“Have you, ah, thought about where you’re staying?”
Before Declan could admit that he hadn’t, Harlow interrupted neatly. “He’s staying with us, of course.” She paused, her heels clicking against the tile in the hallway outside the courtroom where they now stood. “Unless you’ve made arrangements to stay with Tess?”
“What? No.” Declan shook his head, hyper-aware of Tess’s presence only a few steps away as she situated Jackson in his stroller and talked with Charlie. “I had planned to crash in a hotel, actually.” Not ideal, but it would do until he could find an efficiency to rent on a month-to-month basis for the duration of the trial.
“Dude, that’s crap,” Connor said. “Harlow and I have a perfectly good spare room. Plus…”
He trailed off, but Declan caught the truth in his friend’s stare just before Connor averted his eyes. “Y’don’t think I should stay alone. On account of my condition.”
Connor’s shrug was as stiff as a dress uniform at a funeral, making Declan’s shoulders follow suit. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to have someone nearby.”
“I’m fine.” Ah, hell. The words had come out like barbed wire. “I’ve been livin’ by myself since I left the Air Force. No worse for the wear.”
Declan held up his arms as proof, but Christ, they might as well have been made of bricks. Still, he wasn’t about to go all third-wheel at Connor and Harlow’s place, especially not when they’d surely try to convince him to stay for the duration of his time in Remington. They’d only just moved in together a couple of months ago. They belonged in their place without a party-crasher, and an ailing one at that.
“Why don’t we do this,” Harlow said, splitting a soft but shrewd gaze between him and Connor that told them both she’d get what she wanted, no matter how she had to go about it. Jesus, no wonder Connor was crazy for her. “Since it’s been a long day, why don’t you come stay with us for tonight, Declan? Then, tomorrow, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep and a great breakfast, which Connor will totally make for both me and you”—she paused here to smile, and damn, she was good—“we can help find you a place to stay that’s close by. Sound good?”
Connor wanted to argue. Declan knew the guy too well not to feel it.
But he didn’t. “Okay. But if you change your mind—”
“I know,” Declan said, and just as he hadn’t been able to tell Harlow that he hadn’t known a good night’s sleep since the day he’d been tossed from the Air Force, he also couldn’t tell Connor that he wouldn’t change his mind for all the world.
Declan looked down at his empty plate and was forced to admit that Harlow had been right. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed a good meal and the promise of a bed that hadn’t been slept in—or worse—by hundreds of people before him. At least, for tonight.
Not that he’d be sleeping much. Then again, he was used to that.
Kind of tough to catch quality shuteye in places you didn’t really belong.
“Thanks for dinner,” Declan said, ushering the thought from his brain as he passed the closest thing he had to a smile in Harlow’s direction. The chicken piccata she’d made while Connor had shown him around the guest room and the rest of their place had been nothing short of delicious. “I’ll have to get the recipe from you.”
Harlow laughed enough to make up for his shortfall. “Sorry to disappoint you, but a cook, I’m not. It’s from one of those meal service places that send you a box full of food and a list of directions. If it’s recipes you’re after, you need to bug this one.”
She nudged Connor with one elbow, and Declan couldn’t hide his surprise. “You cook?”
“When there’s time,” Connor said, not missing a beat. “You cook?”
Declan shrugged to hide the stiffness suddenly invading his shoulders. “Part of the deal with the disease.” He’d quickly learned that a strict but solid health plan—including preparing nearly all of his own meals—was in his best interest. Blood sugar was a finicky bitch.
Connor leaned back in his chair, his overlarge frame making the thing groan. “You want to air that out?”
Harlow chose that moment to take the empty plates to the kitchen, exchanging an entire conversation with Connor in a single, silent glance.
Declan shuttered his expression, allowing only one brow to lift. “Impressive, that.”
“Believe me, I know,” Connor said, his eyes still on the path Harlow had taken out of the room as if the mere memory of her presence was enough to fuel him.
Welcome to the very reason Declan hadn’t wanted to interrupt them for even one night. “I meant the way you are together.”
“Ah.” Connor’s smile lost none of its luster as he refocused on Declan. “Yeah, we definitely know each other inside and out. And nice try, by the way. But just because we haven’t been face-to-face for a while doesn’t mean you can dodge the question with me so easily.”
Shit. “What question?”
Oh, but Connor wasn’t having an inch of it. “You’ve had a helluva six months, Dec. If you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t.”
The reply had been too gruff and too fast to stick, because Connor’s reply was all frown. “Are you sure? Because you called me a few months ago, and you sounded like you wanted to talk. I didn’t…” He trailed off, his voice laced with guilt. “I was dealing with a lot at the time. I’m not trying to make excuses, but…well, I should’ve asked then, and I didn’t, so I’m asking now. You’ve been through a lot. Do you want to talk about it?”
Hell. Of course, Connor would remember that night Declan had had a weak moment and called him up out of the blue. And, of course, he was the kind of guy who’d feel bad about it in hindsight.
Which meant it was time to kill this conversation, fast. “I appreciate the offer, and everything you’ve done for me now. I do. I’m just…” Don’t go there. Just don’t. “Tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”
Neither claim was a lie, outright, which is likely what sold them to Connor. “Okay. I won’t be a pain in the ass about it, then. But the offer stands anytime.”
“Deal,” Declan agreed, trying not to let his relief find his face.
“I’ll let you turn in,” Connor said. “Breakfast tomorrow, though, yeah? I make some mean blueberry pancakes, if I do say so myself.”
“Sounds great, man. Thanks.”
Pausing only for a quick goodnight to Harlow as he passed by the kitchen, Declan headed for the guest room. His gut tightened as he moved through the living space, lined with photos of Connor and Harlow together. One of them all dressed up at what had probably been some work function, bunches of the two of them in groups with various friends, a photo of them at the batting cages—which seemed a little weird, but they looked too happy for it to matter—along with three or four pictures of Connor and a group of guys who looked like they were all close, laughing at the camera in that carefree way Dec had only felt once in his life. When he got to the shot that someone had taken of him and Connor and the rest of their unit-mates after a training run, their smiles all matching the camaraderie Connor had clearly found again here in Remington, Declan turned abruptly toward his room. Grabbing for the sort of deep breaths he’d learned about in that yoga class Nic had introduced him to back in California, he metered his inhales and exhales until he could get the image back into the mental box where he kept it locked away.