Page 13 of Downfall

“I just don’t remember you having such a mouth on you. You didn’t even say the word ‘hell’ in high school.” Lowering my voice an octave, I add, “I kinda like it.”

Skylar ignores my last comment, as she brings her phone back up to her face and starts scrolling. “Fuck!”

I’m guessing she was frantically looking for her phone so she could check if there was a confirmation email for our recent nuptials, which is, I’m sure, what is causing her face to contort in anguish right now.

Of course, I knew what she was doing the whole time. There’s no other reason why Skylar would choose to be within ten feet of me, let alone marry my sorry ass. I knew it the second I uttered those words. She was calling my bluff. Waiting for me to be the first to stop the madness, but doesn’t she remember that I thrive on chaos? I’m not even sure what made me say the words, but they fell out of my mouth so easily, there was no way I could take them back.

I would marry you right here and now if you let me.

I meant it. Every single syllable. Sure, I'd been drinking, but the alcohol didn’t cloud my brain. If anything, it brought me clarity. It was why I brought up what she said when we were teenagers in the first place. The truth is I’ve never been able to get the thought of Skylar, high off her ass, looking up at me with those damn sparkling green eyes and telling me that she wanted to have my babies someday, out of my head. So I said it, and I could see the wheels turning in her head the second I did. I let her go on with the whole charade, thinking she had some insider knowledge, and that she wouldn’t let it get too far. Because the Skylar I knew doesn’t take uncalculated risks. When that screen popped up congratulating us on our marriage, the warmth that ran up my spine was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. She looked up at me like she did all those years ago, but instead of balmy contentment, fear and uncertainty reflected back at me, and then she fell into my arms.

Clearly, she wasn’t expecting it to go through. Or maybe she thought I would stop her at the last second. Either way, it doesn’t change what she said. What we both said.

I do.

“We have to go to the courthouse,” Skylar announces, breaking through my thoughts. Not waiting for a response from me, she turns on her heel and stomps back to her bedroom. It’s not long before her head peeks out from around the door. “Hey, how did you know where I live?” she calls out, her voice slightly calmer now, though still laced with irritation.

“You gave me your address.” It’s not a total lie. She did mumble something that sounded like an address at one point while I was carrying her down the street, but I’ve known where she lives since she moved back from California a few years ago.

A few minutes later, she rushes out of the bedroom wearing wide-leg jeans, a pale blue T-shirt, and her hair tied in a bun with a navy polka-dot bandana around it. Loose auburn waves fall out from the sides, cascading along her cheeks, and all traces of makeup have been wiped clean from her face, making her freckles even more pronounced. “Ready?”

“Skylar, I’m not going to the courthouse.”

Her face falls. “I swear to God, Declan. I will drag you there⁠—”

“Skylar,” I try again.

“No, don’t ‘Skylar’ me. We need to go. The sooner, the better. Maybe they can reverse it. Of course they can. There’s no way this can really be legal.”

“Skylar, look at me.”

“No, you don’t understand. This can’t be happening. How could we have been so reckless? So stupid.”

“Sky.”

“I think I remember that there’s some sort of cooling-off period. Like when you buy a car? Or is that for a house? I can’t remember.”

“Would you just listen to me for two fucking seconds? It’s Sunday. The courthouse is closed.” I hate raising my voice, but I tried the calm approach and she wouldn’t fucking listen.

“Oh my God.” She swipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “I think I’m going to pass out again.”

“Hey, hey. Look at me. You need to breathe.” I reach out to hold her arms steady in case she does fall, brushing my hands against the fabric of her shirt, and for the briefest of moments, she lets me. But then she wrenches away, stepping back and folding into herself like she’s been stabbed.

“Don’t touch me.” She turns back around. “What do you want from me, Declan? Why did you come back last night? You left, and everything was fine, but then you just had to come back.”

“I wanted to see you,” I say honestly.

“You saw me at the ceremony.”

“I know, and I couldn’t stop thinking about your wrist.”

“My wrist?”

“You were hurt.”

“You think you get to care whether or not I’m hurt?”

I don’t answer that because she’s right. I don’t deserve to care. I don’t deserve her. I didn’t back then, and I sure as fuck don’t now. The problem is I’m too damn selfish to let her go.