Page 27 of Downfall

“Fine,” she scoffs as I make my way to her front door. “Wait, don’t you even want to know how much I’m going to give you?”

I turn back to her, needing to choose my words carefully. Honestly, I’m set for life. My grandfather passed away this fall, leaving me a large sum of money. Unlike Skylar’s father, my grandfather didn’t require me to jump through any hoops. He also ensured my dad couldn’t touch the money and kept the inheritance hush-hush, so my father doesn’t even know I have it. If there were ever anyone who hated my father more than I did, it was the man whose daughter he brainwashed.

The truth is, even if I didn’t have two pennies to rub together, I wouldn’t want Skylar’s money. That’s not why I’m doing this, but she can’t know that yet.

“I trust you” is what I finally settle on before I yank the door open. I don’t need to stay to see her face and the unspoken words written all over it.

I already know she doesn’t trust me back. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight like all hell to change that.

11

SKYLAR

Declan’s lacrosse hoodie is still bright forest green, having only faded slightly over time. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t wash clothing. At first, I slept in it every night. When I closed my eyes, I could pretend it was him holding me, his hand brushing up against my stomach instead of my own. At some point, I realized that the more I wore it, the more his scent mixed with mine, causing it to fade faster. So I put it away in my closet, only allowing myself to breathe it in after a particularly tough day. Eventually, I left it alone, shoving it in the back of a drawer so I wouldn’t be tempted. Still, it moved everywhere with me. To college, my mom’s house where I lived for a few weeks after I graduated, and then back to Connecticut.

Now, as I stuff it into my suitcase, I can’t help but think about the day he gave it to me, the cruelty of his voice, the words that sliced through my heart.

I jam the rest of my winter clothes in the suitcase. I’ve been up since three a.m., tossing and turning for hours before I finally gave up and started packing. Just the essentials. It’s only six weeks, I tell myself. Then I’ll be back here in my quaint little Main Street cottage with signed divorce papers in my hand and enough money to pay for Dave’s surgery ten times over.

It will all be worth it.

As I’m about to pull a pro wrestling maneuver on my suitcase to get it to zip, there’s a knock at the door.

Abandoning my task, I open the door to a fresh-faced, bright-eyed Declan posted up against the doorframe, legs crossed at the ankles. He’s wearing dark jeans, a gray Henley that covers only a portion of the rose tattoo snaking up the side of his neck, and his signature leather jacket and black lace-up boots. A lock of dyed blonde hair falls into his face, and he shakes it away before taking his lip ring into his mouth and biting until it pops back out.

“Where is your car parked?” he asks.

Not what I was expecting, but it is a valid question. Since I live in the middle of town, I don’t have a driveway and there’s only street parking. I’m about to respond with something snarky when my stomach dips, anxiety working its way up my throat like bile. I was so worried about what it would mean to move in with him that I completely forgot Declan doesn't live downtown. Meaning, I’ll not only have to get into a car today for the first time since the accident, but I’ll have to drive myself to work every day. Not just to work, but to the grocery store, my favorite coffee shop, and physical therapy appointments. I’ll have to actually get my car from my dad’s house where it’s been ever since I drove there for dinner and left in an Uber to go to a party that night. I don’t even go to parties, but I was attempting to live a little. Too bad it ended up costing a life…

One freakout at a time, Skylar. It’s Saturday. I don’t need my car until Monday. All I need to do today is get into a passenger seat. Except that’s exactly where I was when the accident happened. God, why did he have to take off his seatbelt? Why didn’t I see the deer sooner or get my voice to work quicker? Now actual bile works its way up my throat. No, I can’t do it. I’m not ready.

A throat clears, forcing my gaze up and into warm whiskey eyes. “It’s in the shop,” I lie. “If you wouldn’t mind taking my suitcase, I’ll just walk to your house.”

Declan laughs, and it’s surprisingly light with only a hint of a rasp toward the end. He steps around me, walking in the direction of my bedroom like he owns the place.

“What are you⁠—”

Before I can finish my sentence, he has somehow gotten my suitcase closed and zipped and is wheeling it out of the house. “This all you’re taking?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

Ignoring me, he rolls it down the front porch stairs, the wheels thumping on every step. Then he lifts it into the bed of…a white pick-up truck, which I was not expecting. His shirt rises up enough to reveal the dimples encased in his lower back—God help me.

“You have a truck?” I call from the doorway, where I’m clutching my sweater to ward off the cold.

“Nah. I borrowed it from Luke. I just thought…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

I go back inside to grab my purse and jacket, snatching my favorite blanket from the couch before I give my cozy haven one last look. A wave of sadness washes over me, but it’s not like this is a permanent move. I can come back anytime I want. I’ll have to get my mail and make sure my pipes aren’t freezing, though that assumes I’ll get over my fear of driving.

Speaking of which, Declan is idling on the side of the road in front of my house, smoke drifting out from the driver’s side of the truck.

“What’s your address?” I ask when I reach the open window.

“Funny,” he snorts, stubbing out his cigarette in the cupholder. Not sure Luke is going to appreciate that. Or Declan smoking in his truck in general considering he has an infant. I look in the back of the truck. There’s a bunch of tools and some bike equipment, but no car seat. Maybe he only uses it for work. “Get in the truck, Skylar.”

“No. I told you I’m fine walking.”

He runs a thumb over his brow. “I live seven miles from here. You gonna walk seven miles?”