“Jeez, Dec, why have you drawn Batman shorter than Ironman?"
I stiffened.
Patrick. Fuck.
He hadn’t left at all, and I hadn't even heard him approach, and now he was there behind me and seemed to be staring down at what I'd drawn; he knew it was my go-to when I was feeling vulnerable, and right now I was heading a long way past weak and numb. I shut the notebook and shoved it and the pens into my backpack before zipping it.
"Because Batman is shorter," I responded, then shrugged on my backpack, gripped the handle of my case, and sidestepped Patrick without meeting his eyes, heading straight for reception and the doors to the parking lot beyond. If Patrick were a reasonable man, he'd get the message that I didn't want to talk to him, but nothing about Patrick was sensible. This man had voluntarily become a cop and put himself in harm's way daily, if not hourly; he was far from clever.
He caught up with me and matched me stride for stride, but said nothing as I shoved open the front doors and took my first step out into the cold evening. I wasn't wearing my coat—it was hooked onto my luggage—so I shrugged it on and zipped it up, all the while deliberately avoiding eye contact.
He wasn't dressed for the outside either, but he was different from when he’d found me in the wedding room. He’d been road-worn and exhausted then, with his trademark smooth skin pricked with stubble, but he’d showered, changed, and only the tiredness bracketing his eyes gave a clue about his journey. He was in jeans, wearing a bright blue sweatshirt that matched the crystal sapphire of his eyes. I hated that I'd noticed after all this time.
Oh, and he was beginning to shiver.
Idiot.
"Jesus, it’s freezing out here." He wrapped his arms around himself and peered at the sky as if it held the answers to why it was cold on the side of a mountain in the winter.
"My car will be here soon," I threw out, but he didn't need to know that.
"Where's all your luggage?" I realized he was staring down at my side, using his detective skills to see I had only one suitcase.
“This is all I have,” I stated.
He frowned. “Why are we standing outside?"
“Huh?” The hell? “Well, you're standing outside because you're following me for some unknown reason. On the other hand, I’m outside because I was trying to avoid you." Never let it be said that I couldn't be honest with Patrick. In fact, despite everything, he was probably the only person I've ever been honest with. According to the counselor I saw, I had a limited circle of trust—he wasn’t wrong.
"Can we talk before your car gets here?” Patrick asked, and I’d never heard him so vulnerable.
I stared up at him, and all I could do was wish he'd never come. Tears pricked my eyes, and my chest tightened so much I couldn't catch my breath, inhaling sharply and getting a lungful of frosty air.
"You need to leave me alone,” I said. I wasn't lying—I needed Patrick to leave. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone when my entire life had crumbled around my ears. We stared at each other for a moment, and then he cursed under his breath.
"I'm not going anywhere." He tilted his chin in defiance despite the chattering teeth. “What happened?”
“Just leave me alone.”
“No.”
I was fighting tears—stupid, senseless tears that would probably turn to ice on my cold cheeks.
He swore, then gripped my arms. “Jesus, Dec, what did Lennox do to you?”
Chapter Five
PATRICK
Declan shook his head, then closed his eyes. “He left me. I left him. We left each other.”
“Declan—”
“Maybe if I’d been a better fiancé, listened more, made an effort to actually be in love. I mean, does this fall on me?”
“What? No!” To me, that question was a no-brainer. I’d only met Lennox a few times; the last, was very briefly when I’d gone to an art show featuring some of Declan’s work in the summer, our first meetup since the infamous graduation meltdown.
Lennox hadn’t hesitated in making it obvious he wasn’t impressed with the rookie cop who used to be Declan’s best friend. Also, he’d been way too interested in explaining how much his family was worth, and how Declan could have a great future working alongside Jeddard Marketing and creating original art for them. Declan was an artist, but one who captured the beauty of movement, not one who drew talking ducks, or came up with logos for companies selling bleach. When I said that, Lennox had glared, and Declan had just looked embarrassed.
“I never liked Lennox,” I said tiredly.
“So you said. Frequently.”
“I don’t know why you said yes when he asked you to marry him, you never told me you loved him, I don’t know why you said yes.” I know I was repeating myself, and wished I’d kept quiet because his expression fell flat.
Somehow, when it came to Declan, I lost the ability to read the room. I wasn’t the rookie learning how to understand a person and hazard a guess at state of mind. I wasn’t calm, or cautious. I was balls to the wall confrontational, because deep inside, I was furious that Lennox had hurt my friend.
Former friend.
Whatever.
“I think we’re done here,” Declan said, and now he was sad because I was staring at him and saying nothing. All because, if it circled around to what had happened between us all those years ago, then I might just turn and run. Regrets? Hell, I had so many I was drowning in them.
“No, we’re not done. We can’t be. I don’t believe you’ve been the one to do anything wrong. If anyone did anything to cause chaos here, it had to be Lennox, and I’m going to fix it, or fix him, so point me in his direction and—”
“Asshole.” Declan’s temper spiked. “Not everything is about you, don’t you get that? Yes, Lennox may well have come across as an entitled bastard with a stick up his ass, but at least he was kind to me despite who I am, hell, at least he wanted me.”
Shit. That hurt.
“Despite who you are? Jeez, Dec, you’re wonderful, you’re funny and clever and artistic and anyone would be lucky to have you.” I reached for him, “Declan—”
He shoved my hand away. “Just leave me alone.”
In college, I was immediately drawn to the Declan Grady who was sunshine personified. Alone at college for different reasons, we’d become friends as we’d bonded over the craziest things. I’d seen him go through so many stages of denial and acceptance and anger over his family cutting him out of their lives, and I’d always been there for him.
As a friend.
Nothing else.
And then, on our sunny blue-sky graduation day, in front of everyone, he’d kissed me and told me he loved me.
And I’d panicked. I didn’t want to lose my best friend; I didn’t want my family to see who I really was. I was a coward. No one knew I was even bi—certainly not my testosterone-driven father and brothers who were there to see me graduate, and who’d stared in shock when Declan had kissed me. I’d laughed it off—dismissed it as a joke, anything to keep my family and him in two separate worlds.