Chapter 87: Eighty Seven

By the time we pulled out of the parking lot of the diner we were parked at, the storm had become biblical. Windshield wipers strained against the sheets of rain as they beat against the glass, and every strike of lightning felt like it might split the sky open. Declan had one hand clenched on the steering wheel, the other gripping the gear shift tightly as he drove slowly through the darkness.

I wasn't any better than him. My stomach twisted every time lightning lit up the road ahead. I'd been in storms before, sure, but something about being trapped in a car with Declan, of all people, made the air inside feel twice as heavy.

“I saw a motel a block back,” he said, killing the engine. “Let’s eat something and check if they have vacancies. I think we’ll have to stay the night.”

I nodded wordlessly, grabbing my coat. The rain drenched us within seconds of stepping out, plastering my hair to my face. He opened the door for me. Like an old habit, muscle memory. And I stepped into the harshly lit warmth of the diner with a soft exhale.

Inside, it smelled like stale coffee and grilled cheese. A bored-looking waitress behind the counter eyed us sympathetically.

“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” she said, pouring two mugs of coffee without asking. “Y’all passing through?”

“Trying to,” Declan said, glancing at me.

We settled into a corner booth, both of us dripping wet, both of us quiet. I tried not to look at him. Tried not to remember all the nights we used to sit just like this, with his thigh brushing mine under the table, our hands tangling without thinking. I stared out the window instead.

He broke the silence after a few minutes. “I checked the highway alerts. They’ve closed off the main route.”

Of course they had.

I picked at my toast, chewing slowly, buying time. “Any other way back?”

“Not tonight.”

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t say You should call your fiancé, or Let me get you home safely, or I’ll find a way. And for some reason, that made me sadder than anything else.

But I guess he didn’t owe me that, or anything else.

After dinner, he paid at the counter without asking me. We walked the block to the motel in silence, the rain somehow louder now, angrier. I folded my arms tighter around myself. The reception was dimly lit, manned by an older guy in a fleece vest and a trucker cap who barely looked up from his paperwork.

“One room left,” he said. “Queen bed.”

I blinked. “Just one?”

He shrugged. “Busy night. Storm.”

I looked at Declan. He was already shaking his head. “I’ll sleep in the car. It’s fine.”

Something about that stung. I don’t know what I expected. That he’d say we could share the bed, no big deal? That the thought of sleeping beside me didn’t make his skin crawl?

“It’s raining sideways,” I said, voice sharper than I meant. “You’ll catch pneumonia.”

“I’ll manage.”

I hesitated. I could feel the motel guy watching us like we were in the world’s worst rom-com.

“Let’s just take the room,” I muttered. “We’re adults. We’ll manage.”

He didn’t argue, just grabbed the key and led the way.

The room was small, predictably ugly, and smelled faintly of old air freshener and someone else’s perfume. The bed sat right in the center, absurdly large in the cramped space. Declan threw his coat over the only chair, then stood awkwardly near the dresser while I kicked off my shoes.

I pulled out my phone to call Jacob. I had to tell him something. I couldn’t just vanish for the night.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone light. “The storm’s bad. We’re staying the night.”

A beat of silence. “We?”

“Me and… Priya. From the policy team.”

I cringed as soon as I said it. The lie was weak. But necessary.

“You don’t know her,” I added.

Jacob didn’t press. “Okay. Is it a decent place?”

“It’s fine. Just somewhere dry.”

“Alright. Noah was asking for you at bedtime. Refused to sleep without that lullaby you sing.”

I smiled without meaning to. “Tell him he has to settle for you tonight.”

“He said I sound like a dying cat.”

I laughed, the sound thin and tired. “That’s not wrong.”

We hung up after a few more reassurances. I turned, and Declan was looking at me.

Not accusing. Not smug. Just… watching.

“Who’s Noah?” he asked softly.

My mouth went dry.

I forced a chuckle. “Oh. My godson. Jacob’s cousin’s kid. I help out with him sometimes.”

He didn’t say anything for a long second. Then, with a nod, he sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a pillow.

“I’ll take the floor.”

“For God’s sake, Declan,” I sighed. “Stop being weird. Just get in the damn bed.”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

“We won’t even touch.”

He looked at me, eyes slightly hooded, and I felt a stroke of heat crawl up my neck.

“You don’t have to act like I’ll bite,” I whispered.

He exhaled slowly. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I’m just trying to be careful.”

His voice was quiet. Barely a breath.

“You know I don’t have the best track record of self control,” he paused, “Not when it comes to you.”

I turned away, too tired to argue anymore. We settled into bed like strangers. My side, his side. A no man’s land of worn-out blankets between us. The AC groaned in the corner. Rain tapped the window in uneven rhythms.

I lay on my back, staring at the water stains on the ceiling, listening to his breathing even out.

So close.

So far.

“Good night, Declan,” I said into the dark.

A pause.

“Good night, Willow.”

And God help me, I almost cried.