Page 28 of Downfall

“Yep. Walking is great exercise. Good for the heart.” You know what’s not good for the heart? Declan Astor. Even so, I can’t help the dumb smile that crosses my face. It happens sometimes when I’m nervous and don’t know what else to say.

Declan stares at me for a moment like he’s trying to work out a riddle before his lips turn up into a grin. His is anything but dumb. It’s knowing, beautiful, and then in an instant, it’s gone. “I’m not going to ask again.”

Just like that, all of my fear melts, giving way to the beast inside, known simply as rage. “Fuck you,” I spit before turning around and walking down the sidewalk.

The engine of the old truck sputters as he pulls up next to me, matching my pace, which is a brisk walk at this point.

“Skylar.”

“I’m not getting in that truck.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, Declan. Maybe because that’s where I’ve decided to draw the fucking line. I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as you for the last six years and now suddenly we’re married and moving in together? It’s a lot.”

He sighs. “I know.”

I stop, my chest burning from sucking in cold air, sweat sticking to the skin beneath my thick wool jacket. Looking down at my slush-covered boots, I curse the heavy, stiff soles that are already blistering my heels. There’s no way I’m making it seven miles. Plus, I don’t even know where he lives.

Without giving myself time to back out, I rip open the passenger-side door and climb into the truck. I immediately put my seatbelt on, checking to make sure it’s tight enough. Declan’s gaze is like a bolt of electricity. I can feel it pulsing between us before he turns and pulls out onto the street. All the while, my heart is thrumming behind my ribcage, threatening to beat clean out of my chest. Whether it’s from the tension or my fear of being in a car, I honestly can’t say, but as we turn onto the next road, the feeling slowly dissipates.

By the time we enter one of the wealthier neighborhoods in Emberfield, my breathing is almost back to normal. The car ride is silent but not entirely unpleasant. I tell myself it’s because I faced my fears and not because Declan’s soft humming and the way he taps his fingers on the wheel are strangely comforting.

We’re turning onto another back road lined with maple trees when out of the corner of my eye I notice a rustle in the bushes, like there’s an animal behind them. My hackles immediately rise, my mouth going slack as my voice fails me. “D-declan,” I finally manage to grit out as he rounds the corner.

He looks over as fear floods my insides. “Skylar?”

“D-don’t take your eyes off the r-road,” I stutter, my breath coming in ragged spurts.

Checking his rearview mirror, he pulls off onto a dirt patch on the shoulder. “Hey, hey. Look at me.”

I don’t. I can’t.

“Skylar.” Something warm brushes against my back, and I realize it’s his hand. “Can you breathe with me?”

I shake my head, and he leans in closer, rubbing circles on my back.

“Just try it. In…” He inhales deeply. “And out.” He exhales, his hot breath fanning across my cheeks.

Finally, I look up, mimicking his breathing, gulping a deep lungful of air before blowing it back out. We do this a few more times until my heart slows and my shaking hands finally go still.

“I’m sor—” I start to say, but he immediately pins me with a look. “I haven’t been in a car since the accident,” I admit instead. He nods. No judgment, no questions, just a nod. I shouldn’t care that he hates when I apologize. I shouldn’t remember that he used to make me say three things I wasn’t sorry for every time I did, and I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about what my answers would be.

Because right now, despite my panic attack and the fact that I shouldn’t want to be anywhere near him, I’m not sorry I got in this truck.

12

DECLAN

She’s still a little pale by the time we walk into my house, but she’s not shaking anymore, so that’s good. I’m not sure exactly what set Skylar off, but I could see the panic in her eyes when I pulled off the road. I’m such an idiot. For someone who can read people with my eyes closed, I should have seen the signs.

Her car is in the “shop.”

She wanted to walk to my house.

I thought she was being stubborn, and I was so busy licking my wounds over the fact that I borrowed a whole-ass truck because I thought she would be moving more shit to my house. Like furniture-sized shit. But no, all she had was one suitcase, barely big enough to fit enough clothes for a week-long trip, let alone to move in with someone.

This is all temporary to her.