Chapter 6
Chapter Six
DECLAN
Aweek.
It's been a week since I walked out of my father's hotel suite—seven days of radio silence. No calls. No texts. No passive-aggressive emails.
Nothing.
I check my phone compulsively anyway. Not because I want him to reach out. But because the silence feels wrong. Like the calm before a storm.
He always has the last word. Always needs to reassert control. The fact that he hasn't suggests he's planning something bigger than a phone call.
Or maybe he's actually done with me. Maybe I pushed too far. Said too much. Finally crossed the line he can't forgive.
I tell myself I don't care.
I'm lying.
Not about wanting him to control my life. I meant everything I said to him. But there's this small, pathetic part of me that still wants a father. Still hopes he might call and say he's sorry and he understands. That he’d choose me over his own plans.
He won't. I know he won't.
But hope is a stubborn thing.
Thanksgiving is in three days. I was supposed to go home—to New York and the penthouse—for a big, lavish dinner prepared by a hired chef and stilted conversations over turkey with Dad's business associates, who treat holidays like networking opportunities.
Not happening.
I can't sit across from him and pretend everything is fine. I can't smile politely while he makes passive-aggressive comments about my "poor decisions" and "emotional immaturity."
Mom is in France. Or England. I don’t even know where. She rarely stays in one country for more than a month. She has taken world traveling to an expert level.
I need a new plan for the week. I’m not about to sit around the empty house and mope.
I'm in the kitchen making coffee when Ashton and Pierce walk in, already arguing about something.
"I don't care what you say, Miami over New Orleans any day," Pierce is saying.
"You only say that because you hooked up with that girl from Miami."
"Gentlemen," I interrupt. "What's this about Miami?"
They exchange glances.
"Our annual Thanksgiving trip," Ashton explains. "We've gone the past two years. Beach, bars, absolutely zero family drama."
"Sounds perfect. Can I come?"
"You're supposed to go home," Pierce says.
"Plans changed. My dad and I aren't exactly speaking right now."
Another glance between them.
"Yeah, man, of course, you can come," Ashton says. "We got a house through Airbnb. Right on the beach. Five bedrooms, so there's plenty of space."
"Who's going?"
"Us, Crew, Holden, and usually a few guys from the team. Sometimes girlfriends, but mostly it's just the guys." Pierce grins. "Total escape from reality for five days."
"Perfect. I'm in."
"What about Sutton?" Ashton asks carefully.
"What about her?"
"Are you going to bring her?"
I hadn't thought about it. "I don't know. Is it couples or just guys?"
"Historically, just guys. But if you want to bring her, she’s like one of us anyway."
"Nah, she probably wants to see her dad for Thanksgiving anyway." I pour my coffee. "I'll talk to her about it. But I’m sure she’d rather get away from all the testosterone for a bit."
The truth is, part of me wants space. Not from Sutton exactly. But from everything. From the pressure, drama, and constant weight of decisions I'm not ready to make.
Five days in Miami with the guys sounds like exactly what I need.
The day passes slowly. Practice is brutal—Coach is riding us hard before the break. My finger is mostly healed but still a little stiff. I compensate without thinking about it.
"Hayes!" Coach calls me over during a water break. "You favoring that hand?"
"No, Coach."
"Don't lie to me. I can see it." He studies me. "You going to be ready after break?"
"Yes, sir."
"Better be. We need you at a hundred percent." He pauses. "Everything else okay? You've seemed distracted lately."
"I'm fine."
"You sure? Because if something is going on—family stuff, girlfriend drama, whatever—you need to handle it. Can't have it affecting your playing. Think of me as your camp counselor."
"It's handled."
He doesn't look convinced but lets it go. "All right. Get back out there."
I skate back to the drills and focus on practice.
By the time Sutton gets home after her shift, I'm showered and waiting in my room for her.
I hear her climb the stairs, go into her room first, and then come into mine. She’s still in her uniform but has taken her hair down and kicked off her shoes.
"You look tense,” she says.
"Long day."
She sits beside me, and I pull her close. She smells like French fries and that vanilla body spray she always wears. The combination is weirdly comforting.
"So what's up with Thanksgiving?" she asks.
"I'm not going home."
“Your mom?”
“She’s off eating cheese or something.”
She laughs. “Interesting. You’re welcome to come home with me.”
“Nah. You need time with your dad.”
"So, what are you going to do instead?"
"The guys invited me to Miami. Their annual Thanksgiving trip. Beach house, no responsibilities, total escape."
She's quiet for a moment. "Sounds fun."
"You could come with me if you want. The guys are cool with it."
“Or you could have a normal, low-key Thanksgiving. Nothing fancy. Just me, you, and my dad. Well, my Aunt Gina and potentially a cousin or two."
"I…" I don't know how to say this without sounding like an asshole. "I kind of want to blow off some steam, you know? Just be with the guys. Not think about anything serious for a few days."
Her expression closes off slightly. "Yeah, that makes sense."
"You understand, right? It's not about you. I just…I need to not think for a while."
"I get it."
But her tone says she doesn't really get it.
"Come on, don't be like that."
"I'm not being like anything. I said that I understand."
"You're upset."
"I'm not upset.” She stands up. "I invited you to meet my dad and to spend the holiday with my family, and you'd rather go party in Miami with your friends."
"It's not about partying."
"Isn't it? Beach house. Bars.”
I’m not sure what to say.
She crosses her arms. "Look, it's fine. Go to Miami. Have fun. I'll see my dad. You deserve to let loose. I’m going to shower."
"You're pissed."
"I'm not pissed."
"You're definitely pissed."
“I’m not pissed. Yes, it was a surprise, but I’m not mad. I want you to have fun. I’d love for you to have fun with me, but I get it. Sitting around an old house with my old man isn’t anyone’s idea of fun.”
"I'm choosing not to sit at home and spiral about my father for five days."
“If you’re with me, you’re not alone.”
"I can't do that right now, Sutton. I just need to—exist. Without expectations."
She nods.
"Okay," she finally says. "Go to Miami. Blow off steam. I hope it helps."
The words are right, but the tone is wrong. She's hurt. I hurt her.
"Come here." I reach for her hand.
“I need to shower. I stink.”
I get off the bed and go to her.
"I'm not trying to blow you off," I say. "I'm not choosing the guys over you. I just need a break from heavy shit. From decisions and family drama and all of it."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you seem upset."
"I'm fine, Declan. Really." She leans against me. "Go to Miami. Have fun. We'll do Thanksgiving together next year."
Next year. The words hang in the air like a promise neither of us is sure we can keep.
"You sure you're okay with this?"
"I'm sure." She tilts her head up to kiss me. "I trust you."
Something in the way she says it makes me pause.
"You don't have to worry about anything," I assure her. "It's just the guys. No clubs, no random girls, nothing like that."
"I wasn't worried."
"Yes, you were. A little."
"Maybe a little," she admits with a small smile. "Bree kind of messed with my ability to trust situations I'm not part of."
"This trip isn't about that. It's literally just us being idiots on a beach." I cup her face. "Nothing for you to worry about. Don't you trust me?"
"Of course, I trust you."
"Then trust that I'm going to Miami to decompress, not to do anything that would hurt you or us."
"I do trust you.” She bites her lip. "I guess I'm still a little insecure about everything that happened."
"I know. And I get it. But I promise, nothing's going to happen in Miami except me probably getting sunburned and Crew doing something stupid that we'll have to bail him out of."
That gets a small smile. "He does tend to be the chaos element."
"Exactly. So, I'm really doing this for safety reasons. Someone has to keep him from getting arrested."
"Very noble of you."
"I'm practically a saint."
She laughs, and the tension breaks.
"Okay. Go to Miami. Have your guys' trip. But you have to promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise you'll actually decompress. Not just avoid dealing with your dad and hockey and everything else." She looks at me seriously. "Running away from problems doesn't solve them."
"I'm not running away. I'm taking a break."
"Is there a difference?"
"Yes. Running away is permanent. A break is temporary." I kiss her forehead. "I'm coming back. And when I do, I'll deal with all of it. My dad. Dev camp. Everything. I just need a few days to not think about any of it first."
"Okay. I believe you."
"Good. Now go shower. I’m suddenly craving ketchup.”
She laughs and disappears.
We’re okay.
We’ll be okay. We don’t need to spend every minute together like some couples do. We live together. Go to school together. We’re good.