21. Before Our Cold War

21

Before Our Cold War

Teal

The garden is the only place I find comfort at my parents’ house. When I was younger, I’d spend time out here, planting with Margarite or painting. There’s something nourishing about being around nature. Something healing about growth and the cycle of life.

This is the one place outside my studio that has ever brought me comfort.

Except tonight, it’s chilly, dark, and lacking color.

I release Declan’s shirt and step back, avoiding his gaze. I take a deep breath and grip my stomach, finding my center. Declan has known me for long enough not to be surprised by my outbursts, but with us spending so much time together, he’s getting a clearer picture of them lately. It’s unnerving that he’s getting a taste of my vulnerabilities .

I’d rather be the bitch than the crazy girl .

Which is why hating him has always come so easily.

“You remember that time you found me out here when we were kids?” I ask, walking farther out onto the patio to get some space from the party. “I think I was ten or somewhere around there.”

I follow the cobblestone path that winds through the planters on either side. Benches and bushes are scattered about, with a few stone statues carefully placed at key points.

“I remember.” Declan follows me.

It might be spring, but it’s still chilly at night. So, while some of the flowers are blooming, many are still waiting for the warmth to draw out their petals.

I stop at the patch of dirt Margarite reserves for sunflowers. Right now, it’s a cold, empty square of nothing on the ground. The last time Declan and I were out here together, the sunflowers were bright and blooming, and I told him they were my favorite.

He must have remembered if the one he pinned to the dress he had delivered for the fundraiser proves anything.

Closing my eyes, I miss the sunshine that warms this garden in the summer.

I miss the sunflowers.

There’s something about the color yellow that has always spoken to me, even if it’s simultaneously always felt out of reach. Yellow represents happiness and positivity.

Yellow is warm.

Yellow is hopeful .

Yellow is the sunflower—full of promise and strength.

But I’m not strong, and I’m not bright.

Most days, I barely find the will to open my eyes. I’m the seed in the dirt, scratching for the surface, only to find I’m deeper than I thought I was.

Just out of reach, desperate for a drink of water.

I sink onto the bench next to the empty sunflower patch, and Declan watches me with his hands tucked into his pockets. The moon frames him like a halo that’s out of place for someone better suited to doing work for the devil.

Stars sprinkle the clear night, and they’re blindingly bright against the obsidian darkness.

There are very few times I remember Declan and me getting along before our cold war started. Being out in the garden with him was one of them.

I was hiding from one of my parents’ parties, and Declan wandered out here and found me. We sat on opposite benches and talked about flowers and paint and how boring it was when we were forced to attend these types of events.

He was still young then, and his innocence hadn’t fully burned out of him. That was before he became his father’s minion. It was before Ian Pierce caught him outside talking to a Donovan.

That was the last time Declan said anything remotely nice to me or treated me like I was on his level. After that, he taunted me because of my blood and my inability to interact socially, and everything good in him was gone .

Looking up at Declan now, I try to see past the coldhearted beast he has become. I search him for any hint of the boy who sat out in this garden talking to me for an hour. A boy who hasn’t existed since the clay around him hardened.

Declan stares back, and I wonder what version of me he’s seeing. The little girl who could still see the world through clear eyes or the one I’ve painted over so many times, I no longer recognize her.

I glance up at the stars at the exact moment one shoots across the sky. I should probably make a wish before it fades, but there are too many intangible things in my life already without adding hope to them.

“I saw Alex yesterday,” I tell Declan, watching his face change at the mention of Alex’s name.

“When you went to see Dr. Parish?”

I nod. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He looks up at the sky.

“Were you responsible for what happened to Alex?”

I grip the bench, knowing Declan probably won’t answer me since he never really answers any of my questions, but I need to know if Patience is right.

Alex saved me when I was sixteen, and I owe him. I need to know if trusting Declan makes me a terrible person.

“It’s not that simple.” Declan rakes his hair off his forehead.

He drops down onto the bench next to me, stretching his arm across the back of it. His gaze drifts to the distance, where small bursts of colorful petals break up the otherwise cold, dark night .

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He wipes his hand down his face. “Everyone there was responsible whether indirectly or not.”

“Do you blame yourself?”

Declan looks over at me, brushing his thumb over the back of my shoulder. “I don’t blame myself for what happened in that room because I had no more control over it than he did. But I do blame myself for not doing anything about it after.”

“What happened?”

Declan shakes his head, breaking our stare. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and there’s no going back.”

I’m not surprised he avoids the question. And even if I should care, I don’t. He’s right. It doesn’t matter what happened back then when there’s no changing the outcome of it now. It’s why I’ve never understood if atonement is an actual thing. No amount of amends can completely erase someone’s sins.

Alex is burned, scarred, and locked in a psychiatric ward. Nothing can give him back what he’s lost, and Declan knows that.

Declan’s thumb grazes my bare shoulder, tickling my skin. He might not even realize he’s doing it as his stare is set in the distance. He’s never gentle, and he’s never sweet when it comes to me. But somehow, slowly, something is changing.

“You aren’t the only one who goes to see him, you know,” Declan says, staring off into the distance. “I was there a couple of days ago myself. ”

“Patience lets you see Alex?” My eyebrows pinch, and Declan chuckles.

“Why would I need her permission?”

“I guess you don’t.” The Lancasters have Sigma ties that extend beyond Alex, so his parents probably wouldn’t have an issue with it. “But she blames you for what happened.”

“Patience doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Declan’s jaw tenses, and I sense he’s probably had a similar confrontation with her. “And I don’t give a fuck if she ever does. Alex knows where I stand now, and that’s all that matters.”

“So you talk to Alex?” I look up at Declan. “Has he ever said anything back?”

Declan meets my gaze, still rubbing circles on my shoulder as he watches me. “No.”

It was too much to hope that his writing meant he was getting better, so I guess Patience is right.

“How was your chat with your future fiancé?” Declan asks, changing the subject with a fresh bitterness to his tone. “Jase sure didn’t waste any time tonight.”

“It was fine.” I shrug, looking through the windows of the house and seeing Jase talking to one of Mark Gallagher’s daughters. “He seems nice.”

Declan hums, watching Jase like I am.

“Did you know my dad was trying to set me up tonight? Is that why you came?”

“I assumed. Jase said he was going to a dinner party here, and it didn’t take much to put two and two together. ”

I watch Jase through the window. “This whole charade will only delay my dad’s plans for me for so long. You know that, right? Eventually, this comes to an end, and we’re both back where we started.”

“Trying to make up excuses to run already, huh?”

“More like trying to understand why you’re doing this when the end result will be the same.”

“I told you—”

“You have your reasons.” I roll my eyes. “I know. And you want dirt on my father or whatever your dad has you up to. But you’re wasting your time, Declan. Whatever you’re looking for, I’m not going to remember.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

I’ve never thought of Declan as an optimist, but he sounds like it tonight.

“How did you get your dad to come around so easily?” I ask, looking back through the window. “He seemed pissed when we walked into the party together. And then, the next thing I knew, he was inviting himself on my family’s hunting trip. What did you say to him to convince him to be happy about you dating me? I always thought—”

I cut myself off, the words clogging in my throat.

“What did you think?” Declan asks when I don’t finish my sentence.

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “You know what I thought, Declan. Everyone in there has said it either to my face or behind my back. It’s no secret what people think of me. And maybe they’re right. Ask any of them, and they’ll say I’m one meltdown away from ending up down the hall from Alex. ”

Declan grabs my jaw, turning my face to his. The intensity of his eyes rips straight through the barriers I usually keep up around him.

“They know nothing about you,” he says through gritted teeth. “And you don’t belong there, no matter what any of them says.”

“Says you, the non-doctor.”

“Just trust me on this.” He brushes his thumb up over my lower lip.

My heart races in my chest, and the path he leaves behind on my skin feels like it’s burning up.

“Declan.” His name is nearly a whisper.

A question.

A fear.

This was easier when I could think of him as the sky and me as the ocean. Then we were opposites, and there was nothing there for me to try and understand. But I forgot about the horizon. A place where two opposite ends meet. And now it’s like he’s a storm cloud raining down on me.

Are we opposing forces or one?

Are we enemies or each other’s mirrors?

Declan pulls my mouth to his, and he’s a tidal wave crashing down.

My hand grips his wrist as he holds my jaw. The kiss is simple. No tongue and teeth and fight. But still, it manages to be all emotion. It’s stronger than when he’s being rough with me, in the same way that water has the power to do more damage than fire .

Flames char the surface, but rivers slip through the cracks. They wear down the surface and change the shape of it.

Declan laces one hand in the back of my hair, and I sink into his kiss like it’s real.

I forget why I hate him.

I forget I’m not a star in the sky, endlessly floating. And when we break apart and the cool night fills the space between us, I’ve never been lighter.

Declan stares into my eyes, and I’d like to think he’s not the enemy. But when his gaze moves over my shoulder, and I turn to see Jase watching through the windows, I’m reminded this is just a play.

Fake .

Declan tugs my strings so I’ll do what he wants. But he’ll never actually want me.

“Let’s go inside. It’s cold.” Declan stands up, waiting for me before making his way back toward the house.

But with no one watching, he doesn’t take my hand this time.