How Sinners Fight - Eva Ashwood Page 0,11

an edge that looks down on the real elite status rooftop garden. It’s currently empty, and I’m glad. I want us to have this moment just to ourselves.

“I found this spot the other day when I was poking around. You were asleep,” he adds.

I grin. Of course Declan was poking around, looking for places like this.

He sits down with his feet hanging over the edge and pats the spot next to him. I sit too, tucking my stupid hospital gown around my legs to ward off the slight chill in the air. As I settle in, my slippered feet dangling next to his, he pulls a small bag out of his pocket and quickly rolls a joint. He produces a lighter next, then hands both items to me, presenting them with a flourish. I laugh as I take them.

With the joint tucked lightly between my lips, I flick the lighter and take a long drag. The smoke fills my lungs, and I tilt my head back a little as I hold it before exhaling.

I pass the joint and the lighter back to him. “Thanks.”

I needed this.

“Yeah, of course. Not a problem, Soph.”

Declan looks out at the endless blue sky, his gaze going slightly distant, and for the next couple of minutes, we pass the joint back and forth between us, sitting in silence. The restlessness that’s been lingering in me for the past couple of days slowly fades until I’m left with just the feeling of his thigh against mine, his fingers brushing against mine every once in a while.

What would I do without him?

I don’t know what I’d do without any of them, honestly. They’ve changed my life so much that it’s almost hard to remember what it was like before they were a part of it. Or maybe I just don’t want to remember.

What would’ve happened if I fell down stairs the first week of school?

No one would have been there to help cover the bills, that’s for damn sure. And more than that, no one would’ve been there to watch over me, to hope that I’d wake up and to keep me company when I did.

This—this moment right now—means more to me than the money. It means fucking everything.

When Declan starts humming a tune under his breath, a small smile plays at the corners of my mouth. I know his singing is a side of himself he doesn’t show many people, and I count myself lucky to be one of the few.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” I say, glancing at him. “Is it new?”

His shoulder bumps into mine. “Something I wrote recently.” He gets the little half smile on his face that only comes out when he’s talking about his music, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks.

“You’re writing again?” It’s been a while for him. Or at least, a while since he’s shared anything new with me.

Declan takes the joint from me. “I write when there’s shit to get out of my system, you know?” His hand slows, pausing with the joint halfway to his lips. “Just like you paint to get those things out. I had some things that were… making me a little fucked up on the inside.”

His eyes darken a little as he looks at me, and there’s something about his tone that betrays more than just his words do.

He was worried.

About me.

I suck in a breath. “Yeah? Stress and stuff?” I don’t trust myself to say anything more than that.

“Yeah.”

I don’t know how to deal with the warmth that blossoms in my chest at the realization that he cares more than he’s letting on. It makes my heart ache in a good way, and that pleasant thrum scares the fuck out of me.

“Could I hear it?” I ask, instead of lingering on what exactly it was that was fucking him up. “The words?”

He doesn’t respond, just passes the joint back to me and starts… singing. Almost a little shyly at first, but as he grows confident, his deep baritone sends chills down my spine. He catches my gaze as he sings, and I know he’s not giving me the raw version, the version where he lets himself completely feel all of the words he’s saying, but I can still feel every emotion, every pulse of his heart in the lyrics.

His voice dies to a hum again, his song coming to an end as a smile creeps over his face. It’s an almost boyish look on his face, and it’s one of the