This is all Grace’s fault! If she hadn’t informed Declan of our dating spot like some undercover mole—Operation: Bring Mia and Declan Back Together—I wouldn’t be facing these issues with two bleeding, angry men waiting for answers.
“You know what, Grace? Fuck off.” Yeah, it’s harsh. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to my best friend like this in all the years I’ve known her, but now I’m angry and it’s hard to be friendly and refined in a situation like this. A situation that could have been avoided if she would have… “Mind your own damn business, Grace.”
Grace’s chin starts to tremble, her eyes become glassy. Great, she’s gonna cry! “I was only trying to help, Mia.”
“This isn’t helping. This is a catastrophe!” I can’t control it anymore—the tears, the anger, the confusion—talk about a clusterfuck. I can’t breathe—a giant ball of intensifying emotions blocks the air from traveling through my lungs. The tears break free like a geyser gone wild and I can’t even pinpoint the one real reason for crying. I feel betrayed by Grace, I’m sad that this could be goodbye to Noah and I’m dumbfounded by Declan and his actions tonight. I press my clammy hand against my forehead, in an attempt to collect my scattered thoughts.
Declan comes from behind, putting his arms around me. “Calm down, Mia. We’ll figure it out.”
I rotate to face him—I’d forgotten how protected I’ve always felt in his arms. This seems right, even though Noah is only inches away from us, observing. “There’s a lot to figure out, Dec. I don’t even know where to begin.” I feel so guilty for this intimate moment between the two of us. I hate that Noah has to witness it. I never meant to hurt him.
I try my best to block out Noah to test what’s going on in my head for Declan. My first experiment involves touch, touching his body, remembering the contours of his beautiful face—regardless of the broken nose. This is the first time I’ve touched him since being with another man. It’s different, having experienced desire fueled by someone else. Being with Noah has given me more confidence in myself, making me sure of what I want. When I’m with Noah I want him, but being in Declan’s arms…I want him too. I miss him.
My eyes travel back up from the floor, floating over the man I married. On their way back up to his face, they stop, stunned by something I’ve never seen before. In the heat of their brawl, Noah had managed to rip Declan’s shirt clean down the front. My hand plays with the unraveled material of his cotton shirt, moving it over a bit more to inspect my surprising discovery.
“When did you get this?” My fingers trace the artwork of vivid, black ink. I outline the shape of the intricate heart made up of tiny number ones in different variations of boldness before swirling my finger against the cursive lettering inside—Mia—right over Declan’s heart.
“Do you like it?”
“When did you…”
“That first week in Hong Kong.”
My eyes dart open wider. I’m so confused. “But…you were so…”
“So what, Mia? I was working crazy hours and the time difference caught up with me, but you have no idea how that phone call from you rocked me. I almost quit my fucking job and got on the next plane home, but something in me snapped.” He looks away, swallowing a hard gulp. Suddenly I remember what Grace had told me that morning after the reunion , after my first night with Noah, after the phone call to Declan. If you love something let it go…It takes a real man to be that understanding.
“But you sat back and just let this happen. You never said a word about it when you came back…you moved out and let me move on. I thought you were done so I…Noah…” Poor Noah. I look over my shoulder to gage his perception of all of this. At least Grace has the brains to try and keep him occupied by cursing about the way the manager handled things. When I turn my attention back to Declan, everything is becoming painfully clear. “How was I supposed to know you wanted me all this time?”
Declan cups my face in his blood-stained hands. “Mia, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve never stopped. And I know this is all my fault because I fucked up, but…I’ve only ever wanted you, babe. You’re my first, my last, my everything.”
“You’re quoting Barry White, Dec. Was that your plan? Wow me with this sick tattoo and serenade me with some ‘70s R&B?” I know it’s no time for a joke, but I can’t help it. We could use some laughter to break up all the tension.