Page 49 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

twenty-nine

DECLAN

A knock on my door sends my heart racing—I’ve been pacing the length of my apartment for the past hour, phone clutched in my hand like it might suddenly transform into Lea if I hold it tight enough.

I tried to text her. Tried to call her. Nothing. Radio silence.

I’d thought about going over to her dorm, but I figured Mike would be headed right there to confront his sister. I’d texted and called to give her the heads-up, but I’d estimated that the worst thing I could do was have another run-in with Mike in front of Lea.

If that happened, not only would she see her brother and lover arguing, but there was every chance she’d see us fighting as well. I have no doubt that Mike would be happy to take another swing, and I’m not sure I could restrain myself if I saw Mike had upset Lea.

So instead, I’d texted and tried to call, but got nothing back.

And, of course, that led to worry that Mike had already gotten to her .

And that now she’s done with me.

Be Mike , I think as I approach the door. Take a swing at me.

But then I open the door, and it’s Lea.

Finally.

Her mascara is smudged under her eyes, creating shadows that make the green of her irises look almost radioactive. Her hair is wild, like she’s been drumming her fingers through it. She looks as disheveled and as beautiful as that day in the bathroom together.

“Lea,” I breathe, relief flooding through me.

“Hi,” she says, her voice small.

“Hi,” I say, resisting the urge to ask questions and instead opening my arms.

She steps into them without hesitation, pressing her face against my chest and wrapping her arms around my waist. I hold her tightly, burying my face in her curls. She’s trembling slightly, or maybe I am. It’s hard to tell where her body stops and mine begins.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her hair.

“Don’t.” Her voice is muffled against my chest. “Just… give me a minute…”

I do, holding her without speaking, although we back inside and close the door. My apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a neighbor’s TV through the walls. After a long moment, she pulls back slightly, looking up at me.

“Are you OK?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“Let’s go with ‘operational.’” Her smile wobbles. “Wow, your jaw looks bad.”

I shrug. “I’ve taken harder hits in hockey…”

“We need to talk. ”

I sit beside her, leaving a small gap between us, because I want to give her space if she needs it. It’s a good sign for the future of us that she inches towards me, whether deliberate or not.

“Are you OK?” I ask softly. “I thought it best to let you know Mike was coming, but not come over myself, given how angry he was…”

“That was smart,” she smiles. “He might have started World War Three if you’d been with me when he arrived…”

“I’m sorry you had to face that alone,” I say, reaching out to put a hand on her leg. “I tried to text you and call you…”

“Didn’t see them.” She shrugs. “But I appreciate you trying, and I had Em with me the whole time…”

“And where have you been since?”

“Walking.” She stares at her hands. “Just… walking. A lot of walking. So much walking. Trying to clear my head.”

“And?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

She sighs heavily. “And Mike’s an asshole, but he’s still my brother.”

My stomach drops through the floor and keeps going, straight to the center of the earth where it can burn away in molten lava. Here it comes. Mike is her brother, and I’m just the guy who keeps her sneaking around campus and hiding their relationship.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not important to me too,” she adds quickly, apparently noticing how my body just tensed. “That’s not what I meant.”

I exhale slowly. “Sorry. For a second there, I thought this was headed toward the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech.”

“God, no.” She wraps her fingers around mine, squeezing tight. “The opposite, actually. I’m pissed at Mike. Really, really pissed. ”

“Because he punched me?” I touch my jaw gingerly with my free hand. “Not that I don’t appreciate the solidarity, but this isn’t that bad.”

“It’s not about that. Well, not just that.” She draws her legs up beneath her on the couch. “Do you know what he said to me?”

I shake my head, drinking in the details of her face like I’m dying of thirst. Her eyes are still red-rimmed, but there’s a fire in them now. In the back of my mind, a thought flashes that I’d like to draw her like this, but I force it down, to focus on the now.

“He told me I’d manufactured the whole Chris situation into some epic tragedy,” she says, voice trembling slightly. “That I fell apart completely, and he only helped me because my parents called him, freaking out because I wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” Her laugh is bitter and hollow. “He basically said my parents think I’m some fragile little flower who can’t handle a breakup, and he had to rescue poor pathetic Lea from her emotions. Can you fucking believe he’d say that to me?”

My blood boils at the thought of Mike—or anyone—talking to her that way. “That’s bullshit.”

“And the worst part is,” she continues, “all this time I thought Mike was the only one in my family who understood me. Who didn’t think I was too sensitive or too emotional. And he thinks I’ll fall apart with you, too. Like it’s inevitable.”

“And you believe him?”

“No,” she says firmly. “I don’t. My whole family thinks I’m some broken doll, but I’m so tired of that narrative.”

I pull her closer, her knees pressing against my thigh. “I know one thing for sure—you’re the furthest thing from broken I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t need rescuing,” she whispers.

“No, you don’t.” My thumb traces circles on her palm. “You’d have figured out how to handle Chris eventually, even if Mike hadn’t helped. You’d have gotten to Pine Barren. You’d have met me at that party. You’d have told me to go fuck myself when you found out I play hockey.”

That gets a small laugh out of her.

Progress.

“The only difference,” I continue, “is you would have made me grovel a little less.”

“I seriously doubt that.” Her smile becomes more genuine. “I’m pretty stubborn.”

“Another thing I love about you.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us like a physical thing. I hadn’t planned to say it yet—not like this, not in the middle of her family drama—but there it is. No taking it back.

Her eyes widen slightly. “What did you just say?”

I could backpedal. Make a joke. Pretend I meant it casually. But I’ve lied to her before, and I promised myself I’d never do it again. She didn’t break up with me when Mike confronted her, so let’s see if this scares her away.

All gas, no brakes.

“I said I love you.” My pulse quickens against my ribs. “I know it’s too soon. I know we’ve only been together for a short while. But I do.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. I’ve laid myself bare, and now I have to wait for her verdict. I’m hopeful of the outcome, but not certain .

Tears well in Lea’s eyes, and for a horrifying split-second, I’m convinced I’ve somehow made everything worse—because of course I have, that’s what I do. But then her lips curve into a smile so radiant it almost hurts to look at.

“I love you too,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “God, I didn’t think I’d feel this way about anyone, not after—” She shakes her head. “But I do. I love you.”

Relief floods through every inch of me. I pull her into my arms, and she comes willingly, practically crawling into my lap. Her tears dampen my shirt, but I couldn’t care less as I hold her tightly.

“I love how you look at my art,” she murmurs against my neck. “Like you’re actually seeing me. Not what I could be or should be, but me.”

We stay like that for a long time, tangled together on my couch, her head tucked under my chin. Eventually, she shifts, looking up at me with those remarkable green eyes.

“Can I stay here tonight, Declan?” she asks softly. “I really don’t want to go back to the dorm.”

“Of course.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear. “You can stay as long as you want, just make sure you text Em.”

Lea nods, fishing her phone from her pocket. She quickly types out a message, then shows me the screen:

With Declan. Safe. Love him. Staying the night. Talk tomorrow.

“Succinct,” I say, appreciating her directness.

“Em’s good with blunt.” Lea presses send, then sets her phone on the coffee table. “She’s probably already texting back with post-sex food and beverage options nearby… ”

“Is that so?” I arch an eyebrow. “I’m suddenly interested in Em’s opinions.”

Lea swats at my chest, but she’s smiling. “You’re awful.”

“That’s not what you said a minute ago.” I pull her closer.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She laughs. “Your ego’s big enough as it is.”

“Not the only thing that’s big,” I mutter against her hair.

Lea groans. “Oh my God, you’re twelve years old.”

“But very mature for my age.”

She laughs, the sound rolling through her body and into mine. It’s a beautiful thing, feeling her laugh while she’s pressed against me. Far better than seeing her cry, any day of the week.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, realizing it’s been hours since I’ve eaten anything, and not sure she’s had dinner. “I could make us something.”

“You cook?” She pulls back, looking skeptical, although she perks up at the mention of food.

“I’m offended by your tone. Yes, I cook. I live alone, remember? It was either learn to cook or subsist entirely on protein bars and Gatorade.”

“The hockey player diet.”

“Exactly.” I stand, pulling her up with me. “So, food?”

“Food, I’m starving, actually,” she agrees. “As long as I can help.”

We move to the kitchen, where I weigh up the options, and settle on pasta with a simple sauce. Cooking together is surprisingly easy, our bodies moving around each other in the small space like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

“You’re good at that,” I observe, watching her perfectly dice an onion .

“Better be careful.” She smirks. “I can cut you just as easily.”

When we’ve worked out a sauce and the pasta is on, I pour us each a glass of wine. We sit at my small kitchen table, the pasta bubbling on the stove behind us, and the moment feels perfect.

“To loving what scares us,” I say, raising my glass.

Lea clinks hers against mine. “Is that what I am? Something that scares you?”

“Terrifies me,” I admit, taking a sip. “But in the best possible way.”

Her eyes soften. “I’m scared too. But not of you—of this feeling. It’s so big.”

“I know what you mean.”

And I do. This thing between us feels immense, like it could swallow us whole if we let it. But unlike hockey, unlike art, this isn’t something I want to control or master. I want to let it take me wherever it’s going. The first stop is the dinner, and after that, who the hell knows.

Later, after we’ve eaten and washed the dishes together, Lea stands in my bedroom doorway, wearing one of my practice jerseys, which hangs nearly to her knees. She looks impossibly small and impossibly perfect.

“Your jersey smells like you,” she says, lifting the fabric to her nose.

“I’d hope so.” I shrug. “Although, I should warn you, I sweat a lot at practice.”

“Gross.” She gives me a look, smirking, but she doesn’t take the top off.

“Come here,” I say, patting the space beside me on the bed.

She climbs in, curling against my side like she belongs there. Her head rests on my chest, her arm draped across my stomach. And, although I want to rip her clothes off and ravish her, I also want to stay in this moment for a while, too.

“You know Mike’s going to be pissed at us for a while, right?” I say.

“Mike can go fuck himself.”

I laugh in surprise. “That’s very direct.”

“I’m done letting my family dictate how I should feel.” She sighs. “And I’m done hiding us, so Mike will either get over it or he won’t, but that’s his problem, not ours.”

I reach for her face, to trace the line of her jaw. “I like this fiery version of you. Very sexy, you know?”

“Oh yeah? Good, because you helped create her.” She leans closer, pressing her lips to mine in a soft kiss. “So was getting punched in the face was worth it?”

I smile against her mouth. “Absolutely worth it.”

And as she settles back against me, her breath warm against my neck, I know that I’d take a thousand more punches if it meant ending every day like this—with Lea in my arms, with the words “I love you” still hanging in the air between us.

Mike, the team, our art, and our futures—all of it can wait until tomorrow.

Tonight is just for us.