Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

63. Declan

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

declan

I swallow, running my hand down the back of my neck. My baseball cap is pulled low above my eyes, shielding me from the public. I’m trying my hardest to keep my emotions hidden from the nosy eyes around me. A bit from her, too.

I don’t like this, but I don’t want to guilt her into staying, either.

I mean, I really don’t fucking like this.

She turns, her hand tightening around her suitcase. Those stormy blue eyes meet mine as our walk slows. I don’t want to stop walking. I know what happens once we do. When time starts moving again, she’s going in one direction, and I’m going in the opposite.

I try to offer her a smile, but it’s not easy. I don’t mean it. There’s something about seeing her fully prepared to leave me that awakens the torment of the past. She can easily choose to just stay gone. She can cut me off again. Maybe she goes home and realizes that this can’t work, that she doesn’t want to live between countries on a whim.

I really, really don’t want her to go.

She angles her head, giving me a ‘ please don’t’ look. Like if I lose it, she’s not going to be able to keep it together. It’s only seven days, but seven days feels like a lifetime after I finally got her back.

She walks back to me, closing the minimal distance between us, and reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck. I pull her close by her waist, tugging her body completely against mine. The body that I want near me for the rest of my life. I breathe her scent in and breathe out the peace that comes with one whiff of coffee and coconut.

God, this sucks. My chest feels fucking weird. I would rather throw her over my shoulder and force her to come back home with me than dare let her step away from this hug.

“I’m going to miss you,” she admits quietly.

I nod, dragging my hands up her back. “Yeah, baby. Me too.”

She sniffs. It’s just a little sound, so subtle and so gentle, but it’s enough. I crush her to me, squeezing her so tightly that to a passerby, it probably looks like we are saying goodbye for the last time, not the first.

I hate when she hurts. I feel the exact same way that she does, and I still wish that I can absorb her part of it.

But we have to be careful. That means doing things the right way, even when it sucks.

We’ve rushed and tried to erase our mistakes far too many times in the past. We need to do this right. Doing this right means letting her get on that plane and trusting her to come back when she’s ready.

“I love you,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

I pull back just enough to glide my lips to hers. I kiss her, soft and gentle, but with promises in each brush of my lips.

I’ll still be here.

You have a home here.

I love you so recklessly that it terrifies me.

We can get through this first little hurdle. It’s worth the rest of it.

Trust me.

Don’t run.

“I love you, too,” I mutter against her mouth.

She deflates in my arms; our kisses slow and simple. When she finally pulls back to look at me, those beautiful eyes are full of worry. I wish I could show her our future. How beautiful it is. How safe she’ll be. I wish I could show her the laughter, the love, the little moments that will become my favourite memories. If only she could catch a glimpse of how this plays out in the long run.

I want to ease her worries, but that can only come with time.

“Seven days.”

We already booked her flight back. I will see her in seven days. I’m putting my faith in her. She’ll be on that plane.

“Seven days,” I repeat, and it feels like I’ve said those words one hundred times over the last few days, convincing myself that seven is a small number.

I press my mouth to hers again, savoring the feeling of her lips, the taste of her mocha-flavoured lip balm. When I regretfully let her put some distance between us, something clicks in my head. There’s one more thing that I need from her before I can even dream of letting her leave the country.

“Give me your phone.”

Her brows furrow. “What?”

I step back, and that frown on her mouth deepens.

Holding out my hand, I gesture for her to put it in my palm. “Give me your phone. ”

She slowly reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone. She doesn’t hesitate, she just types in her password and places it in my hand, the bright wallpaper of her and Avery staring back at me.

I let go of the body that I don’t want to stop touching and get to work. She watches every swipe of my finger, but I don’t hide any of it from her. I undo what should have never been done, opening Instagram and typing in my name. When my account pops up, I click the follow button, but something else catches my eye in the search bar.

One of her recent searches.

My private account.

My hand freezes. I snap my gaze up to her, and she’s already smiling innocently. It looks anything but fucking innocent. I click my name and see the big, bright badge that says ‘following.’

“Lucky…” I say hesitantly.

“Never unfollowed that one. Never made you unfollow my account either.”

I could have been connected to her this whole time? I just needed to log into my private account that I barely use?

Fuck, she’s kind of a sadist and I’m kind of a bonehead.

“That’s fucked up,” I tell her, locking her phone.

She shrugs, taking it from my hands, but pulling me to her body by my waist in the same movement. She smiles up at me like the fucking angel she is.

“I couldn’t let you go completely, no matter how hard I tried.”

A long breath leaves my nose, but I wrap my arms around her shoulders anyway.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go, either.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper, leaning down. I brush my nose against hers, keep my mouth a hair length from hers to tease her, to make her remember how badly she wants this.

“Just remember the shower this morning if you miss me too much.”

I groan, fisting my hands in her jacket. I tug her even closer to me, resting my forehead against hers. I hope nobody has spotted me and chooses to take a picture of this moment. I am definitely bricked up right now. Might be close to fucking getting on my knees and begging her to stay, too.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that,” I murmur.

“Good,” she says, sliding her lips against mine in one, long press of our mouths. This one feels like the end of a sentence. This one feels like goodbye, and god, if that doesn’t kill me. She pulls back, sliding her hands against my jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Lucky.” I slide a hand against her waist, under her coat. “One more.”

She smiles wide, the beautiful kind that reaches her eyes and makes her whole face light up. I bend her backward in my arm a bit and kiss her. I can’t get enough. I want these lips in my pocket. I want to carry them with me everywhere and have them when I need them, and I’ll always need them.

“I have to go,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“Seven days.”

“Seven days. Tell the crew I say hello.”

She winds her arms around me, hugging me close. I squeeze her frame against mine, trying to memorize the feel of her to relive it over the next week. Every imprint of her skin, all the curves of her body.

In seven days, I’ll have the real thing again.

It’s going to be a long week. My house and heart will have never felt emptier. But we can do this. I know we can. I just don’t fucking want to .

I’ve got to let her go. What’s the saying? If you love something, let it go, and if it doesn’t come back, it was never yours in the first place?

She better come back. She’s absolutely mine.