Bang(27)

I NOW FIND myself tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep because my mind won’t seem to quiet down. It’s past one in the morning when I decide the night with Declan isn’t over just yet. He wants to believe that I’m lying to him about my contentment with Bennett, so I’ll give him reason enough to confirm his assumption. Throwing the covers off of me, I walk through the room and out the door. This floor is private, so I go ahead and walk past the elevator bank and down to Declan’s room. Standing in front of his door, I take a deep breath, and allow my mind to go to a place that’ll put me in the state I need to be in when he opens the door and looks at me. He needs to believe I’m harboring a deep pain inside, so I drift back twenty-three years. I’m being ripped out of my father’s arms, watching him fall to his knees as he’s cuffed. I can see the tears falling down his face, and when I feel my cheeks heat in the pain, the tears puddle in my eyes. I knock.

Lights.

Camera.

Action.

The door opens, and I look up to see Declan standing in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms that hang on his narrow hips that angle down from his broad, sculpted chest. My tears are heavy, but they don’t spill over. He takes one step towards me and pulls me into his arms, his cheek pressed to the top of my head, holding me tight. No words are spoken when he brings me inside his room and shuts the door.

I keep my arms around his waist as he walks me back to his room and over to his bed. Cradling my face in his hands, I look up at him, and his eyes are noticeably worried.

“Stay.”

With a nod of my head, he pulls the sheets back, and I crawl into his warm bed. He follows, scooping me into his arms. His body pressed against mine, my head resting on his chest, I take the comfort I need in this moment. My mind isn’t with Declan or Bennett or this whole f*cked up scenario, it’s with my dad. I opened that gate for one second to trick Declan and now I’m five years old—scared and lost.

The first tear drops, and I f*cking hate that I’m exposing this weakness. It’s one thing to manufacture pain for the sake of deception, but my father is very much real, and it hurts. I don’t want to think too much, so as Declan comforts me from what he believes is Bennett, I take the consoling for my father.

Neither of us says a word as I silently fight to contain the few weeps that break free, all the while Declan’s hold is firm and strong around me. I weave my legs with his and eventually allow myself to drift to sleep.





STANDING IN FRONT of the windows, I look down and watch as the snowplows make their way through the city, clearing the streets. I left Declan’s room early this morning while he was still sleeping. I wanted to build the mystery and chase, and waking up in his arms would make it too easy for him, and from what I’ve learned about men, easy leads to a shallow investment. I need Declan to be fully immerged if I have any chance at this working out, so I quietly slipped out of his room.

I laugh when I hear the knock on my door since last night he took it upon himself to just barge in on me with no warning. But it isn’t Declan standing on the other side; it’s room service.

“Mr. McKinnon ordered breakfast for you this morning,” he says as he wheels in a white-clothed cart with a French press and a platter of fresh fruit and crullers.

“When was this request made?” I ask.

“Maybe an hour or so ago, Mrs. Vanderwal,” he says. “May I pour you a cup?”

“No, thanks.”

“Would you like anything else?”

“It seems Mr. McKinnon has covered all his bases this morning. Thank you though,” I tell him before he turns to leave. The pit of my stomach pinches and this display should please me, but instead, irritation swarms. I should have never connected to his comfort last night. It was a foolish move on my part, and now I’m pissed at myself.

I leave the food and coffee and head to the shower to clean up. Not having any other clothes besides what I wore yesterday and the pajamas, I slip back into my dress and press a little powder on my face from the compact in my purse and then dry my hair.

Bennett calls in the late morning, worried about me getting stuck in the storm yesterday, but I assure him that I’m fine and should be home later today now that the city streets have been plowed. We talk for a while, and when I hear another knock, it’s then that we say our goodbyes and hang up.

As I open the door, Declan walks right in, looking more put together than me in his tailored suit, white button-up left open at the neck, and no tie.

“What, no breaking and entering today?” I say, my words laced with the remaining irritation from earlier.

“I left the key on your coffee table last night,” he responds as he walks over to the food cart. “You haven’t touched anything.”

“I don’t need you catering to me, assuming you know what I like to eat or that it’s your right to even make assumptions about me,” I snap while I walk into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“So, we’re back to steely-bitch Nina?”

Turning to look at him, I say, “I’m going to have a cup of tea and then I’d like my car to be ready so I can go home.”

“It’s still snowing.”

“The plows already came through.”

He walks over to the kitchen and stands by the bar, asking, “What happened to you this morning? I woke up and you were gone.”