When Sparks Fly

Maybe it’s because I’ve seen the women that Declan used to bring home on a regular basis. Usually some random from a nightclub, always wearing clothes that showed off model-perfect bodies. Even the very few women he’s kept around for more than a few weeks—but never more than a few months—have always been stunning and polished. At least in appearance.

Now I’m facing a long road of rehab, and eventually, depending on how my body adjusts, another surgery to have the pins and plates removed. But the thing that scares me the most is my ever-changing relationship with Declan.

In the days leading up to having my walking cast removed, he’s been hyperattentive, fighting with me to take it easy when all I want to do is push harder. It’s resulted in more than one argument. But in the past, one of us would find a reason to go out somewhere to take a breather from each other; now, we end up battling it out in bed.

It’s exhilarating and exhausting.

It’s terrifying.

I feel like even though I’m getting my body back, I’m more dependent than ever.

The only other relationship I can compare it to is the one I had with Sam, but even then, the connection is so much different this time. I’d been young, naïve, new to intense emotions, and painfully in love with him. It was the first time I’d loved someone so wholly.

But this is not the same at all. Declan and I have a decade of friendship as a foundation. He’s seen me through so many tough times, and I’ve seen him through just as many. I love him. He’s my rock and my safe place and has been for years. And now there’s a shift I don’t know quite how to navigate. It’s like he’s my other half. But I’ve seen his patterns, witnessed them countless times. Declan’s difficult family history and his trust issues mean there’s a very good chance we’re heading for disaster, and this time the collision isn’t going to end in broken bones—it’s my heart that could be the casualty.

Still, every night I invite him into my bed and my body, and invariably my heart. All I can hope is that I’ve managed to work my way into his as well.

I already know he loves me. I just don’t know if he’s in love with me.

I pull my knees to my chest. It makes the left one click and ache, and I rest my forehead on them, breathing through another round of tears. I’m not much of a crier, but I feel like now that I’m about to reclaim my self-sufficiency, I’m also on the brink of losing something.

“Ave, babe? You all right?” Declan knocks softly on the door. “You’ve been in there a while.”

I have to clear my throat, so it doesn’t sound like I’ve been silently sobbing. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“I have a glass of wine for you if you’re interested.” The doorknob rattles. “Ave? Did you lock the door?”

I take a deep breath, struggling to keep my composure. “Yeah, I’ll be out soon. Just give me a few.”

Heavy silence follows for a few long seconds. “Okay.”

I exhale a relieved breath at the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall. I go through two razors cutting down the forest that has taken over my leg. I drain the tub and have to use the chair to finish washing my hair and my body because my recovering ankle and knee can’t take my weight for that long, and I don’t want to end up slipping in the tub and breaking something else, or requiring more stitches.

I take my time toweling off and wrap myself in a big fluffy robe. I barely even have the bathroom door open and Declan is right there, blocking my way out.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” He cups my face in his palms. “Have you been crying? Does something hurt? Should I call the doctor?”

I shake my head. Stupid emotions getting the better of me. “It’s just a lot to handle. I’m afraid of the road ahead.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” He wraps me up in a hug. “I promise.”

I want to believe him, but we’re about to leave our bubble, and I don’t know what the world outside of it holds for us.

I feel bad for even having that thought because when I come out of my bedroom dressed in sweats and a crappy old T-shirt, I find Declan in the living room, an entire spread of food and a bottle of wine on the coffee table.

He’s tried to replicate a charcuterie board like the ones my sisters bring over, but it’s the man version with a lot of cheese, whatever crackers he could find, some chips, nuts, and a bunch of broken-up chocolate bars. And it’s absolutely perfect.