21. CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 21

“Even if I can’t hold you like that, would you love me back?”

Love Me Back – Bebe Stockwell

Deon

“ D o you have a four?” Henry asks.

I peer down at my cards, two fours stacked side by side. “Go fish.”

“Damn. I thought you had one.” Henry sighs, taking a card from the pile in the center of the coffee table in my hotel room.

Jack, Declan, Henry, and I are squished into the small space, Jack consuming the couch and Henry and Declan sitting on the floor beside my chair.

My phone dings, and I quickly drop my cards.

Nathalie: How is he doing?

My eyes covertly flit to Declan before I respond.

I think he’s okay. He’s been quiet.

I’m worried about him. He keeps telling me he’s fine. I don’t think that’s true.

Jack pulls from the pile of cards, and I assess Declan. His shoulders are slumped, and deep bags hang beneath his eyes as if sleep evades him entirely.

It’s been a week since he showed up on my doorstep. A week since Alan died. He’s shown up to practices, but this is our first game since, and I’m worried about him, too.

I often mind my business and keep to myself. It’s been my motto since I was drafted to Seattle and left my teammates in Texas. I didn’t want to form any deep connections with my teammates. They were my coworkers and nothing else. It was easier if they were only teammates, but the three goofballs sitting in my hotel room have a way of sliding past all the walls I’ve constructed.

I’m grateful they did.

If they hadn’t, I would probably have spent the night alone watching TV or reading a book. I wouldn’t have spent a week in Michigan with them placing bets and playing drinking games, and I would have never met Nathalie.

When I returned from dropping my mom and sister off at the airport, all of her belongings were back in the guest room, and my room was in immaculate condition. The bed was made, and the towels were neatly folded in the bathroom.

The gesture was kind, but the truth is I miss her mess in my space because it made it our space. There isn’t a spot in the house where I haven’t found a pair of her shoes. By the door. In the kitchen. Under the couch. There are shoes in hallways and closets and a few underneath my bed that she forgot in her haste.

In a single night, her skincare took over the bathroom sink, and there were more bottles in my shower than I knew could fit.

One night in my room and it felt like she belonged there.

It should bother me that she took over in a matter of minutes. That my house is an ode to Nathalie and all of the things. Her rock collection now sits next to the catch-all in the entry hallway, and her romance novels sit in piles in The Lair .

No matter how often I think about it, there’s only affection. Her shoes are everywhere, but each one reminds me of the way she scurries around the house in the morning, looking for the perfect pair to match her outfit.

She’s weaved our lives together, and I don’t know how to untangle it all when she leaves.

A photo pops onto my phone, and I know my lips quirk into a stupid, lovestruck smile as Nathalie and Gordie fill my screen. Her eyes are crinkled behind her glasses as she poses for the photo, Gordie trapped within her arms.

Gordie misses you.

He doesn't know what to do about Delcan, either.

I asked, but all he said was meow, meow, meow. I think it translated to “I miss Deon.”

He misses harassing me. There’s a difference.

What do you think about inviting him to stay with us for Christmas?

The thought pops into my mind. He shouldn’t spend the holiday alone in his apartment. There’s plenty of space at my house if Nathalie stays in my room. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t invite Declan to stay at my house for an extended period, but these aren’t normal circumstances, and what Nathalie said to me replays in my mind.

We’re his family now.

It also means Nathalie will be back in my bed.

I want a do-over from the last time.

You’d be okay with that?

Sure. As long as you’re okay sharing a bed again .

I toss my phone beside me, attempting to focus on the long-forgotten game of Go Fish. I white knuckle grip the squishy ball from the fidget toys Nathalie bought for me. My friends all stare at me, a range of emotions on their faces. Jack’s is knowing, Henry’s is slightly confused, and Declan’s is surprisingly gleeful.

“What?”

Jack lifts a brow. “We’ve been calling your name for the last thirty seconds.”

I blanche. “Oh.”

For the first time since Alan died and Declan showed up on my doorstep, his smile is genuine. “Who were you texting?” he asks.

“Nathalie,” I say simply, impatiently waiting for her response.

Will she agree to share a bed again? Does it break any of the rules on our list? It’s a stretch, but it could be considered platonic.

“I knew you zinged,” Declan says smugly, and I groan.

“What’s ‘zinging’?” Henry asks, dropping his cards onto the table.

Cue the hour-long soap box on the concept of zinging and Declan’s pursuit to find his zing.

I guess the game is over, not that I was super into it to begin with, but it was fun to get away with lying about my cards.

“It’s a zap in your chest. The electric feeling you have when you’re with your special person. I haven’t had my zing yet, but it seems like Deon has.”

Nathalie’s smiling face as she walks through the door floods my mind. Her quiet laughter and soft teasing. The way her toes wiggle beneath my calves and how she lights up watching her dating shows like it’s the most exciting thing to ever happen.

“Look at the newest member of the Zing society,” Henry says, breaking my stupor. I glare at him. “Oh, don’t even. You aren’t fooling any of us.”

“We’re friends,” I say, though the words are flimsy, and my skin crawls at the confession. It feels like we are much more than friends, and debasing every moment we’ve had to friendship feels wrong.

Which is precisely the problem.

“If the look on your face wasn’t enough of an answer, then letting her live in your guest room is a dead giveaway,” Declan adds. “I’ve seen the state of your locker. It’s orderly and precise. I also know Nathalie. She is many things, but neither of those.”

“She leaves her shoes everywhere ,” I admit.

Declan raises a brow. “You’ve totally zinged, man.”

“I haven’t,” I bite out, more forcefully than I intend, and three shocked looks meet my own. “It doesn’t matter if I’ve zinged or not. It’s all fake. Pretend. Make believe. Whatever you want to call it, it doesn’t matter. It’s. Not. Real .”

I want to turn in on myself, escape their knowing stares, escape the sickening twist in my chest every time I think about the day Nathalie will leave.

This is my fault.

I told the media I had a girlfriend.

I asked Nathalie to be my fake girlfriend.

I insisted she move in with me when her apartment flooded.

I started to fall in love with her.

It all comes down to me.

My phone dings, echoing throughout the quiet room, and I snatch it.

That’s fine.

I can talk to him.

I can handle it.

That’s fine is not the answer I was hoping for, but given how weird the last sleepover was, I should have kept my expectations low.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Henry prods when I set my phone down, and I shake my head.

There’s no point in talking about it.

I’m falling in love with her. There’s no way of stopping it, and it’s not real for her the way it is for me. She can separate her emotions from the physical. To her, this is a friends-with-benefits situation. For me, it’s so much more.

It’s everything missing from my relationship with Savannah. The man I am with her is a version of myself I thought I lost after I broke off my engagement.

Nathalie brought me back to life.

It’s not her fault I feel the way I do.

Henry bites his lip, but Declan has none of Henry’s self-restraint and slams his water down on the table.

“You need to get it out,” he demands, “Whatever you’re keeping to yourself is eating you alive.” Jack’s lips quiver, fighting a smile, and Henry's eyes widen at the serious tone in Declan’s voice. “Sharon has told me the longer you hold onto something, the more time it’s allowed to fester, to eat at the happiness in your life until it takes over. So, whatever it is, spit it out. We won’t judge you.”

Jack and Henry nod in agreement.

I’m unsure if it’s the concern in Declan’s gaze or the steadily built trust between my friends, but the confession tumbles from my lips, nonetheless.

“I almost married someone who never cared about me, and all it took to realize that was a few months pretending with Nathalie. For years, I loved someone…who didn’t treat me right.”

I squeeze the fidget ball, my words nothing more than a whisper in the quiet room. The gazes of my friends are heavy against my skin, but I lack the courage to look at them.

“In a few short months, Nathalie has shown me what I lacked in my last relationship, and none of it is real. My fake girlfriend has offered more compassion and affection than the woman I thought I would marry.

“She cheated on me. My ex-fiancee. Found her in bed with my teammate.” Declan gasps, and someone grabs my shoulder, squeezing. “For Nathalie, this is casual. No feelings. After the auction, she’s going to move on, but I’ll be stuck forever because no one understands me the way she does.”

“How’s that?”Jack prods.

I answer with brute honesty.

“For the first time, I’m important to someone. I’m missed when I’m gone, and our moments together are cherished. My opinion matters, and my thoughts and emotions are acknowledged. Savannah never once made me feel that way.”

“Well…shit,” Declan mutters, “Why don’t you tell her any of that?”

“She never asked for any of this. Not to be my fake girlfriend. Not to have to move in with me. She never asked for me to fall—”

I stop, but we can all fill in the blanks of the statement.

One by one, Henry, Jack, and Declan rise until we’re tangled in a weird hug, where I’m at the center, barely holding back tears.

“If you want to make it real,” Henry says, “then make it real. Don’t waste any time like I did. I loved Sawyer for years, and I never told her. I told myself it was easier that way. I’ll always wonder what life would look like if I had told her sooner.”

“Fight for it. If she’s worth it—if she makes you feel important and cared for—then fight for her,” Jack says. “Your past is not your future.”

“It explains a lot,” Declan says, releasing me from the hug and untangling from Henry and Jack.

“The whole anti-love thing you have going on.” He waves his hand around my face. “Except… I don’t think you can say you’re anti-love anymore, can you?”

I grunt.

I am not a fan of how he can cipher through my bullshit, and I dislike being the recipient of the love advice.

They allow my annoyed grunt to end the conversation, but Jack and Henry give me knowing, hopeful looks as they walk out the door.

Declan’s halfway to disappearing through the door when I stop him.

“Hey, wait.” Nerves eat at my stomach, and I stumble over the question. “Uh—Well…”

Declan’s gaze flickers around the room. “What’s up?”

I blurt it out.

“Nathalie and I want you to stay with us for the holidays.” Bright blue eyes widen with shock. “Only if you want. But we want you to.”

Hesitation flickers across Declan’s face, and it’s a stab in the gut.

“Was this Nathalie’s idea? I told her I’m fine .”

He spits the last word, and he seems far from fine, but I’m not going to argue with him. I’m not exactly in the best place mentally, considering I’m falling in love with Nathalie, and there’s an expiration date on our deal, so I’m not going to question him.

“It was my idea.”

“Why?”

“We’re friends,” I say, voice meek, “You would do it for me.”

Declan’s head tilts as he evaluates me, and I’ve never been so exposed. The easy road after my friends betrayed my trust was to ensure no one else could get close enough to hurt me again. I did it in my love life and with my friendships.

Declan, however, is the type of person who slowly worms his way past your defenses with his goofiness and loyalty until he’s firmly planted in your life. He loves deeply and indiscriminately, and I want to offer that back to him.

“Alright,” he says, shoulders drooping.

“How are you?” I ask.

I’m hoping my willingness to open up will help him do the same. While our situations are opposites, a kernel of shame has sat firmly lodged in my stomach.

Declan’s blue eyes water, and a lone tear slips out.

“I miss him,” he admits, swiping his cheeks. “Sometimes I pull out my phone to text him, but reality crashes down, and it’s like I’m getting the news over again. ”

Fuck.

I drag him into a crushing hug, and he sinks into my embrace. The thought of never speaking to Nathalie again flickers into my mind. It makes me want to vomit.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “About Nathalie. With myself. I’m lost.”

For so long, I’ve held my shame and trauma so tightly to my chest that I don’t know how to loosen my grip, to stop giving it the power to control my life.

“Therapy helps me. Talking to Sharon, even if it’s incoherent rambling, helps calm my mind and ease the weight on my chest.”

“Hm. Maybe I’ll try that.” We break apart, and it’s slight, but Declan holds himself a bit higher. “The guest room is yours for as long as you want.”

“Not because you want Nathalie to have to sleep in your bed?”

A small, smug smile lifts his lips, and I hide my own behind a cough.

“It’s because we’re friends.” He lifts a brow. “That’s a perk,” I mumble quietly.

“Thanks,” he says quietly as he walks out of the room. The door is nearly shut when I hear him add, “You should tell her how you feel.”

Well, this is awkward .

Declan follows me into my home, bags dangling off his shoulder. We stopped at his apartment to grab a few things when we landed in Seattle, and now here we are, weirdly standing in the entryway of my house.

I know I’m the one making it weird, but I don’t know how to fix that.

I’m nervous, but not for the reason he expects. Nathalie is sleeping in my bed tonight, and I plan to make it much more memorable than the last time.

“This is it,” I say, filling the silence and gesturing to the kitchen. “I ordered groceries. Help yourself to whatever you like.”

He nods and follows as I move around the house, pointing out the different spaces. I open the hall closet to show him Nathalie’s tower of shoes, and he chuckles. “There are more around the house, so watch your step.”

“What’s that?”

Declan points at the massive structure in the corner of the living room. There are different levels with scratch poles and dangling toys.

“Gordie’s domain. It’s his cat fortress.” Gordie perches at the top, and I quickly move past. His paw swipes out to attack, and Declan chuckles. He may love Nathalie, but he still only tolerates me. “This is the guest room. The bathroom is across the hall next to The Lair .”

Nathalie’s silly nickname for the room rolls off my tongue, and I wish I could shove it back into my mouth the way Declan’s eyes brighten.

“ The Lair ?”

“It has all my…things,” I say awkwardly as Declan bolts past into the room.

He surveys the space in silence, back to me, and when he spins, he has a goofy smile on his face.

“You two were made for each other.” He shakes his head in amusement.

I grunt a response and leave him to settle into the guest room.

I’m halfway to the kitchen when Nathalie rounds the corner, stomping through the hallway, and my stomach plummets as the surprise and joy on her face register.

“There you are!” she yells. I didn’t know she was here, or else I would have made her give the tour with me. Nathalie stops inches away, her arms beginning to lift before they dart back to her side. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Declan and I just got here,” I say, taking a step closer, leaning against the counter to trap her between my arms. It’s been too long since I’ve touched her. Tasted her. Nathalie gulps, focus darting between my eyes and lips. “I missed you, ” I murmur, my breath hot against her lips.

Nathalie pushes her glasses up, and I dart out to grip her wrist, playing with the friendship bracelet I made for her. The oranges and purples remind me of her, bright and bubbly.

I’ve decided wrist touches are platonic. Take that rule number two.

“You did?”

She asks as if it’s the most unbelievable concept in the world that I would miss her when I’m away. I nod, thumb swiping against her pulse.

Wide eyes meet mine, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “It wasn’t Gordie who missed you. It was me.”

I bark out a laugh. “You mean to tell me my geriatric demon cat didn’t miss me?”

“I want to lie and say Gordie loves you, but…” she shrugs, and her lip quirks upward.

“He’s planning my demise,” I finish for her. “He only keeps me around because I give him treats and feed him outrageously expensive food.”

“That’s why I keep you around, too.” Nathalie jokes, attempting to shove my chest with her free hand.

“Is it?” I ask, voice deepening. Her breath hitches as I press against her. “No other reason?”

“I-I can’t think of any,” she chokes as I graze her ribs, millimeters away from her breasts.

I lift a shoulder.

“Well, if you think of any more reasons, I’ll be in bed.”

With that, I spin on my heel and disappear into my room.

The ball is in her court.