Chapter 88: Eighty Eight

I woke up with a jolt.

I felt my stomach growl. Grabbing my phone from beside me, I checked the time. Half past two. What a good time to be hungry.

For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was. The room was too quiet, the bed too firm, the air too heavy. Then the details began to fall into place: the pale beige wallpaper, the distant drip of water outside the window, the single overhead bulb casting a faint glow from the hallway.

The motel.

Declan.

I sat up slowly, the sheets tangled around my waist, and blinked toward the other side of the bed.

Empty.

I ran a hand through my hair, still slightly damp from the earlier storm, and swung my legs over the edge. My stomach grumbled again, loud enough this time to make me chuckle. I hadn’t eaten much at the diner. My nerves had been too tightly wound, too distracted by the fact that I was stranded overnight with him.

I stood up and pulled on the oversized hoodie I’d stuffed into my overnight bag - Jacob’s, ironically. It still smelled faintly of our laundry detergent. Clean, and safe, and like him.

I opened the door carefully.

Cool night air hit me immediately as I stepped into the hallway. The air was fresh and full after the storm, with the damp scent of wet mud and something woodsy. The parking lot shimmered under the yellow-orange glow of the flickering streetlights. In the distance, I could hear the occasional swish of a car passing by on the highway.

And then I saw him.

Declan stood in front of the vending machine under the overhang, in his grey sweatpants and a dark T-shirt, arms folded as he surveyed the snack options, his hand on his hip. His hair were messy and flattened in places, still unruly in others. He looked tired. Handsome in that unintentional way he always did. He was so beautiful even when he was not trying.

He turned slightly at the sound of the door.

“You too?” he asked, his voice soft and low in the quiet night.

I nodded. “Couldn’t sleep. Hungry.”

A small smile curved his lips. “Me too. Guess some things never change.”

He pressed a few buttons, and the machine beeped and whirred, releasing a packet of trail mix into the tray. Without saying anything else, he tapped a few more buttons.

Another item fell into the tray.

He picked it up and tossed it to me without looking.

I caught it. My breath caught too.

Mini peanut butter cups.

I looked down at the familiar red and yellow wrapper, blinking as something warm and sharp surged through my chest.

“You remembered,” I said quietly.

“You used to hoard those in your kitchen,” he replied, crouching down to grab his snacks. “Even in the summer. They’d melt and stick together, and you’d still eat them.”

I laughed softly. “They taste better that way.”

He stood, brushing his fingers against his sweatpants. “Some things just stick, I guess.”

We found a pair of plastic chairs tucked under the eaves near the edge of the second floor balcony. They were faded and creaky, but dry enough. I sat down, hugging my knees to my chest, and unwrapped the candy slowly. My stomach rumbled.

“Someone’s really hungry,” he remarked playfully, and I rolled my eyes.

Declan sat beside me, slouching just enough that his knee brushed mine. Neither of us moved away.

For a while, we just ate in silence. It was comfortable. Uncomplicated.

He offered me his trail mix, which I denied. But he ate one of my peanut butter cups. The chocolate melted a little on his finger, which he licked up, casually. The sight of it did something to me.

It reminded me of the things that tongue had done to me, once.

\]I squeezed my nails into my palm, forcing myself to stay in the moment. There was no point of reminiscing. Especially, things like this.

I

felt his gaze on me, and I met his eyes for a second. He looked tired, and sleepy. “I feel bad,” he said eventually, his voice quieter than before. “That you had to lie to him. Because of me.”

I stared at the wrappers in my palm. “It’s not just about you, Declan. Jacob… he doesn’t do grey areas well. There’s right and wrong, black and white. And anything he doesn’t understand, he assumes is dangerous.”

He nodded. “I don’t want to complicate things for you worse than I already have.”

“But we didn’t do anything,” I said. “We haven’t crossed any lines.”

“No,” He said, exhaling. “We haven’t.”

The silence after that was thicker. He didn’t press me. He didn’t have to. I could feel his unspoken thoughts hanging in the air, like the humidity after the storm.

“You shouldn’t have to lie about where you are. Or who you’re with.”

“It’s easier than the alternative,” I muttered. “Than having to explain why I still trust you. Or why I’d rather be here, in a rain-soaked motel with you, than anywhere else tonight.”

Declan sat up straighter, his jaw clenched.

“It’s just hard,” he said, his voice husky, “You have to draw that line for me, Willow. Because you know, I can’t.”

I turned to look at him then.

My heart beat faster. My hand itched to reach for his. But I didn’t move.

Instead, I said softly, “Let’s go back inside. It’s getting cold.”

He nodded, standing and holding the door open for me again.

Inside, the room felt smaller somehow. More intimate. The bed took up most of the space, and yet it felt like there was a chasm between us.

We slipped under the blanket, our shoulders just barely brushing as we faced opposite directions.

The silence stretched.

Minutes passed.

And then, without thinking, without looking, our hands reached toward the center of the bed at the same time.

Just fingers brushing.

Tentative. Electric.

Neither of us pulled away.