Chapter 6
Chapter Six
SUTTON
We sneak into the house like teenagers breaking curfew.
The living room is dark. No sounds from upstairs. Everyone must be asleep.
Declan takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. We slip into his room, and he locks the door behind us.
For a moment, we just stand there in the darkness.
"I should take a shower," he says. “I’ve got to stink.”
“I don’t mind.”
He sits on the edge of his bed. "Come here."
I make my way over in the dark and sit beside him. Our shoulders touch.
“We should maybe talk,” he says. “I don’t want you to think it’s all about sex. I love sex with you, and I’m dying to be inside you again, but I want you to know it’s so much more than that.”
He’s right. We have to be mature. I want a real relationship with him, and that means actual communication. I need to be honest, even if it makes me uncomfortable.
"That photo—it triggered every insecurity I have about not belonging in your world."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—" I try to find the words. "Bree looks like she belongs with you. She dresses right. Acts right. Knows all the right people. She looks like someone you might take to one of your fancy parties or dinner with your father."
"I don't care about any of that."
"But you should. Or you will eventually.
" My voice cracks. "When you go pro, you're going to be surrounded by people like Bree.
People who grew up with money and who know how to navigate that lifestyle.
And I'm going to be—what? The girl who makes just enough money to buy a used car and lives in a tiny apartment.”
Declan is quiet for a long moment.
Then he reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp.
The sudden light makes me blink.
"Look at me," he says gently.
I do.
His eyes are intense. Serious.
"I was oblivious to Bree's manipulation," he says. "I never saw her as a girlfriend. I didn’t see her at all. She’s like window decor. Curtains. She’s just there looking pretty and serving a purpose. I have never seen her the way I see you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means when Bree walks into a room, I barely register it. But when you walk in?" He cups my face. "Everything else disappears. You're the only person I see."
Tears prick my eyes. "You're just saying that."
"I'm not." He strokes my cheek with his thumb. "I notice everything about you. The way you bite your lip when you're thinking. How you scrunch your nose when you're annoyed. The specific shade of blue your eyes turn when you're happy."
He’s going to make me cry. Happy tears, but I’m so tired of water leaking from my eyes.
"You think you don't fit in my world? Sutton, you are my world. Everything else is just noise."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly.
"It's not that simple," I whisper.
"Why not?"
"Because money matters. Lifestyle matters. I've been feeling like I'm competing with something I can't afford to be."
"You're not competing with anything."
"Aren't I? Your dad has a penthouse in New York.
You eat at restaurants where a single meal costs more than I make in a week.
You wear designer clothes without even thinking about it.
" I wipe at my eyes. "And I'm over here counting pennies to make rent.
Picking up extra shifts to buy textbooks.
Wearing the same three outfits on rotation because that's all I have. "
"I've never cared about any of that."
“I know you don’t, and I love you for that, but I know things will change.
When you're making millions and traveling the world and surrounded by people who speak the language of the rich, then what?
" I stand up, needing space. "What happens when you realize I don't fit?
When you're embarrassed to bring me to team events because I don't know which fork to use or what wine pairs with what? "
"That's never going to happen."
"You don't know that!"
"I do know that!" He stands, too, crossing the room to me. "Because I've seen both sides. I grew up in that world: the penthouses and the private schools and the country clubs. And you know what? It's empty. Superficial. Everyone's trying to impress everyone else. No one's real."
"So what am I? Your rebellion? Your way of feeling authentic?"
"No. You're the person I want to build a life with.
" He takes my hands. "You think I care about expensive restaurants?
I'd rather have pizza on the couch with you.
You think I care about designer clothes?
I care that you steal my hoodies and wear them until they smell like you.
I like that ratty Def Leppard shirt you wear on laundry day.
I love that you save all the ketchup and soy sauce packets and put them in the fridge. "
I roll my eyes. “Everyone has laundry day clothes, and it’s wasteful to throw away ketchup packets. The restaurants can’t reuse them. What happens when those things aren’t cute anymore?”
“You mean when I'm rich and famous?" He laughs bitterly. "Sutton, I don't even know if I want that."
I stare at him. "What?"
"Can we sit? We need to talk about the elephant in the room."
We sit back down on his bed.
"Seattle," I say quietly.
"Yeah. Seattle." He runs his hand through his hair. "We've been avoiding talking about it."
"Because it's complicated."
"It's more than complicated. I don't know if I want to go."
My heart skips. And I immediately feel awful for hoping he won’t go. “Declan, it’s an amazing opportunity. You have to. You need to at least give yourself the chance to see if it’s what you want.”
"Is it my dream? Or is it my dad's dream?
" He leans back against the headboard. "I love hockey.
I do. But the idea of making it my whole life?
Of traveling constantly, having no control over where I live, and dealing with the pressure, the media, and the constant scrutiny? I don't know if that's what I want."
"Your dad would lose his mind."
"He already is.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say. I can’t imagine what I would do if my father didn’t support me.”
“It sucks.”
"Declan, don’t choose not to go to Seattle because of me. You'll resent me eventually. You have to go. You’ll always wonder what could have been."
“I could never resent you, but I get it. I hear what you’re saying. I need you to know—you're not competing with anything. You're not less than anyone. And you absolutely belong in whatever world I end up in because you're the one who makes it worth being in."
I press my forehead against his. "Just promise you’ll never look at me like I'm the scholarship kid who got lucky for a while."
"That's never going to happen."
“I want you to go to camp,” I say. “Please. If you hate it, fine. If you love it, great. But please promise me you’ll at least try.”
"And if I decide I want to sign?"
"Then we figure it out. Long distance. Visits. Whatever it takes." My voice wavers. "I'm not going to be the reason you give up on your dreams."
"Okay. I'll go to dev camp.”
We get ready for bed, falling into the familiar routine we had before everything fell apart.
When we're finally under the covers, he pulls me close.
"Thank you," he says into the darkness.
"For what?"
"For giving me another chance. For being willing to work through this."
"Thank you for writing that letter. For fighting for us." I press a kiss to his chest. "For choosing me."
"Always," he promises. "I'll always choose you."
I fall asleep in his arms, feeling safer than I have in days.