Back to You(18)

His eyebrows pinch together, forming a deep V. “Huh?”

“What I meant is… nothing’s guaranteed, Dec. We don’t know what we’ll be faced with in the future. I know I’ll never do that again,” I say, as if the word “that” can encompass what went on with Noah. I leave it at that and continue, “I want us back. You’re it for me and always will be, but I also thought I was it for you and I never imagined you’d do what you did either. I have zero regrets. Not even one tiny iota of a regret. Don’t get me wrong… I almost couldn’t walk down the aisle the day of our wedding from all the nerves, but—”

“Wait. What? You never told me that.” He doesn’t look at all hurt, more like he’s just surprised, interested even. Is that a smirk I see?

I really don’t want to get off track, especially since I was so close to getting it all out just then, but the look on his face urges me to go forward with my confession about our wedding day. “I was a nervous wreck. My mother was all flitty and giddy—no flipping help at all, the Pope was staring me down—”

“The Pope? His excellence was not a guest at our wedding, babe.”

I laugh, thinking back to the way I’d felt in that little back room, imagining the Pope’s eyes following my every move, visualizing him judging me for having cold feet. “I know he wasn’t actually there—forget it. That’s not the point. I only mentioned it because, well, do you ever think if we would have waited until we were older things would have played out differently?” Like maybe he would have slept around a little more and not had the temptation to play the field after we were married.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“You really are the king of optimism and one liners these days, aren’t you?”

He twists his body again, deflating against the back of the swing and groaning. “I’m just trying to move forward. What’s the use in rehashing or worrying about how we could have avoided it? There’s no fucking use.”

This is where he’s wrong. This is where Declan can’t possibly understand my inner turmoil. “There is a use. It’s therapeutic, it’s part of the healing process. Ever hear of denial, Declan? You’re in denial if you think that a little vacation is going to patch up all our issues and make it all better.”

“Am I now?” he asks, not even looking at me.

“Yes! You are! I need to talk about this. I need to get it out. To tell you my fears, my regrets, to get the fucking guilt off my chest!” By the time I’m finished with my speech, the tears are fighting to burst through. Nope, now they’re streaming down my face.

Declan rakes his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Please don’t cry, baby,” he pleads, taking my hands in his. “It kills me to see you hurting and it breaks me in two to know there’s nothing I can do to fix it right now.”

“Letting me talk about it will help fix it,” I manage to get out between wiping the tears from my face.

He releases my hands and when he stands up, he doesn’t turn around to face me. Instead he walks to the edge of the porch, gripping the worn white wood. “This is exactly what I was trying to avoid—at least for a few days.”

We stay silent for a few brief, uncomfortable moments before I decide to break it. “We can’t avoid it forever. I won’t avoid it forever.”

When he turns around, the wetness in his eyes glistens in the moonlight. He’s holding back, but I can tell he’s upset. Declan’s never been more open with his emotions than he has this past year. I guess it’s par for the course.

“If I promise we can talk about it… all of it… in a few days, can you enjoy our time together? Can you put it out of your head for just a little while longer so we can go back to laughing, and smiling, and just having a fucking good time?”

I know this is hard for him. He has his own guilt to live with and I’m sure reliving our separation and talking about the what-ifs isn’t something a prideful man wants to do, but I give him so much credit for allowing me this. “Yes. As long as you promise.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die,” he says, marring his body with an imaginary slash across his chest to solidify our deal.

I can live with it not happening right now as long as I know it will indeed happen.





Regrets… fucking regrets. Mia has them? Who knew? I mean I know we got married young, had kids young, but after the initial shock… this shit just all seemed normal. When I proposed to her in college I had not one doubt in my mind that I was making the best decision of my life. She was my everything—I’d have proposed to her on our second date if it wouldn’t have made me look like a complete lunatic. Even before sleeping with her—I mean what virgin guy picks his wife before ever dipping his dick?