I raise my hand in an awkward wave. “Hey, didn’t mean to crash the party.”
He spins the bottle between his palms. “I didn’t realize you were coming back.”
“I needed to pick up a few things.”
He motions toward the hall. “Everything’s where you left it.”
I’ve never been subjected to this version of Declan, although I’ve witnessed it before, when he ran into one of the women he spent a few weeks entertaining in his bed and for whatever reason decided he was done with her. He’s icy, cold, and remote.
“Do you have a minute?” I hate how unwelcome I feel in what used to be our space.
“I’m a little busy here.” He motions to his group of friends, who all shift uncomfortably, apart from the woman on his right, who smirks a little before she schools her expression.
My stomach twists at the thought that the very polished woman beside him is going to end up in his bed tonight. Although I might take a little solace in the fact that he generally avoids sleeping with the women he works with.
Still, she’s here, taking up the space beside him, and based on the way she’s looking at me, with judgment and a lot of questions, she obviously has intentions that are less than pure. And I can’t blame her, because Declan is gorgeous, charismatic, and loyal—until he’s not, or he believes he has a reason to mistrust someone. He’s also emotionally damaged, maybe more than I realized.
I don’t bother to push because I realize it’s pointless. He’s posturing for his friends, and obviously made up his mind about what was or wasn’t happening with Sam.
I cross the room on unsteady legs, and I have to focus twice as hard so I don’t end up rolling my ankle. The throw pillows and my quilt have been tossed on my bed.
But that’s not the worst part. My suitcase lies open on the bed, one side already filled with clothes. Which means that Declan already took the initiative to start packing for me. I yank open my dresser drawers; the top one is already empty, the contents presumably in my suitcase.
I move to my closet, but it appears nothing has been touched in here. I start throwing clothes in, hangers and all. I’m so hurt and angry, I can barely breathe. I hate that he’s already started cutting me out of his life, exactly as he did with Sam all those years ago.
“Does this mean you’re moving out?” Declan leans against the doorjamb, picking at the label on his craft beer.
I stop tossing things into my suitcase so I can face him. I want to throw something at him for being so blithe. “Well, I came here hoping that we could have an adult discussion, but based on the fact that you’ve been going through my things, I’m going to go ahead and say a conversation is actually pointless.”
His stone-faced expression shifts for a moment. “I figured you’d need more than whatever you left with, so I wanted to make it easier for you, but then I realized you probably didn’t want me going through your things, so I stopped.”
“How thoughtful of you.” I don’t bother to hide my sarcasm, but there’s relief in knowing that his intention wasn’t meant to be sinister. I cross the room and get right in his space, flicking the bottle in his hand. “How many of these have you had?”
“What does it matter?”
“Because I’m hoping you’re still sober and you’ll remember this tomorrow. I came here with the intention of trying to figure this out. I should have talked to you first, before I saw Sam, and that’s on me. I know your view of relationships is skewed and that you don’t have a lot of confidence in people’s abilities to remain faithful or loyal. But you’re not even willing to talk this through. And worse, that you would assume I would cheat on you, especially with someone who had hurt me so terribly before, and then start packing my stuff for me? It’s beyond hurtful and tells me more than I’d like.”
He pokes at his cheek with his tongue. His nonchalance is feigned. His heavy swallow gives him away. “Which is what?”
“I am in love with you, Declan, which is unfortunate for me, it seems. I believed once we left this little bubble you created for us that we’d be able to find a way to navigate life together. As a couple. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and I’m very sorry that I hurt you by talking to Sam without telling you first, but shutting me out like this isn’t going to help.” I motion to my drawers. “And this jealousy, it’s a monster. We both know that it makes people do horrible things. I cannot walk on eggshells, or compromise who I am because you don’t have control over your feelings, and you’re unable to manage them in any kind of constructive way or talk them through with me, as your partner.”