23. Declan

TWENTY-THREE

DECLAN

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the warmth—Savion's warmth pressed against me, his breath steady and soft against my chest. For a second, I just lie there, still, taking it all in. My body aches, but it's a good ache. Every muscle is relaxed in a way that feels foreign, like the tension I've carried for years has finally unraveled.

I blink, glancing at my wristwatch, and see the time—almost noon. Shit. We overslept, but I don't care. Nothing matters more than this moment.

Last night… last night was everything. Not just the sex—though, yeah, it was incredible—but more than that. It felt like something inside me clicked into place, like we became more than just two people who happened to fall in love. It was deeper than that. We were connected—soul-deep. My heart's still racing, even now, lying here with him beside me.

Telling him I love him was the single most important thing, the best thing, I've ever said to anyone. It was my first declaration of love, but I know I will say some variation of it over and over again, for the rest of my life. And I'll say it to only one man.

Savion.

I don't want to move. I don't want to do anything to break this spell, but I can't stop my mind from drifting back to what he told me. About how he got those burns.

I grit my teeth, the memory hitting me like a punch in the gut. The second he started talking about that asshole—the guy who was supposed to be his best friend—I felt the rage bubbling inside of me. I wanted to smash something, break something. Hell, I wanted to break him—whoever the fuck thought it was okay to lay a hand on Savion, to hurt him like that.

But violence… I learned the hard way it doesn't solve shit. I watched my dad ruin everything good in his life with his temper—watched him destroy my mom, take her life, all because he couldn't control his own anger. I swore I'd never be like him.

So I held it in, for Savion's sake. As much as I wanted to hurt the guy, I knew it wouldn't change what happened. The only thing that mattered was being there for Savion, listening to him, letting him get it all out. But even now, as I think about it, my fists clench.

How could someone who was supposed to be like family to him turn into his worst enemy? How do you go from being best friends to wanting to destroy someone? It doesn't make sense. I keep turning it over in my mind, trying to figure out the guy's motivation. Was it jealousy? Was he always like this, hiding it behind a mask of friendship? Or did something snap in him that day?

Savion is strong, though. He's a survivor. And no matter how hard that bastard tried to break him, he didn't. Savion's still here. Still beautiful. Still… mine.

I glance down at him, still asleep against me, his head resting on my chest. His lips are slightly parted, and he's snoring softly—just the faintest sound, but it makes me smile. He looks so peaceful, so innocent in his sleep. The morning sun filtering through the glass roof catches on his skin, making him glow. My heart swells in my chest, and for a moment, it feels like I'm drowning in how much I love him.

Yeah, love. I told him last night. The words just slipped out, and for a second, I panicked, wondering if I'd said too much too soon. But then, he looked at me with those soft eyes, and I knew it was right. I knew I'd never regret telling him.

I brush a few strands of his hair away from his face, careful not to wake him. My fingers linger on his scalp, and I can't help but run them through his curls, massaging gently. His body stirs a little and I freeze, hoping I didn't wake him, but he settles back into sleep, his lips curving into the faintest smile. God, even asleep, he's perfect.

I let out a breath, my mind still racing. Lyrics start forming in my head, like a flood I can't control. They always come to me like this—when I'm so full of emotion, I don't know what to do with it all. The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue, and I know if I don't write them down, I'll lose them. But the thought of leaving this bed, leaving him, even for a second… I can't do it. Not yet.

Would he like it if I wrote him a song? Or would it make things weird? I don't want to push him too far, too fast. But damn, I want to show him how I feel, to put it into words that'll stick with him. Maybe I'll try later, when we're back in the real world.

For now, though, I just want to stay here, holding him.

Eventually, I slide out from under him, careful not to disturb him. His head drops onto the pillow, and he mumbles something in his sleep, his body shifting to get comfortable again. I watch him for a second longer, memorizing the way he looks right now—soft, vulnerable, safe.

Once I'm sure he's still asleep, I grab my phone from the nightstand and tiptoe toward the kitchen. I'll make us something to eat.

The kitchenette is pretty well-stocked. No dust, everything clean. I pull out a couple of deck chairs and place them outside, the desert air a perfect backdrop for our day. Searching the cabinets, I find a small gas camp cooker and a grill. The fridge? Loaded. Beef, chicken, eggs, milk... all kinds of stuff. Makes sense—this whole getaway cost a small fortune. I wanted everything perfect for Savvy.

Chicken spaghetti. That's what I'll make. It's not about showing off; it's about giving him something that might make him feel special. I saw a recipe for it on YouTube a few weeks ago, and it seemed good—comforting. Now feels like the perfect time to try it out. I grab the chicken and the pasta, already picturing his smile.

As I start prepping the meal, my mind drifts to last night. Damn. I've been dreaming about it for months—being with him, in every way—and it finally happened. And it wasn't just about the sex. That's the crazy part. It felt like everything clicked into place. The way he looked at me, the way his hands explored me... It was everything I didn't know I needed.

He's mine. I think it every time I glance at the bed, watching him sleep peacefully. He's lying there, totally at ease, and my heart does this stupid little flip. How did I get this lucky?

As I bring the grill outside, setting it up to make lunch, a thought hits me—Brock. That guy has been a dark cloud in Savvy's life, hasn't he? Pretending to be a friend but really just... waiting for an opportunity to strike. When Savion told me about the burns, I felt that white-hot anger, the kind that makes you want to destroy something. Brock, that coward, wanted to break him.

Why? What made him turn on Savion like that? Was it jealousy? Fear? I don't get it. How could someone hurt someone they claim to care about? And not just hurt them—try to destroy them.

I shake my head, trying to focus. I need to finish this meal before Savvy wakes up. He deserves a good day after everything. Last night was about love, and today... today's going to be perfect, too. I'm determined.

The chicken's almost ready, and I'm plating the spaghetti when I remember the pinot grigio. Kelly sent it—go figure. I grab the bottle and head back inside, feeling good about the meal. I want Savvy to wake up, see the food, and know how much he means to me.

But when I walk into the yurt, everything changes. He's sitting up, clutching his phone like it's a lifeline. The look in his eyes—fear, anger... it's all there. My chest tightens. Something's wrong.

I set the tray down and cross the room to him, instinctively pulling him into my arms. He melts into me, his body tense but seeking comfort. I stroke his hair, trying to figure out what could've happened. Did something go down at work? Are his parents okay?

"Savvy." His name slips from my mouth, soft, as if saying it too loudly would make him withdraw further into himself. I don't ask him what's wrong, not yet. I just gather him into my arms, feeling the weight of his body sag against me. The warmth of his skin against mine should bring some comfort, but all it does is remind me how fragile he is in this moment.

He's quiet for a while, his breath hitching against my chest, and I just hold him. I let my fingers trace soothing patterns on the back of his neck, not pushing for answers, just letting him know I'm here. But inside? Inside, I'm a mess. I need to know what's going on. I need to fix this.

When he finally looks up at me, I see it. Anger. Fear. A storm swirling in his eyes, and it's aimed at something—someone—I don't know yet.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" I keep my voice low, trying not to let my desperation seep through.

He nods, but it's mechanical, like he's going through the motions. I hate this. I hate seeing him like this and not knowing what to do. "Whenever you're ready, beautiful," I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead, hoping the gesture will bring some semblance of comfort.

But he stays silent.

Damn it. I should've been paying more attention. I should've noticed something was off before it got to this point.

"Hey." I tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet my gaze. "How about we go outside, get some air? I made lunch. It's nothing fancy, but I think you'll like it." I smile, trying to lighten the mood, hoping food might do the trick.

When he doesn't respond, I scoop him up in my arms, cradling him like he's something precious. And he is. God, he is.

Outside, I settle him into one of the deck chairs, but his eyes are still distant, like he's somewhere far away.

I head back inside to grab the tray, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I don't know how to do this. I've never had to handle something like this before. Usually, when shit goes sideways, I just… fix it. But this? This is different.

"Okay, babe, here we go." I set the tray down, arranging everything neatly in front of him, hoping the food might spark something—anything.

But he just stares at it.

"Come on, Savvy. If you're not going to eat, at least talk to me?" My voice wavers a little as I crouch beside him, laying my hand on his lap. "Don't leave me in the dark, babe."

"I'm sorry, Dash," he finally says, his voice so soft I almost miss it. His hand reaches for mine, and I grab on, holding tight like it's the only thing grounding me. "Lunch looks and smells delicious. I'm sure I'll feel much better after eating, and we can talk about it then, okay?"

I force a smile, nodding, even though it kills me that he's still holding back. "Sounds good."

He picks at the food, and I do the same, but neither of us is really eating. It's all mechanical—just going through the motions.

Then he breaks the silence. "He's appealing his sentence."

I sit up straighter, setting my plate aside. "Okay…"

Savion's eyes dart down to his plate as he takes a shaky breath. "I got a call from my lawyer. Brock's got a new lawyer. With the money he made from an app he'd made, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, right?" He laughs, but it's hollow, bitter.

I don't say anything, letting him talk at his own pace.

"Somehow, there's a chance he could get a retrial. Maybe probation or something. I don't know, Declan. I just—why should I have to go through all that again? Standing in court, having people judge me, analyze every scar like it's my fault?"

I feel my jaw clench, the rage bubbling up inside me. Brock. That fucking bastard. I want to break something—punch a wall, punch him—but I know that won't help.

"You won't go through it alone," I say, my voice tight. "I'm here for you."

He shakes his head. "I don't think I can do it again, Declan. I don't think I can go through the jury dissecting my trauma, questioning if I'm to blame for what happened."

I rise, pulling him into a hug. "C'mere, babe. I've got you."

The tremor in his body only makes my heart ache more. How could anyone put him through this again? How could Brock even consider trying to get out of the sentence he deserves?

"You shouldn't have to deal with this." My voice is harsh, filled with the anger I can't hide. "I'll make sure you never have to stand in that courtroom again. I'll do whatever it takes to protect you."

Savion sniffles against my shoulder, his breath hitching as he speaks. "I felt so alone last time. My parents were there, but my friends… they abandoned me. Even some of my family." He pulls back slightly, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes. "Will you stick around, Declan? Will you stay?"

His question guts me. The thought that he even has to ask—after everything we've been through—kills me. It's a brutal reminder that the people we expect to stand by us in our darkest hours can sometimes turn away, leaving us feeling even more isolated. I can only imagine how it felt for him, facing the storm alone, wondering why those he thought would support him chose to vanish when he needed them most.

"I'll always be by your side, Savvy. You can count on me." I press a soft kiss to his forehead, hoping it conveys all the promises I can't put into words.

He nods, but the worry lingers in his eyes. "I'm sorry for asking. I really do trust you—I don't know why I would question you like that."

"It's okay," I reassure him, my voice steady. "You've been through so much. It's hard not to doubt sometimes."

I want him to know that it's okay to feel uncertain, that it's a natural response to the hurt he's endured. His pain is valid, and I won't let him face it alone. Not anymore.

For the first time since this nightmare began, a real smile tugs at the corners of his lips. It's small, but it's there. He's trying. That's enough for now.

"I'm sorry I ruined lunch," he whispers.

"No, babe, you didn't." I reach for his hand, squeezing it gently, feeling the warmth radiate between us. "Besides, I've got other plans for us."

"What plans?"

"Plans to get in that sweet ass again."

Savion threw his head back, and a peal of laughter burst from his lips—a sound sweeter than any melody I've ever composed. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he faces me, grinning wide. "Only if you can catch me first."

And then he bolts into the yurt.

Oh, my baby is begging to be caught.