Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
SUTTON
Ileft right after my last class on Wednesday afternoon, and traffic was already building as everyone headed out for the holiday. My car's heater barely works, so I'm wrapped in my coat, with Red Clay Strays pumping through my crappy speakers.
Declan texted me before his flight: Wheels up. Miss you already.
I smiled and sent a heart emoji, but something still felt off even then.
Maybe it's just that he's in Miami, and I'm driving to my dad's small house in a town that hasn't changed in twenty years. Maybe it's the contrast between his escape and mine.
Or maybe it's the nagging feeling that his choosing Miami over meeting my dad means something I don't want it to mean.
But I’m not going to think like that. The guy has been through hell the last week, and he deserves some downtime. I want that for him. He deserves it.
I just kind of wish I wasn’t one of the things he needed to get away from.
I pull into the driveway just after six and feel that sense of peace that you get when you go home after being away for too long. It doesn’t matter how small or rundown the house is—it’s home.
Dad opens the front door before I even get out of the car.
"There's my girl!" He pulls me into a hug. He smells like Old Spice and coffee with a subtle hint of oil—just like always.
"Hi, Dad."
He pulls back and studies my face. "You look tired."
"Long semester."
"That’s all it is?"
I should know better than to lie to him. He's always been able to read me.
"Yeah. Just tired. Lots of work."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. Not yet.
Inside, the house is warm. “I ordered pizza for dinner,” he says.
That’s our tradition—pizza the night before, as we prepare the side dishes for the big feast.
I put my bag in my bedroom and return to the living room. He hands me a cold beer and a plate stacked with three slices.
He sits in his recliner, and I stretch out on the couch with the quilt my grandmother made more than thirty years ago.
Home.
Comfort.
Belonging.
I feel bad that Declan never got this. I understand a little more why he went to Miami. He doesn’t feel like he belongs anywhere. Maybe one day, he’ll feel like this place is where he belongs—even if it’s only for holidays.
“Tell me about school,” Dad says around a mouthful.
I tell him about my classes, hockey, and work at the restaurant. Safe topics. Things that don't involve Declan's father, bribes, or Miami.
My phone buzzes.
Declan: Made it! Check out this view.
He's attached a photo. Blue ocean, white sand, palm trees. He's shirtless and grinning, with Ashton and Pierce flanking him in the background.
I stare at the photo longer than I should.
"Who's that?" Dad asks.
"Declan. He's in Miami with his friends for the holiday."
"Miami, huh? Nice." He turns back to the stove. "Why didn't you go with him?"
"It's a guys' trip. They do it every year."
He lets it go, but I can tell he wants to push the issue.
We finish our pizza and head into the kitchen to make a few casseroles for tomorrow.
My phone buzzes again.
Declan: Crew already did something stupid. Had to save him from some aggressive seagulls. How are you?
Me: Good. Making green bean casserole.
Declan: Tell your dad I said hi.
Me: Will do. Have fun.
Declan: Miss you.
I set my phone face down and go back to opening cans.
"Boyfriend checking in?" Dad asks.
"Yeah."
"Seems like a good kid.”
"He is.”
"But?"
I frown. “But nothing.”
"I know you, sweetheart, and something's bothering you." He slides the casserole into the oven and turns to look at me. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Okay."
That's the thing about my dad. He doesn't push. He just leaves space for me to talk when I'm ready.
We finish the side dishes, make two pies, and call it a night. I help him clean up before we settle in the living room with more pizza and beer.
My phone buzzes constantly. The group chat I’m in with the guys is apparently very active. They added me shortly after I moved into the house. Usually, it’s just messages about who’s making dinner and who didn’t flush the downstairs toilet.
Tonight, they are sharing everything. I’m not sure whether they want to include me or forgot I was in the chat.
I scroll through the latest round of photos. Declan's laughing at something Ashton said.
He looks happy. Carefree. Exactly what he said he needed.
So why does it make my stomach twist?
"All right,” Dad says. “What's really going on?"
"It's complicated."
“Talk to me. Let me see if I can make it simpler. I’m old. I have wisdom and all that.”
So I do.
I tell him everything. About Declan's father showing up and the money. Quantico. About how I considered it. The fight between Declan and his father. All of it. Every dirty detail.
By the time I finish, I'm crying.
"And I know I should be grateful that he chose me over his father's money and connections.
I know that's huge and meaningful and proves he loves me.
" I wipe at my face. "But part of me wonders if I'm being selfish.
If the right thing to do is walk away. Let him focus on his career without me constantly creating problems."
Dad is quiet for a long moment.
"Can I ask you something?" he finally says.
"Yeah."
"If your dream job at the lab—the one you've been working toward for four years—required you to leave Declan, would you do it?"
I blink.
“You're asking him to sacrifice career opportunities for you, potentially. Would you do the same for him?"
I want to say yes. Love matters more than career.
But I can't.
Because the truth is, I don't know.
If someone offered me my dream job right now—the perfect position, the perfect salary, the perfect location—but it meant leaving Declan?
I want to say I'd choose him.
But I'm not sure I would.
"That's your answer, sweetheart." Dad's voice is gentle. "You can't ask him to choose you over his dreams if you wouldn't do the same."
"But I'm not asking him to give up anything. His father is. And he doesn’t know if hockey is his dream. I’m the one encouraging him to try."
Dad leans forward. "Look, I don't know this boy. But from what you've told me, he comes from a world where connections matter. In that world, who you know is just as important as what you know. By cutting off his father, he's losing that network."
“He’s the one who made that choice.”
“But would he have made that choice if he wasn’t angry at his father for what he did?”
I don't have an answer.
"I need you to really think about this," he continues. "Relationships require balance. If one person is always sacrificing while the other accepts those sacrifices without question, resentment builds. And eventually, that resentment destroys the relationship."
The words devastate me because I know he's right.
What have I given up? Nothing. I keep my job at the restaurant—my plans for the state lab in Boston. My plans for the future aren’t changing. He’s the one considering our future because I won’t move. He’s debating the chance at the NHL because he loves me, and I won’t budge.
"I don't know what to do," I whisper.
"That's okay. You don't have to know right now. But soon. I think you should talk seriously. It's not fair to either of you to keep going if you're not both all in."
I realize I needed the break just as much as Declan did.
And that realization is terrifying.
I head to bed with the weight of the world resting on my chest.
And then I do something I didn’t think I would.
I pull up the university housing website and navigate to the spring semester applications.
Single occupancy apartments. Available for spring move-in.
I start filling out the application.
I need space from Declan. From the intensity of living in the same house. He needs it as well.
Dad was right. I can't keep accepting his sacrifices while making none of my own.
At some point, I have to decide if I’m willing to give up my carefully planned future for this relationship.