Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Jonas

The disadvantage to having the large finished basement as my room was that Oz and I shared space with the washer and dryer, which led to chatty visitors when I'd rather veg out alone with the TV or a book. I was doing everything in my power to avoid seeing or thinking about Declan, but my efforts to hide out were thwarted by a super chatty Rowan, who was humming a show tune and twerking his scrawny frame while holding a stack of hangers.

"Laundry almost done?" I asked from the couch because Rowan so clearly wanted interaction, as evidenced by the three prior trips up and down the stairs while giving a running commentary on everything from the scent of the detergent to the state of the towels already occupying the dryer.

"Yes, thankfully." Rowan grinned at me. "I cut it close, but I let Maren have the washing machine yesterday because she had to head back to college this morning. However, I need my lucky hoodie for tomorrow." He narrowed his eyes. Tomorrow would be the first day of school after winter break, and the house was full of sullen teens. "My hoodie might not be enough protection. Do you have a spare sword? Maybe some chain-link armor?"

"Chainmail," I corrected with a smile. "And more drama in the drama club?"

"I think Sheila is about to stage a revolt to win the presidency from me. God, I'm so over high school." Rowan gave an over-the-top moan worthy of any stage production.

"A few more months." I set aside my e-reader because reassuring Rowan came before finding something new to read. I couldn't return to the series with the vicar anyway, not now, not with every interaction with Declan more tense than the last. It had been a few days since we kissed, and not surprisingly, he hadn't asked me to read. We passed in the hall. We made small talk in the kitchen. It was awful, and I had only myself to blame. Hence, my need for a new book.

"I might not survive until graduation." Rowan's voice was mournful.

"College will be?—"

"Better. I know ." Rowan huffed a breath as he placed another shirt on a hanger, this one silky with silver stars. "But college means applications, and I'm so over filling out forms. However, I found the perfect distraction from application hell."

"What's that?" From the way Rowan was bouncing on his feet, he was dying to share, and predictably, I barely had to prompt before he continued.

"There's an open audition call for a new TV series about high school?—"

"I thought you were so over high school."

"I am. For myself." He took on a haughty tone that sounded a lot like his sister. "But acting? Acting is in my blood." He gave a regal sniff, tilting his head skyward. "Anyway, likely thousands of kids will put in audition videos, but I figure, why not?"

"Why not?" I echoed, trying to look encouraging. "Good for you."

"Thanks." His expression turned sly. "Part of the audition is singing, so I signed up for a karaoke contest at the Heist. You should all come watch me."

"You're going to sing at the bar in the old bank?" That didn't sound like the best idea to me, but Rowan gave me a look like I was old and exhausting.

"I'm eighteen. Contest rules say eighteen and up. It'll be fun. I asked Dad, Sean, and Denver too. You should come."

"Sure. If I don't have a shift." I prayed I'd have a shift because bad karaoke and an overhyped Rowan weren't my idea of a good time.

"Good. Bring Declan."

"Uh…" I made a strangled noise, but by the time I'd thought of a suitable reply, Rowan had already disappeared upstairs with his pile of laundry.

A short while later, a knock sounded. I still hadn't picked a new book despite more browsing and was even less in the mood for company, but if Rowan needed to do another load of laundry, I couldn't exactly bar the door.

"Come in," I called. However, the tread on the stairs was way heavier than Rowan's, and I swiveled in time to see Declan painstakingly making his way downstairs, black walking boot and all. I frowned. "Wait. It's you."

"It's me." He took another few steps.

"Don't do the stairs." I held up a hand before hoisting myself off the couch and making my way to the base of the stairs. "What do you need? Laundry? I can do a load for?—"

" You ." Declan finished for me. "I need to talk to you."

I'd been expecting this, but I sighed, nevertheless. So much for my peaceful evening hiding out. "At least let me come up to you."

"Already here." Declan took the last few stairs at a faster pace. Bump. Bump. Bump. He wore an oversized motocross hoodie and black sweatpants, which hung loosely over his walking boot. "And no offense, but I'm so fucking tired of my room."

"Perhaps you should let Rowan help you decorate?" That might keep them both occupied and give me more time to stew, so I made my voice overly enthusiastic. "The walls are well overdue for fresh paint. And there's likely a spare TV somewhere if you're bored."

"It's still the same four walls." He groaned as he leaned against the banister at the bottom of the carpeted stairs. "Also, doing the stairs is good practice for me. I gotta up my activity level before I get back to the team."

I grimaced at the unwelcome reminder that his time here was temporary and his end goal was a return to his former life.

"How's the team doing?" I asked, totally stalling on the conversation we actually needed to have. "Do your friends call to check on you?"

"Some. Cyrus is trying out the new bikes. Joey wants to try something different this season with the suspension." Declan's voice was flat. "Wish I was there. Kind of glad I'm not."

"Because being there and not riding would be harder?"

"That, and I don't regret the other night. Probably wouldn't have happened anywhere else, definitely not on the circuit."

"Huh." I made a noncommittal noise, not sure how to respond to his declaration. He leaned more heavily against the banister, shifting his weight off the walking boot. I might not want to have this conversation, but my caretaking impulses took over as I motioned him to the couch. "Here, sit down."

I offered him an arm, but he waved it away in favor of hobbling the short distance. The basement space had been a playroom prior to my moving in. I used the wet bar along the far wall as a place to store snacks away from the teen horde, and I was grateful for the private bathroom down here. The vibe, though, was distinctly lacking, especially since I'd left most of my own furnishings in storage.

Other than helping Eric box up books and toys from when the kids were younger, I hadn't done much decorating, leaving the assortment of movie posters up and merely adding my bed catty-corner to the couch. The couch was a gray older model that had seen its share of hard living from the kids, and as soon as Declan settled on it, Oz jumped up and took command of the far corner, leaving me the choice of sitting in the middle next to Declan or perching on the corner of my bed.

Not surprisingly, I chose the bed.

"I'm glad you don't have regrets." I wasn't lying there. I had my own share of misgivings, but Declan being at peace and not guilt-ridden was better than I'd expected. "But why couldn't something like that happen on the circuit?" I'd gone round and round in my head over Declan's apparent inexperience with men. "I'm no expert, but statistically speaking, every sport likely has men who enjoy sex with other men, no matter how macho the sport seems from the outside."

"And the inside. It's a relatively small fishbowl. Everyone knows everyone. The gossip network is crazy. You do one stupid thing, and it follows you for years…" He trailed off, expression going pained.

"What happened?" I asked gently, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. I was too old to get involved with someone closeted, but I couldn't seem to turn off my care and concern for Declan.

"Other than me being an idiot?" Declan shook his head, gaze locked on a movie poster for a popular cowboy flick. "When I was still an amateur, traveling back and forth between events and school, Billy Hozer asked if I wanted to go jerk off together in the woods. He was slightly older than me, about to turn pro, and I'd been following him all weekend like a damn puppy. So I said, yeah. Should have said no way because he laughed. And told all his buddies. It was a fucking trap."

"I'm so sorry." My chest squeezed, and I wanted to touch him in the worst way. "But surely not everyone in motocross is like that."

"Probably not, but I can't take the risk." Declan exhaled hard, chin dropping to his chest as he studied his hands. "The rumor alone dogged me for years. Hell, one of the sponsors asked about it when I first got invited to be on the manufacturer's team. Luckily, I'd dated enough chicks that my reputation had started to speak for itself. Problem solved."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, not at all sure this was the flex he thought it was.

"Okay, well, other than the fact that I knew. Knew I looked at men differently than my friends, knew the things that made me hard weren't all on the straight path, but I just couldn't…"

His iron-clad control was both amazing and infuriating. Why couldn't he let himself have what he so clearly wanted? "But the dating women? That was all just show?"

"Sorta?" Declan's mouth twisted. "I'm not sure. I like women. I've always found it way easier to have female friends than to make friends with dudes, especially my fellow riders, but even when I was younger, all my best friends were girls. My sister's friends were much easier to get along with than the guys in my class. Dating lots of women seemed like the next logical step if one looked beyond the whole me being a terrible kisser and bad in bed thing."

"Are you as bad in bed as you are at kissing?" I asked pointedly, tilting my head. However, when his face fell, I had to chuckle and soften my tone. "I'm kidding, Declan. You're not bad at kissing. The other night was…"

"Good?" Declan sounded adorably hopeful, and I had to clench my hands to keep from reaching for him.

"Spectacular." I groaned because feeding Declan's ego wouldn't help, but I also couldn't lie. "Which is why I'm laughing at the idea that you're bad in bed."

"I'm hopeless." Declan sounded robotic, like he was repeating someone else's judgment. I already wanted to smack whoever had put that idea in his head. "Or maybe it's that I'm selfish. I don't know. I just know it's easier to lie there and let someone else do the work…" He cut himself off with a frustrated noise, burying his head in his hands. "Okay. Selfish is the better word. But figuring out how to get someone else off is hard work."

I blinked, trying hard not to chuckle but failing miserably.

"Quit laughing. I'm serious." Raising his head slightly, Declan glared at me. "You have to think about angles and pressure and order of operations and talking enough but not too much." His glare reached positively lethal levels. "And you wouldn't even let me try to get you off."

"Because it would have been a bad idea, not because I didn't want to." I held up my hands, way too close to admitting how quickly I'd jerked off after leaving his room. "And definitely not because I thought you were selfish or wouldn't be able to make me come."

"I like knowing that." Declan straightened, shoulders going back as he puffed like a proud penguin. "Maybe it wouldn't be as confusing with you."

The hopefulness in his voice made me shift around on the bed. We were quickly wandering into dangerous territory, but I also couldn't let him continue thinking he was terrible at sex.

"And I'm also saying that with the right person, it's not work. Also, not everyone wants or expects you to take the active role."

"God, when my girlfriends try to teach me, it's worse." Missing my point entirely, Declan narrowed his eyes. "Like I said, I'm selfish?—"

"You are not."

"I am." Declan might not be selfish, but he sure was stubborn. "My favorite thing is getting blown. Or hand jobs. Hand jobs are good. Anything where I can drift off on how good it feels and stop thinking for a few minutes."

"Making someone stop thinking is kind of the goal," I countered, trying for a reasonable tone. "And someday, you'll meet someone who wants nothing more than for you to lie back and be pleasured."

"And this is where you tell me it can't be you." Pushing up from the couch, Declan clomped over to stand in front of the bed and scowl down at me.

"It shouldn't." I gazed up at the ceiling light, anything to avoid meeting those compelling eyes of his.

"Which is different from can't."

"I don't want to argue semantics?—"

Declan cut me off with a rude noise. "I'm not sure what that word is. School wasn't my strong suit. Never fit in there. My whole life, I've just wanted somewhere to belong."

Oh, Declan. My heart twisted painfully, and I could no more avoid looking at him than I could skip my next breath. His soft blue eyes were so sad that the urge to touch him finally won, and I took his hand in mine.

"I've been there." I squeezed his hand. "But you have your family?—"

"The infamous Murphy clan." Declan snorted and shook his head. "They're great in theory. But I always feel slightly out of step with the rest of the family. The cousins were all Mount Hope locals, while we were the out-of-towners. My sister had a big group of nerdy friends who tried to include me, but I didn't fit there either. Then, out of all the sports I tried, I thought I'd found my place with motocross. And I tried so damn hard to belong there."

He sounded so heartbroken that I was powerless to do anything other than pull him onto my lap.

"I tried to fit in with my family as well," I admitted in a broken whisper. "Tried to follow the prophet's rules. My efforts didn't matter in the end. And with who I am now, I know I never would have belonged there, but that doesn't make the rejection sting less."

"Yeah." Declan released an unsteady breath, slumping against me. He wasn't a small guy, but his weight on my lap felt incredibly right. I wrapped my arms around him, as much to keep him there as to prevent us from tumbling backward. "I guess I'm lucky no one ever rejected me as terribly as your family?—"

"It's not a competition. Pain still hurts."

"And that's the point I've been trying to make. It hurt thinking I was broken and bad at sex?—"

I cut him off with a growl. "You're not broken."

"For the first time, I might believe you." He let his head fall against mine. He smelled like shampoo mingled with some sort of expensive aftershave. "The other night with you, that was the first time I felt like I truly fit somewhere. I didn't need to make myself smaller or bigger, less or more. I could just be , and I want that again. You can tell me it shouldn't be you, but what if I never get to feel that way again?"

"You will." I stroked his hair and face. He'd recently shaved, and the smoothness of his cheeks against my fingertips made my stomach quiver. "I promise you will."

He gave me the softest kiss ever, looking up at me with big eyes. "Please?"

"I don't think I know how to tell you no." I brushed the uneven sections of hair off his forehead. "A secret fling is a terrible idea."

"I won't tell." He smiled slyly.

And that right there was a huge part of the problem. I groaned. "I know."

"Kiss me again," he demanded as if there was a chance I might refuse.