Chapter 5
Chapter Five
SUTTON
Ihear his truck pull up outside.
I've been sitting on the couch for the past hour. I called in sick to work. I’m making all kinds of irrational decisions today. His father thought I was the bad influence, but I had to question that. I had never ditched practice or work because of boy trouble.
Now, two in one day.
I was going to screw things up if I didn’t get my head straight.
The front door opens, and Declan walks in.
His hair is a mess, and his jaw is clenched tightly.
I don’t know where he’s been all day. I texted “hi” a couple of times, but I didn’t want to hound him.
Part of me hoped he and his father were talking things out, but looking at him now, I know that’s not the case.
"Hey," I say softly.
"Hey." He closes the door and leans against it.
I stand up and cross to him. "Are you okay?”
He nods and wraps his arms around me. I hug him, holding him tightly.
“I went for a drive. Ended up at that lake we used to go to.”
“Yeah?”
I wait for him to tell me more. It’s killing me, but I won’t push. This has to be his choice.
“I told him to leave us alone,” he says.
“I’m guessing he didn’t just accept it.”
“I didn’t give him a choice.”
He pushes off the door and moves past me into the living room.
I follow him. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." He sinks onto the couch. "You didn't do anything. This is all him. His manipulation. His control issues. His inability to see people as anything other than assets or liabilities."
I sit beside him and take his hand. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For even thinking about the money. For letting his words get in my head. For making you have to choose between your father and me."
"You didn't make me choose anything. He did that when he showed up at our house trying to bribe you." He squeezes my hand. "And don't apologize for considering the offer. I get it."
"Do you?"
"The money is real. The job opportunity is real. The security it would provide is real." He looks at me. "I can't really understand what it's like not to have money. I was raised with it. Never had to worry about paying bills or making rent or choosing between groceries and gas."
"It's exhausting," I admit quietly. "Always calculating. Always worrying. Always one emergency away from disaster."
"I know. And I wouldn't judge anyone for what they'd do to have that security." He brushes his thumb across my knuckles. "Especially someone like you who works so hard for everything."
"But I shouldn't have even considered it. Not for a second."
"You're human. He made a persuasive offer designed to hit exactly where you're vulnerable." He pulls me closer. "That's what he does. He finds people's weak spots and exploits them."
We sit in silence for a moment.
"What happens now?" I ask. "With your father?"
"I don't know. He said that I'm making a mistake I'll regret.” He leans his head back against the couch. "He's probably right."
"About what?"
"All of it. The career. The opportunities. The future he's been building."
"I’m so sorry.”
"I told him I was done. That I no longer wanted his help. His connections. His support." He looks at the ceiling. "So, I guess I figure things out on my own now."
My stomach drops. "What about your financial support? For school? For living expenses?"
"I have a trust fund my grandfather set up. I haven’t touched it.
I was given full control of it at eighteen, but my dad has always handled things.
" He shrugs. "It would have doubled with my father's contributions, but I'll be fine. And when I say I’ll be fine, I mean I might have to think about a Maserati instead of a Ferrari. "
I laugh because I honestly have no idea what that means. Both are luxury cars, and neither is anywhere near my price range. “Oh, the horror.”
“Exactly. I’m fine. It’s never been about the money for me. I know that sounds terrible given your situation, but trust me when I say money isn’t everything. It’s a lot, but it can’t buy me this.”
I feel tears welling, but I’m not going to cry.
“Okay. Well, you have me. I’ll teach you all the ways to survive being poor. The twenty thousand different ways you can elevate ramen noodles.”
He cracks a smile. “I’m not poor, but I look forward to the education.”
“When you’re at camp, you’ll appreciate my culinary education.”
His jaw tightens. "I'm not going to dev camp."
"What? Why not?"
"Because my father arranged it." He stands up and starts pacing. "It's all tainted. Every opportunity. Every door he opened. It's all part of his agenda."
"But it's still your opportunity. Your talent got you there."
"Did it? Or was it his manipulation? His string-pulling?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I don't even know anymore. I don't know which parts are real and which parts are just him controlling my life."
"Declan, you're an incredible hockey player. That's not your father. That's you."
"I don't even know if I love hockey or if I just love it because I'm supposed to."
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I? How would I know? I've never been allowed to figure out what I actually want. Everything's been decided for me since before I could form complete sentences."
I stand and cross to him. "When you're on the ice, do you enjoy it?"
He hesitates. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do. I've watched you play. I've seen your face when you score, when you make a perfect pass. When the team wins." I squeeze his hands. "That's not an obligation. That's not your father's agenda. That's genuine joy."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Definitely." I pull him to sit back down on the couch. "Look, I get that you're angry. I get that you want to reject everything associated with your father. But don't throw away something you love just to spite him."
"I don't know what I want," he says. "And that's the problem. I should know. I'm twenty-two years old. I should have some idea of what I want my life to look like. But I don't. Because every time I try to figure it out, I hear my father's voice telling me what I should want."
"Then maybe you need time to figure it out without his voice in your head."
"How long is that going to take?"
"I don't know. As long as it takes." I lean against him. "But don't make permanent decisions right now. Not when you're angry, hurt, and feeling betrayed."
"The dev camp coordinator needs an answer by Friday."
"Go to camp and see how it feels. Make the decision after you have more information."
"I don't want to go if my father arranged it."
"Did he arrange it? Or did he just put in a good word?" I turn to face him. "Because there's a difference. You have the talent. Maybe he opened the door, but you're the one who has to walk through it. You're the one who has to prove you belong there."
"But every time I'm there, I'll be wondering if I deserve it or if it's just his connections."
"Then prove you deserve it. Play so well that there's no question." I cup his face. "Don't let him take hockey away from you. Not if you actually love it."
"What if I don't love it? What if it's just a habit? Just the path of least resistance?"
"Then you'll figure that out. But at least you'll have tried. At least you'll know for sure instead of wondering for the rest of your life."
He leans his forehead against mine. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise. You just haven't been paying attention."
That gets a small smile. "Fair point."
"Don't decide about dev camp right now," I say. "Give yourself time. Talk to Coach. Talk to the guys. Figure out what you actually want without the pressure of your father looming over everything."
"And if I decide I don't want to go?"
"Then you don't go. But make that choice because it's what you want, not because you're trying to prove a point to your father."
"You make it sound so simple."
"It's not simple. It's incredibly complicated. But the core of it is simple—do what makes you happy. Do what makes you excited to get out of bed in the morning."
"You make me excited to stay in bed."
"I'm flattered, but you know what I mean."
“I do.” He sighs and leans back, closing his eyes.
“I can’t pretend to know what he’s going through. I’ve always known what I wanted. I’ve always had a plan, and it’s mine. My father supported me but never directed me.”
“Don't confuse his manipulation with your own talent and passion,” I say, patting his muscular thigh.
"You're very good at pep talks."
"It's one of my many skills." I kiss him softly. "Along with making you see reason when you're being stubborn."
"I'm not stubborn."
"You're incredibly stubborn. It's genetic, apparently."
He laughs.
"Thank you," he says.
"For what?"
"For not taking the money. For not leaving. For being here, even though my family drama is a nightmare."
"Your father is a nightmare. You're just dealing with the fallout." I rest my head on his shoulder. "And I'm not going anywhere. Even if he offers me a million dollars and a job at the White House."
"The White House doesn't have a forensics lab."
"You know what I mean."
"I do." He holds me tighter. "I love you."
"I love you, too.”
He kisses the top of my head. "When did you become the rational one in this relationship?"
"I've always been the rational one. You're the one who punches people and breaks fingers."
"That was one time."
"It was two times if we count the Holden fight."
"We're not counting the Holden fight. That was a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding that resulted in you throwing punches on the ice."
"He started it."
"You're proving my point."
He laughs again. "Okay, fine. You win. You're the rational one."
"Thank you." I sit up to look at him. "Now promise me you'll actually think about dev camp. Really think about it. Not just react."
"I promise."
"And you'll talk to Coach about it?"
"I will."
"And you won't make any permanent decisions about your hockey career while you're angry?"
"You're very bossy right now."
"I'm looking out for you. There's a difference."
"I know." He cups my face. "And I appreciate it.”
I kiss him, slow and deep, hoping he can feel how sure I am. I want him to know I believe in him, that I trust he’ll find his way.
When we finally pull apart, he's looking at me with something like wonder.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing. I just…I don’t want to lose you. You ground me. That little knot of nerves that’s always present relaxes when I’m with you.”
My heart does a little dance in my chest. “I’ll be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”