Page 112 of The Endless Want

“No, she’s not,” Declan mutters beside me, adjusting the strap on the lightweight pistol belt I’m allowed to use only during training sessions. “She barely slept last night.”

I glare at him. “I slept fine.”

“You snored.”

I blink. “I did not.”

Nadia snorts. “Oh, this is going to be fun today. Ailish, honey, he’s nesting.”

“I am not nesting,” Declan snaps, indignant, which only amuses them more.

“Yes, you are,” Mackenzie says with a grin. “You’re treating her like she’s made of eggshells instead of being one of the more competent people in this whole damn place.”

He grunts like he’s being personally insulted by the truth, but his hand moves instinctively to my lower back, steadying me as I lower myself onto a mat. The instinct is what gets me—it always does. He’s rough and sharp-edged with everyone else. With me, right now, he’s something else entirely.

The screen lights up. Ronan appears in grainy detail from wherever Liam has him on assignment, his voice booming through the speaker.

“Alright girls, and whatever category Declan fits into,” Ronan says. “Let’s get to work.”

Nadia laughs outright. Declan mutters something under his breath that sounds half threat, half apology.

The session begins with basic defensive maneuvers—stances, weight shifts, grip adjustments. Nothing too intense since my center of gravity keeps… evolving. Declan hovers like a storm cloud every time I so much as twist, visibly restraining himself from repositioning me like he used to.

Ronan notices immediately.

“Declan,” he says, “if you touch her one more time, I’m sending a drone to slap you.”

Mackenzie nearly collapses laughing. Nadia claps once. It’s a whole event.

Declan grinds his jaw. “I’m not touching her.”

“You’re breathing at her,” Ronan fires back. “Back up.”

I can’t help it—I smile. It escapes me before I can hide it, a sudden warm flicker of something light, something I haven’t felt in what feels like ages. Declan sees it, and even though he tries to keep his expression neutral, some of the tension around his eyes eases.

We move through drills. Mackenzie is precise, focused. Nadia is surprisingly graceful, a quick learner when she stops pretending she’s not paying attention. Declan ends up demonstrating stances beside me, his broad frame blocking half the screen. He’s infuriating and protective and so earnest that I almost want to kick him just to stop the hovering.

At one point, Ronan has us practice dropping to a knee and coming back up—something I can still do, though it takes more concentration.

Declan steps toward me instinctively, hands lifted to catch my elbow.

I shoot him a look. “Declan. I’m pregnant, not geriatric.”

“You’re pregnant with my kid,” he fires back softly.

The room goes silent for a second—not awkward, just… aware. Mackenzie’s eyes soften. Nadia watches us with a strange sort of fondness as she adjusts the safety on her unloaded practice gun. Even Ronan pauses on the screen.

I hold Declan’s gaze. He holds mine. Then I lower myself to one knee slowly, steady, breathing evenly. I rise again without wobbling, without faltering.

He exhales so quietly I almost miss it.

Nadia claps. “Look at her. Stronger than all of us.”

Mackenzie nudges me. “See? You don’t need him hovering.”

“No one needs him hovering,” Ronan says.

Declan flips him off. Ronan flips him off back. The girls cheer.