Savage Rhythm (21 page)

“Hey,” Jim said, waving a hand across Declan’s field of vision. “I asked you a question.”

“What?”

“How’s Bethany?”

Declan was still looking at Molly, which was maybe the only reason he saw her flinch. It was how he felt, too: like a crinkle had just come into an otherwise perfect day. Why would Jim bring Bethany up now? When he knew—or should have known—that Declan couldn’t give him a full answer?

“She’s fine, Jim,” Declan said. “Doing fine.”

“Good,” Jim said, and gave Declan a look. A steely look, the kind Declan used to get when there was something important that he had forgotten. “Didn’t I tell you it’d be fine?”

He had.

Over and over again.

It didn’t change anything. Declan was still going to watch his phone. He was still going to make those calls.

Declan stood up, ready to be back on his own with Molly, ready to be somewhere else—feeling like that for the first time in his uncle’s house.

“We gotta get back,” Declan said. “Baby shower.”

“Yeah, ok,” Jim said, drawing Molly into a big hug. “But you’re not getting out of fishing with me. Can you come the day after your last show at the Garden?”

Molly looked at Declan. “Can we?”

What was he going to do, say no?

~ * ~ * ~

They settled into silence in the car on the way back. Molly told herself it was just as well; she had a lot to think about. She should be thinking about the book, about what she was going to ask Jim, the man who knew more about Declan and Soren than anyone, about whether Jim had been telling the truth about his trooper boyfriend—there was a spare bedroom that didn’t look so spare anymore, which wasn’t really a boyfriend thing—about how she was going to deal with the party tonight at Club Volare.

But all she could think about was Jim asking Declan about Bethany. And how she’d felt that morning, when Declan was inside her.

The two things were not a great combination.

And they hadn’t talked about it yet. Not that she wanted to—God, did she not want to—but Molly kind of figured that Declan might be all over it. And instead he was pensive.

About Bethany?

Molly cringed and mentally tried to slap herself. She had absolutely no right, no right whatsoever, to be jealous. To feel…she didn’t even know what she felt. Hurt? She had no right to that, except of course that she did. Because whatever was going on between her and Declan didn’t feel like it followed the rules. Not his rules, not her rules, not the rules of logic.

Two people supremely in control of their lives, and they’d ended up like this. Who would have guessed?

“Hey,” Declan said. Molly had lost herself in looking out the window as they raced down the Long Island Expressway in the muscle car that Declan had rented. He was right—it was fun to drive, and be driven in. And it was beautiful out there. A clear summer day, sun glinting off the water, sailboats dotting the bay.

“Molly,” Declan said, a note of warning in his voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said. “Just thinking.”

“I bet,” he said, downshifting. There was no traffic, though, no one else out there in the middle of a weekday, so there was no reason to slow down. Declan continued, “So you gonna tell me about the crying this morning?”

“Oh, damn,” Molly said. She’d totally jinxed it.

“Come on, you knew you were going to have to tell me about crying during sex,” Declan smiled. “Don’t even try it.”

“Can I not, though? Really, just this once,” she pleaded.

Declan laughed, then switched to Dom voice, which got a laugh out of her even as it really did pull at her. He said, “No. Tell me. Now.”

She sighed. Fine. No fighting it.

“I don’t totally know,” she said, pulling at some of the stray threads on bottom of her skirt. “It’s just…you make me feel.”

“Feel what?”

“Just…feel. Really
feel
. And every time, it’s overwhelming, and I don’t know what’s going on, and then…I cry. It feels amazing. And it’s kind of terrifying.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. Just worked the muscle in his jaw, his neck. Molly was still looking at him when she realized they’d pulled off the highway, down a short road, and into a little parking area overlooking an old, eroded beach. Theirs was the only car.

Declan pulled up right to the edge of the lot, looking over the ruined remnants of sand dunes, reedy grass, markers telling people not to walk on the dunes. Farther out there were long-legged birds hunting for fish in the shallows, seagulls diving, all of this nature going about its business totally oblivious to the human beings nearby.

It was still, and peaceful, and frightening, because it meant there were no distractions. There was just what Molly had just told him. And whatever Declan was about to say.

He put his seat back and turned to face her, his expression so serious she wanted to laugh because it made her nervous.

But his eyes were kind. Caring.

Worried.

“You enjoy it,” he said carefully.

“I don’t just enjoy it,” Molly said, utterly unable to keep anything from him when he looked at her like that. “It’s…God. I don’t even know what to call it. It’s revelatory.”

Declan didn’t gloat, didn’t preen or anything. He knew what it was already. He just sat across from her, looking like a freaking god, being attentive and understanding.

What was a woman supposed to do to defend against that?

“Then what terrifies you?” he asked.

Oh shit
. She was tearing up again. Again!

“Seriously?” she said, wiping her eyes. “I don’t cry for
years
, and now I’m like…Jesus.”

Declan reached across her to get to the glove compartment, his arm brushing her breasts, and she gasped a little bit. How she could have both reactions to him, emotional and physical, at the same time—it wasn’t fair. Her brain couldn’t process it. Or maybe it was her heart.

“Here,” he said, and offered her a tissue.

She stared at him.

“You brought tissues?” she asked, incredulous.

Now
he smiled. “Of course I brought tissues.”

“You would,” she said, laughing while she wiped away tears.

“Molly,” he said, touching her chin with one finger, guiding her toward him. “Why didn’t you cry for years?”

“Oh boy,” she said. This would take a minute. “I don’t…I guess the short version is that it was all too much. I told you about the…the miscarriage.”

There. She could say it without melting into a puddle of tears. Progress.

“Well, the guy I was with, Robbie, was a real dick. Told everyone I cheated because I was some sex-crazed kinkster, got a new girlfriend, turned his entire crew at the park against me. They…they were pretty hard on me, and then I lost the baby. They still all think I’m a quote unquote cheating slut, still hate me, still treat me like shit. They even started in on Lydia before she left, which is why I don’t…well, it doesn’t matter. I’m getting out of there, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to yourself. You got this job, I didn’t give it you,” Declan interrupted, his voice stern. Then he softened. “Keep going.”

“Well, Robbie made sure I was totally ostracized. I lost the baby, and then…my mom died. All in the same year. Just all this stuff. It was so much loss, all at once, and I just…I don’t know. Shut off. Went hard. Turned to stone.” She shrugged. “It helped. It meant I could work through school and get good grades. And now all I have is this job, and Lydia.”

“When was the last time you heard from her?” he asked.

This surprised Molly, but it shouldn’t have. Of course he’d been paying attention when she’d wandered off with her phone.

Well, there was no prettying it up. Little sisters were little sisters. It wasn’t like Molly was a part of Lydia’s daily life anymore, not with their dad watching over her.

“I got a few texts,” Molly said, looking at her fingers. “But they were kind of bullshit. I know she’s hiding something. It’s just so weird, you know? Like, I don’t care if she’s dating a guy or whatever. I just want to show up at dad’s place the day she turns eighteen with keys to our own apartment and an empty suitcase for her to pack. I just…”

Damn
. The waterworks started again. Molly did her best to hold it down.

She took a deep breath, clenched her fists, and said, “I’m going to do right by her. I am not fucking that up, too.”

“Molly, look at me,” Declan said. His voice was calm, strong. Certain. And his face… Lord help her, but she found comfort there.

He waited a moment, then he fiercely said, “You
never
did anything wrong.”

Why did it sound different, coming from him? Why did it sound weightier, more real?

Why did she want so badly to believe him?

“I know,” Molly said, smiling a little bit. “But knowing that isn’t the same as
knowing
that, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Declan said, running his hand through his sexy ass hair. “Fuck yeah, I know all about that.”

Declan closed his eyes for a good moment, and when he opened them again, he looked at her, clear, calm. Like something had been decided.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he said. “Something I haven’t told anyone besides Jim. Or maybe Soren told Jim, I don’t remember.”

“Wait,” Molly said, taking his hand. She just…she needed to touch him. Needed to feel the calluses, needed to know he felt her, too. Especially with what he was about to do.

She said, “Declan, this isn’t about the book. Honestly. You don’t have to—”

“Quiet,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “Forget about the book. I don’t give a shit, honestly. You can put this in it if you want, but that’s not why I’m telling you. I’m telling you because you’re you. You get that?”

Molly was pretty sure her heart stopped.

“Molly?”

“Yes,” she whispered. His hand was hot in hers.

“I left my mother alone that night,” Declan said, his voice never wavering. “I’d known she was off for at least a week, the way she used to get. I don’t know, she’d be diagnosed with something now, probably. But I was just so fucking tired of it. Twelve years old, and just…done. So I went out with some kids and drank some beers and threw some rocks at shit down by the boat dock back in Ridgeback. Just a stupid night, you know?”

Molly knew what was coming. How could she not? She knew how it ended, knew that sixteen years later the little boy in this story would grow up to be Declan, strong, confident, successful Declan, and yet she couldn’t help but cry for him.

“I found her when I got home,” Declan said. “I tried to carry her to the bathroom, to get some cold water on her, but I couldn’t make it. I was a late bloomer,” he said, as though he needed to explain. “It wouldn’t have helped, probably. She’d taken everything she could find, probably just after I went out, and I was gone all night, so there wasn’t anything anyone could do. She’d been dead for a while.”

“Oh God,” Molly whispered. “Declan.”

“I don’t remember much after that, to be honest. Soren was with me. He was the one who got me out, I think, called the cops.”

Declan paused, frowned. Soren. Soren was still a deep, fresh wound underneath all of those layers of scars. But he pushed ahead, looking up intently into Molly’s eyes, wanting to make sure she heard whatever came next.

“The point is that I blamed myself,” Declan said. “I still…I’ll never not wonder what would have happened if I’d stuck around that night. If maybe she would have cleaned up eventually, or…I don’t know, something. Maybe somewhere down the road. But I know, like you said, that it’s not my fault. But that isn’t even close to
knowing.
”

Molly couldn’t grip his hand tightly enough. She kept thinking to something he said back in Springfield, when she’d asked him why it was his job to calm the crowd—he’d said it was his job because he could do it, where others coulnd’t.

She looked at him now, sitting across from her in this rented car, having just shared something so intensely personal in order to make
her
feel better, and wondered.

What kind of man is this?

“You feel responsible for everyone, don’t you?” she asked him.

“No,” Declan said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “Just some.”

This was not a man who would ever let someone in pain slip by him. This wasn’t a man who would wash his hands of a situation, think it wasn’t his problem. He had contracts for his lovers, saying he wouldn’t get involved—maybe that was because otherwise he
always
got involved.

Very quietly, Molly said, “Was Bethany in the hospital for drugs and alcohol? Or something else?”

Declan took a deep breath. He didn’t look upset. In fact, he almost looked…relieved. His eyes sparked a little, his shoulders relaxed, his thumb brushed against the back of her hand.

All he said was, “It’s not mine to tell.”

Molly felt it coming on, that feeling, that drowning, overwhelmed feeling she’d get when Declan tied her up, or coaxed her over an edge, or pushed inside her—except now he was sitting across a car, looking at her with the sense of wonder she felt. She just wanted to be close to him. Closer. Wanted him, for once, to feel the thing he helped her to feel all the time, to not be thinking about any of the people he worried about, to simply get to
feel.

Molly wasn’t thinking about Bethany, or jealousy, or her book, as she climbed over the gearshift. She was just thinking about him. Just looking at Declan as she hiked up her skirt, just wondering if she’d be able to do it, if she could give that release to him, all on her own.

He didn’t move for a moment.

Didn’t seem to breathe.

Then he exhaled long and slow, his hands moving up her thighs, pushing her skirt up around her waist. He never broke eye contact as he fished a condom out of his pocket—she smiled; of course he had a condom—and gave it to her. He was unnaturally still while she put it on him. Like a man held rigid, on the edge of…something.

Molly saw that her own hand was shaking as she let the back of his seat down. While she positioned herself over him. While she slowly, slowly lowered herself down, gasping at the first touch, at the feel of him sliding through her folds, as his erection pushed back at the first resistance from her body. Her mouth fell open, breathing fast. She’d never felt him like this before, looking him in the eye while she slowly sank down around him.