Crossing The Line 4 (The Avalon Wolves #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

SUTTON

The business card is burning in my hand. Not literally, but it feels like it’s searing into my skin.

I close my fist around it, then shove it deep into my pocket as if that might make it disappear.

It doesn't.

I can still feel it there—a small rectangle of possibility that weighs more than it should.

I go to work on autopilot. My shift passes in a blur of orders and fake smiles.

"You okay?" Jennifer asks during a rare quiet moment.

"Fine," I lie.

She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push.

I pocket a measly three-dollar tip from table seven and head to the kitchen to grab another order.

One hundred thousand dollars.

The number keeps circling in my brain like a vulture waiting for something to die. Maybe it's waiting for my relationship with Declan to collapse under the weight of reality, finally.

Because that's what the money proves, isn't it? That I'm exactly what I've always feared—a liability. A distraction. The girl who doesn't belong in his world and never will.

His father wouldn't be offering me this much money if he didn't see me as a genuine threat to Declan's future. And the sick thing is, he's probably right.

I grab the tray of food for table twelve and plaster on my customer-service smile. The couple barely acknowledges me as I set down their plates.

One hundred thousand dollars could change everything.

All night, I keep doing the math. I owe about twenty thousand in student loans. Scholarships helped, but not enough. I could pay off everything. No more monthly payments eating into whatever meager salary I manage to scrape together after graduation.

That would leave eighty thousand.

I could actually afford a decent apartment in Boston. Something in a safe neighborhood where I don't have to worry about my car getting broken into. Maybe even save for a down payment on a house eventually.

I could stop working these soul-crushing shifts. Stop smiling at people who treat me like I'm invisible. Stop calculating every single purchase down to the penny.

"Excuse me!"

The sharp voice cuts through my thoughts—table nine. A middle-aged man in an expensive suit is waving at me like I'm a dog that needs to heel.

I walk over, my jaw already clenching. "Yes, sir?"

"This steak is overcooked. I ordered medium-rare." He pushes the plate toward me with obvious disgust.

I look at the steak. It's perfectly medium-rare. Pink in the center, just a hint of red.

"I can have the kitchen prepare another for you," I offer, even though I know it's fine.

"You think I have time to wait for another steak? Do you know who I am?"

No, and I don't care.

I grit my teeth. How many times have I had to swallow a smartass retort because I need the job?

Too many.

"I apologize for the inconvenience. Let me see what I can do."

"You should have done your job right the first time."

I want to tell him that I didn't cook his steak. That I'm just the messenger between him and the kitchen. Maybe if he weren't such a pretentious asshole, he'd realize his meal is exactly what he ordered.

But I don't. Because I need this job. Because I need the tips. Because I'm Sutton Webb, the scholarship kid, who has to smile and take it from people like him.

With one hundred thousand dollars, I'd never have to deal with assholes like this guy again.

I could focus entirely on my studies for my last semester and actually enjoy my senior year instead of constantly juggling work, school, and hockey while trying to keep my relationship afloat.

The thought is seductive. Dangerously so.

And correction, there wouldn’t be a relationship to keep afloat. The deal is, I have to dump Declan. I have to move out of the house.

That means I’d lose not just Declan, but all his friends, too. Even my roommates and the guys I thought were my friends.

I take his plate back to the kitchen, where the head cook takes one look at it and rolls his eyes.

"Let me guess. Thinks it's overcooked?"

"Yep."

"It's perfect. Some people just like to complain." He starts preparing another one anyway. "Rich assholes."

Rich assholes who prove exactly why I don't belong in Declan's world.

Because that's what I'll be dealing with forever if I stay with him. His father's friends. Team owners. Sponsors. People who look at me and see exactly what that man at table nine sees—someone beneath them. Someone whose only value is in how well she serves.

And I could never be like them. I couldn’t be like Bree. I don’t want to be.

I lean against the counter, waiting for the new steak, and let myself imagine it for just a moment.

Taking the money. Moving to Boston. Starting my job at the state lab. Building a life that's entirely mine, not dependent on anyone else.

No more worrying about whether I'm good enough for Declan's world. No more feeling like I have to prove myself to people who've already decided I don't measure up. No more being the girl who doesn't belong.

I could just be Sutton. Forensic scientist. Independent. Successful on my own terms.

And Quantico. God, Quantico.

That's not just a job. That's the job. The kind of position that opens every door in forensics. The kind of opportunity that people spend their entire careers trying to achieve.

His father could make that happen with one phone call.

One phone call, and I'd have everything I've worked for since I was sixteen, when I decided I wanted to work in forensic science.

Everything except Declan.

The thought hits me like a punch to the stomach.

The cook slides the new steak across the counter. "Here. Tell him if he doesn't like this one, he can cook it himself."

I manage a weak smile and carry it back out.

The man at table nine barely grunts his acknowledgment when I set it down. No, thank you. No apology for being an ass. Just an entitled assumption that this is what he deserves.

I walk away before I say something I'll regret.

My phone buzzes in my apron pocket. I pull it out during a quiet moment.

Declan: Missing you. Can't wait till you get home.

My heart clenches.

I love him. God, I love him so much it physically hurts.

But love doesn't secure my future. Love doesn't make me any less of a liability to his career.

I think about last night—waking up to his hands on me, his mouth on my skin, and the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

I reflect on how he broke his hand defending me and the way he stood up to his father for me. He continues to choose me, even at a cost to himself.

But what if I'm the one costing him everything?

What if his father is right? What if I'm the reason Declan's losing focus and making bad decisions? I’m the reason he’s jeopardizing the future he's worked for his entire life.

What if the most loving thing I could do is let him go?

I pocket my phone without responding.

Another table needs drinks. Another order needs to be taken. Another smile needs to be forced.

I move through the motions, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.

I'm calculating. Planning. Trying to figure out if I could actually do it.

I could actually breathe. Actually live instead of just surviving.

No more checking my bank account before buying groceries. No more choosing between gas and food. No more panic attacks over unexpected expenses.

Financial security. The thing I've never had. The thing my dad has killed himself trying to give me but never quite managed.

I could take care of him, too. Help him out. Make sure he doesn't have to work himself into an early grave.

The possibilities spiral out in my mind, each one more tempting than the last.

But then I think about Declan's face when he told me he loved me. The way he holds me at night like he's afraid I'll disappear. The way he looks at me like I'm everything.

How do you put a price on that?

Apparently, one hundred thousand dollars and a job at Quantico.

I'm clearing a table when Jennifer catches my arm.

"You're freaking me out," she says quietly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You look like you're about to throw up, cry, or both."

I shake my head. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Boy trouble?"

If only it were that simple.

"Something like that," I manage.

She squeezes my shoulder. "Whatever it is, you'll figure it out. You always do."

But this time, I'm not so sure.

Because this isn't a problem I can study my way out of or work extra shifts to solve. This is a choice that will define the rest of my life, and I have no idea which option will destroy me less.

Take the money, lose Declan, and secure my future.

Or refuse it, stay with him, and spend the rest of our relationship wondering if I'm the anchor dragging him down.

Two days. His father gave me two days to decide.

I have a feeling it's going to be the longest two days of my life.