Page 82 of The Endless Want

He slides in like he’s been getting into my car every morning for years, shuts the door, and studies me with an expression I haven’t seen in a long time. Not anger. Something heavier. Something I don’t know how to accept.

“You look like hell,” he says, voice even.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, though we both know it’s a lie.

“You’re not.” He doesn’t sound judgmental. Just certain. “And that’s why I’m here.”

I tense, waiting for the lecture, the accusation, the order. “If you’re going to tell me I abandoned my post⁠—”

“Declan.” He cuts me off softly. “Stop.” The word lands heavier than a shout. He breathes out, slow, steady, as if choosing every word with care. “I know.”

My heart spikes once. “Know what?”

“About the baby.”

It’s like the world narrows to a pinpoint. I force my voice steady. “Who told you?”

“No one trying to make trouble,” he says. “And before you get twisted up about it—no, I’m not angry with you.”

That stops me cold. “You’re not furious that she’s pregnant with my child?” I ask. “That she didn’t tell you? That she didn’t tell me?”

“I’d be furious,” he admits, “if you didn’t care.”

The words stagger me. I look away, jaw tightening as the pressure behind my ribs grows sharper. “She thinks I’m using her. That I don’t want the baby. That I’m exactly who I was years ago.”

“Well,” Liam says, “you did react like someone backed into a corner.”

“And what would you have done?” I snap, then shake my head, frustrated at myself. “She’s in danger. She’s carrying a target we can’t protect. She—she’s⁠—”

My voice fails.

She’s ours.

Ours and in danger.

Ours and terrified.

Liam doesn’t interrupt. He lets the silence settle until I can bear to speak again. “She thinks I don’t want it,” I say quietly. “That’s the part I can’t stand.”

“She’s scared,” he says. “And she didn’t want to make anything worse.”

“She shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“She didn’t know who to trust.”

My chest squeezes painfully. “She could’ve come to me.”

“You nearly killed a man for following her,” Liam reminds me. “Rightly so. But she knows what your temper looks like when you’re pushed. She was trying to avoid starting a war.”

“I am the war,” I whisper.

“Exactly.”

His gaze softens, and that’s worse than anger. “You and I… we’ve been divided for too long. Distrustful. Distant. And the Russians used that.”

I swallow hard.

“But this?” he says. “This child? This danger?” He shakes his head. “It’s time to pull our heads out of our asses and act like the men we claim to be.”