Back to You(6)

“Sorry, Mister. Asshole slammed on his breaks.”

Asshole broke me out of replaying that shitty memory so I guess he’s not a total jerk. Plus, we’re still alive. “It’s okay. Just get me home in one piece, please.”

That’s all I want. To be home with Mia and the girls to enjoy this week together and worry about all the rest later. But by the time we pull up to my house I’m jittery and anxious from the near-accident, the painful memories, and the impossible decision Robert’s left me to make. I hope I can pull this off as jet lag—I don’t need Mia worrying about anything. We’re supposed to be over all that.





With our daughters in bed—fina-fucking-ly—Declan and I are ready to enjoy his anniversary present. Together.

When he came home earlier, the girls bombarded him with kisses and Cara could hardly contain her excitement about the secret-studio-surprise, as she liked to call it. Within minutes of him walking through the door, not even enough time to bring his luggage past the foyer, the girls were giggling and whispering and asking me when we could show him. Declan picked up on their little scam immediately—I mean who wouldn’t? My girls aren’t subtle. They certainly don’t have futures as CIA or FBI agents.

But now that it’s just the two of us I can really give him the full experience. Let him understand the hows and whys of it all. It should be as simple as telling him I think he’s talented and I want him to do what he’s always said he would, but it’s so much more than that. Declan was born to write music. He might not even know it, but I know it. It lives in the marrow of his bones—I see it when he sings along to a favorite on the radio, or on the rare chance that he takes out the guitar to jam. My husband should have been a rock star, not a CPA.

“Mia, I still can’t believe you did this. I love it.” He’s manhandling everything while exploring his new man cave. His enthusiasm makes me smile. I did good! It’s the least I can do.

I come up behind him, my arms hooking under his, wrapped around his muscular torso. “I’m so happy you love it. Happy almost-anniversary.” I kiss him behind his ear and he leans into me. I smile against his neck, basking in our aloneness and then he laces his fingers with mine, turning to face me.

I stare into his icy blue eyes, mesmerized as always. His eyes are home. I’m so grateful to be back home. How could I have ever doubted this? The guilt starts to set in again so I break our hypnotic gaze. Declan must sense the shift in my mood, because he lifts my chin with his index finger, bringing my eyes back to his. “You know, this is perfect timing, babe? I did a lot of writing while we were apart,” he admits, pulling my body against his.

“While you were on the trip?” I ask, hiding my insecurities. I feel like he can see right through me—like he knows every one of my thoughts and emotions. Not good. I hate feeling so naked. Like any minute he’s going to pick apart the thoughts running through my brain. The thoughts that keep me up at night and make me wonder if we’ll ever truly overcome the shit we’ve been through in the last seven months.

“No, while we were apart. Turns out a broken heart and a muse actually do stimulate art.”

Art. He couldn’t be more accurate. Declan’s voice, his words, and the strumming of his guitar make some absolutely incredible art. Instead of giving in to the guilt for a change I give into curiosity. “You’ve been writing? And you’re holding out on me?”

“None of them are complete, Mi. Just ramblings of a madman.” His eyes are no longer fixated on me, but on the equipment behind me. He has to be itching to play around with it.

But even his excitement over his new toys can’t mask the pain behind his words—madman. I drove him mad. Will I ever be forgiven?

“I’m sorry, Dec. I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but…”

“Shhh,” he whispers, placing a finger at my lips. “Not tonight. Not again. Please?”

I want to ask, ‘but when?’ because we’ve yet to actually hash it all out. Sure, things have come up in conversation, but the fact that I pretty much carried on a full-fledged relationship with Noah—nearly fell in love with him, too—has yet to be the topic of conversation in the Murphy household. It’s not that I’m second-guessing my decision. God no, that’s not it at all. It’s just that… Grace seems to think that Declan is the what-you-don’t-know-won’t-hurt-you type of guy. Unfortunately, I’m the I-need-to-get-everything-off-my-chest-to-move-on type of girl.

He releases his hold around my waist and my skin immediately misses his touch, but he’s heading for the guitar so it’s all good. I ignore the pang of emotions still pent up and taunting me to be released and just enjoy the sight before me—my man, his Martin, and those dancing fingers. Deliciously mesmerizing. Enough to distract me from my haze and bring me back to what’s real—what matters most.