Chapter 156: Hundred and Fifty Six

The silence after Sabrina left was heavy and awkward. I knew Declan felt bad about it too.

I sat stiffly on Declan’s couch, my hands curled tight in my lap, staring at the door she had swept through as if her soul, like a ghost, still lingered there. Maybe it did. The sharp, expensive kind that made me feel even smaller than I already did.

Declan let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair, muttering something I couldn’t quite catch. When he looked at me, there was an apology etched across every line of his face. “I swear, I didn’t know she’d be here. If I had, I never would’ve brought you.”

“I know,” I said quickly, because I did know. He hadn’t looked comfortable for a second. But still, her words clung to me, poison dressed as sweetness.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. Not tonight. Or ever. What even was the point?

Declan studied me for a moment longer, then crouched down in front of me, his palms resting gently on my knees. “Let’s not give her tonight,” he murmured, voice low and certain. “She shouldn’t get to sit between us like this.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something in me. I let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, shaking my head. “And what do you suggest we do instead?”

His mouth curved into a grin, mischievous and boyish in a way that tugged me straight back to nineteen. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Before I could argue, he tugged me to my feet, his hand warm and firm around mine.

Ten minutes later, I was laughing against the rush of cold air, my hair whipping around me as Declan drove with the windows rolled down. The city blurred by in streaks of neon and headlights, music thrumming low from the speakers.

“You’re insane,” I said, shoving my hair out of my eyes, clutching my jacket tighter.

“You used to love this,” he shouted back over the wind, his grin wide and wild.

And he was right. God help me, he was right. The ache in my chest eased just a little as I tilted my face into the wind, breathing it in.

We pulled up to a twenty-four-hour diner that looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the ’70s. The neon sign flickered, the parking lot nearly empty. Declan parked smoothly, slowing down, shooting me a look like we were about to embark on a great adventure.

“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll thank me.”

Inside, the place smelled faintly of coffee and grease, the kind of comforting scent that felt oddly timeless. The waitress barely looked up as we slid into a booth by the window.

“Hot chocolate?” he asked, already smirking.

“Obviously.”

When the steaming mugs arrived, piled scandalously high with whipped cream, he slid mine across the table with exaggerated ceremony. “For you, my love.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t hide the tug of a smile. I sipped too quickly, burning my tongue. “Worth it,” I muttered.

He grinned, leaning back, watching me with eyes that made my stomach flip.

We talked. About Noah’s obsession with dinosaurs. About the chaos of work. About how the waitress was clearly over all of us, tapping her pen against her pad with a glare sharp enough to scare a grown man.

And then the small talk melted into something softer. Declan tilted his head, studying me. “You know what I missed most?”

I swallowed. “What?”

“This.” His hand gestured between us, his smile big on his face. “Sitting across from you, hearing you laugh. Feeling like… the rest of the world could collapse, and I’d be fine, as long as you’re here.”

I blinked down at my mug, throat tight, heart thundering. Thundering, because I felt the same way. I forgot that anyone else ever existed. It was just me and him.

“Declan…”

He leaned across the table, thumb brushing a smear of whipped cream from the corner of my mouth. The touch was feather-light, but my whole body reacted, heat rushing to my cheeks, my breath catching.

We sat there in that dingy diner, and he stared at me so intensely, his eyes boring into mine until I had to look away.

Back at his house, neither of us was ready for bed. I was tired but not sleepy at all. The hot chocolate had warmed from the inside.

Asking me to stay in the room, Declan disappeared for a moment, then returned with a cardboard box, setting it on the rug.

“What’s that?” I asked, curling onto the floor beside him.

“Evidence of my tragic childhood.”

I laughed as he opened it, revealing photo albums, polaroids, and a tangle of trophies that had seen better days.

I plucked one up, squinting at the plaque. “Bowling champion?”

“Don’t laugh,” he said, mock offended. “I was a prodigy at twelve.”

I flipped through the photos: Declan with braces, Declan missing a tooth, Declan in an oversized soccer uniform. “You were cute,” I teased.

“Were?” he echoed, arching a brow.

Heat crawled up my neck. “Still are,” I admitted quietly.

He grinned, boyish and smug all at once, and I smiled at him. He was so cute. But he was everything else, too.

As we laughed and sifted through the memories, I stumbled across a photo of his parents holding him as a baby. The picture was stiff, formal, his mother’s smile brittle. Declan’s voice dipped, quieter.

“They wanted everything perfect back then,” he said. “The heir. The legacy. Even as a kid, I was more… project than son.”

My chest ached. “Oh, Declan…”

He shook his head, forcing a smile, but his eyes were sad, now. “Doesn’t matter now. What matters is Noah will never feel like that. Not from me.”

The conviction in his voice made my throat burn. I reached out, squeezing his hand. “He won’t. He already knows. He already loves you. He knows you love him.”

Declan’s fingers tightened around mine, his eyes softening as they held mine. “And I do love him. And you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered, “You are wonderful.”

He leaned closer, his forehead brushing mine. “You deserve the world, Willow. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life providing you with that.”

I pressed my lips together, trembling, overwhelmed by the truth in his voice.

We stayed like that, close and quiet, until he kissed me.

It was slow, certain, steady as a heartbeat.

I melted into him, tears stinging my eyes. Here, in his house, with his childhood photos scattered on the rug and the taste of hot chocolate still on my lips, I felt it.

I belonged.

Not in Emma’s world. Not in Sabrina’s. But here, with him. I was his, I had always been.