Chapter 117: Hundred and Seventeen

Chapter 117

The second morning of the retreat began with chatter about a “casual group hike.” Everyone seemed thrilled at the idea of fresh air and bonding. I, however, wanted to melt into the floor. The thought of climbing for hours, forced laughter, pretending to be athletic, and, most of all, hours near Declan was like walking into fire.

Still, I had no choice. Quitting wasn’t an option.

The trail began easy enough. Sunlight slipping between trees, people taking selfies, our laughter rising echoing in the trail. I kept close to Maya and Ashley, careful to avoid even brushing Declan’s arm. He stayed toward the back, quiet, almost brooding. But every time I glanced over my shoulder, my eyes betrayed me. They sought him.

Halfway through, the path narrowed into uneven ground. Roots tangled across the dirt. God, this is why I hated hiking. Why couldn’t we just go on a walk? A long walk was almost the same as a hike.

I focused hard, ignoring the ache in my legs, the murmurs of people peeling into smaller groups. I took slow, intentional steps down the slope. Eventually, the chatter spread out, and I realized, with a jolt of panic, that Declan and I had ended up walking near each other. Too close.

The air between us shifted instantly, thick and humming. My chest tightened.

I picked up the pace to catch up with the rest of the group.

“You shouldn’t walk so fast,” Declan said finally, his voice low.

“I’m fine.” My words came sharper than intended.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

I kept moving. My heartbeat drummed louder with each step. It wasn’t the trail. It was him. His presence, the way I could feel his gaze without even looking.

Then it happened. My foot caught on a slick root, and before I could catch myself, I stumbled hard, pain ripping through my ankle as I landed awkwardly on the ground.

A sharp cry escaped me.

“Willow!”

Declan was at my side in seconds, his hands steadying me before I could even think. I tried to wave him off, but the moment I shifted my weight, pain lanced through my ankle and I hissed.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, kneeling down.

I hated the way my body obeyed.

He gently touched my ankle, testing. The brush of his fingers sent a shiver straight through me, even though it burned with pain. I clenched my teeth.

“It’s not broken,” he murmured. “Just twisted. But you can’t walk it off.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, stubbornly. My pride flared, but even I could hear the weakness in my voice.

Declan gave me a look that stripped all my defenses away. Without another word, he crouched lower, turning his back toward me.

“Get on.”

“What?”

“On my back. You can’t keep going like this.”

Heat rushed to my face. “Absolutely not. People will see us.”

“Let them,” he cut in, his tone sharper now. “I’m not letting you hurt yourself more out of pride.”

I froze. The weight of his words, of him, of everything we’d been dancing around, settled heavy between us. For a breath, neither of us moved.

Then, with no choice, I gave in. Slowly, carefully, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. The second my chest pressed against his back, I felt it then, the dangerous pull of memory. His warmth, the solidity of him, the way his body remembered mine as if no time had passed.

Declan rose easily, carrying me like I weighed nothing. My breath caught at the closeness, at the steady rhythm of his breathing against me.

“You shouldn’t do this,” I whispered near his ear, my voice trembling.

His reply was almost a growl. “You think I could ever walk away from you, hurt and struggling? Don’t insult me, Willow.”

The words cracked something inside me. I tightened my hold around him, telling myself it was just to stay balanced, but we both knew better.

We moved slowly down the trail, branches brushing past, our colleagues far enough ahead that it felt like another world. I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my palm. Every sway of his stride pressed me closer to him, and it was unbearable.

After a few minutes, Declan spoke again, his voice softer, more ragged.

“I hate this. I hate watching you fight to keep everything inside, pretending like none of it matters.”

I swallowed hard, unable to answer.

“And I hate you,” he added suddenly, his tone breaking, “because no matter how much I try, now matter how much you’ve hurt me, I don’t know how to stay away from you.”

The words lodged in my chest, hot and aching.

“Don’t -” I began, but my voice cracked.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he whispered.

I buried my face against his shoulder, my breath shaky. Silence was safer, but silence also betrayed me. My grip on him tightened instead of loosening. My body leaned into his warmth instead of resisting.

He stopped walking then, just for a moment, adjusting me gently but not setting me down. His head tilted slightly, his cheek brushing mine, so soft it might have been accidental, but I knew it wasn’t.

My pulse roared in my ears.

“We can’t,” I finally choked out, though the words rang hollow even to me.

Declan let out a low laugh, bitter and wounded. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. And yet. here we are.”

The temptation swirled, thick as smoke between us. One more heartbeat and I would have broken.

A shout echoed from up the trail, someone calling my name. Both of us jerked apart, reality crashing back like cold water on my face. Declan shifted me on his back again and started walking, the moment shoved deep into silence.

But nothing could erase what had passed between us. Not the trail. Not the colleagues waiting ahead. Not even Jacob’s looming shadow.

Because the truth was raw and undeniable: we were one misstep away from falling all over again.

Maybe we already had.