, and I just…

I’ve been used to dealing, and grieving, and treading with my head barely above water on my own. ”

I open my mouth with a response, but she speaks ahead of me in a hurry.

“I know. I know I could have leaned on you, and you would have been willing to help. It’s only because I love you so much that I didn’t.

It doesn’t make sense, I know, but you’ve been through just as much as I have, and I…

I wasn’t willing to drag you down with me—which is stupid, really, considering I was pulling you down anyway.

I’m really, really sorry for doing that.

For ever making you question our relationship, or how I feel about you.

It was unfair. I never should have done that. ”

Despite it being difficult to admit, I nod. “It was. But I understand, Dec. I only want to make sure that if one of us breaks down in the future, we’ll let the other person catch us when we fall.”

“I know. And I am ready for that now. If you’ll let me. If you still want to be with me.”

Her unsure expression twists at my heart.

Running a hand through her hair, I grip the nape of her neck and bring our foreheads together.

“There’s no doubt in my mind that I want to be with you, Declan.

More than anything. But I want us to be sure this relationship will be good for both of us.

I need to know we’re both truly ready. That we’re willing to put in the work, and make the sacrifices necessary, to be the best versions of ourselves—both together and apart. ”

She grips my forearm tight as we pull apart, taking a deep breath to steel herself.

“I can confidently—after this summer especially—say that I am. We were never the issue. It was me. I found myself in a really dark place, and I made a hundred different choices that snuffed out any possibility for the light to find its way back in. But those are not mistakes I plan on making ever again. I know now how detrimental they can be, and as hard as it was—as much as I missed you, and God, did I miss you—taking the time to focus on myself, to work on my issues, was everything I needed to see that clearly. To see myself clearly. It’s why I’ve made the choice to stay in therapy—maybe for the rest of my life, really.

With everything I’ve been through, and with the career I’m heading into, I’m not ashamed to admit I’ll need that. ”

Relief floods through me. “That’s good, Little D. I’m glad. I’ve made the same decision myself, actually.” To help me be the best version of myself, always, to more easily handle the changes that have come and will inevitably come with being in the NFL.

She nods with a slowly-rising smile. “That’ll be good for us—for you, for me.”

“It will,” I agree. And with my palms to her cheeks, I tip her face toward mine and lean down until I’m nearly kissing her. “With that being said, I love the fuck out of you, and of course I want to be with you.”

“I love you, too,” she says quietly, reverently. “And I want to be with you, too.”

“Then that’s that,” I murmur against her mouth. “And our time is now.”

“Our time?” she questions, lips stretching into a wide smile against my own.

“Right person, wrong time. Wrong time, wrong time, wrong fucking time, but Declan, this is it. This is our time. Right here, right fucking now. You and me. This is it.”

Tears well behind her eyelids, spilling free. “This is it.” Her words are breathless yet full of life.

“This is it,” I say again.

And then I kiss the absolute fuck out of her.

______

We talk for hours, our conversation plunging deep into the early hours of the morning. Laid back into the soft cushion of my pillows, Declan wrapped in my hold, her words spill over my skin, tattooing themselves onto my already inked body.

Speaking of.

I shift in bed and lean back against the headboard, bringing her with me, keeping her cradled in my lap with her head resting against my chest.

“I’ve got something I need to show you, Little D.”

She tips her head back, and blue eyes meet mine. “Oh yeah?”

I nod, palms growing sweaty. I’m not nervous, per se.

I’m just—well, fuck that. I am nervous. I’ve inked her name in one of the clouds resting over my heart, and I’m not sure how she’s going to take it.

“Can I—here,” I say, lifting her out of my lap and placing her onto the bed beside me.

A position I haven’t been willing to release her from for hours now, until now.

Hand at the nape of my neck, I tug on my shirt and pull it over my head.

“Interesting. I’m not entirely upset about where this is going.” Her eyes brighten playfully and her smile dips downward as she tries and fails to tamp it down. The sight makes my heart beat faster.

But then she sees the tattoo and falls utterly silent, in awe.

Tears building in her eyes, she strokes her finger over the curved letters of her name inked onto my skin.

“You didn’t,” she says, eyes glued to her name on my chest. But of course I did.

Declan is it for me. Always has been, always will be.

Since our first fucking summer together.

The sheen in her eyes gives away how much she loves it—that I’ve etched her name permanently on my body.

I clear my throat. I might as well go all in and show her the others. Because I didn’t only tattoo her name on me once, or even twice, but three fucking times. And if I’m being honest, it still doesn’t feel like enough. But it’ll have to do—for now.