Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
SUTTON
The front door opens, and the guys walk in. They all look a little rough, but they have that glow that you can only get in some tropical location.
“I’m going to bed,” Crew mutters. “My head is pounding.”
Pierce and Holden grunt something similar.
I try not to laugh.
“Little too much sun?” I tease.
“Little too much of everything,” Holden says.
“I’m going to crash for a few, and then I’ve got to do the grocery run,” Ashton says.
I feel guilty because I didn’t do the run. But it wasn’t my turn, and taking four days off definitely put a dent in my checking account.
My eyes go to Declan.
He looks rested. Happy. Everything I'm not.
"Hey." He drops his bag and crosses to me.
"Hey." I let him pull me into a hug.
He smells good. There’s a hint of the cologne he always wears and maybe a hint of cigarette smoke. I blame the airport. Brushing elbows with smokers. His arms are solid around me. Safe.
I hate that I'm about to ruin this.
"You okay?" He pulls back to look at me. "You texted me and said you wanted to talk. Had me worried."
"I'm fine. Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."
His eyes search mine. "When someone says they need to talk, that's never good."
"It's nothing bad. I promise." The lie tastes bitter. "I just missed you. Wanted to see you."
He doesn't look convinced but doesn't push. "Want to go for a walk? I've been sitting on a plane all day."
"Yeah. That sounds good."
We walk to the park a few blocks away. The November air is cold. A few kids are playing on the playground. An older couple walks their dog past us.
Normal Saturday things. Like our lives are normal.
"Tell me about Miami," I say.
His face lights up. "It was perfect, exactly what I needed. Beach, sun, absolutely zero responsibilities."
"Sounds nice."
"It was. Pierce got the worst sunburn I've ever seen." He's smiling as he talks. Animated. Happy.
I haven't seen him this relaxed in weeks.
"I'm glad you went," I say honestly. "You needed it."
"I did. Though I missed you." He takes my hand. "Kept wishing you were there."
The words make my chest ache.
"How was Thanksgiving with your dad?" he asks.
"Good. Quiet. Just the two of us." I don't mention the conversation. The hard questions. The realization that I'm not willing to sacrifice what he is.
"I'm sorry I didn't come. I should have met him."
"It's okay. There will be other holidays."
Will there? I don't know. But I can't say that.
We walk in silence for a moment.
"So," I finally say. "Dev camp. You ready?"
He stops walking. "Actually, yeah. I am."
"You decided to go?"
"I did. I talked to Ashton about it in Miami. He basically said the same thing you did."
“Good,” I say. “Really good. I’m glad you’re taking the opportunity.”
“I figure I need to get it over with. See what happens." He starts walking again. "Part of me is terrified I'll get there and realize I don't want it. I've spent my whole life working toward something I don't actually care about."
"And the other part?"
"I’m terrified I'll love it.”
I laugh. “I don’t think you need to be afraid of loving it. I don’t understand why you’re terrified.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid I'll get there and realize this is exactly what I want. And then I'll have to figure out what that means for us."
The honesty stings.
But I’m glad he’s saying it and not me. But it sucks because it means we’re both seeing this thing through clear eyes.
We let his comment hang between us. We don’t have to talk about it. We know. We just know.
We complete the loop around the park and head back to the house.
"Want to make dinner?" Declan asks. "I'm starving, and the airport food was terrible."
"Sure. What do you want?"
"Anything. I just want to be in the kitchen with you doing normal couple things."
So we make pasta. Nothing fancy. Just spaghetti with marinara and garlic bread. We move around the kitchen in that familiar dance we’ve perfected over the last few weeks.
Normal. Easy. The way it used to be before everything got complicated.
"I like this," he says as we sit down to eat at the kitchen table.
"What?"
"This. Us. Just existing together without all the drama." He twirls pasta on his fork.
"Me too,” I murmur.
But even as I say it, I know it's not sustainable. Normal requires stability. And we don't have that, not with all the unspoken things sitting between us.
After dinner, we clean up together. Load the dishwasher. Wipe down counters.
"Want to watch something?" he asks.
"Actually, I'm kind of tired. Long week."
"Yeah, me too. Miami was fun but exhausting." He takes my hand. "Bed?"
We go upstairs to his room. I grab clothes from my dresser to change into—a tank top and sleep shorts. He changes into boxers and nothing else.
We climb into bed, and he pulls me against him, my back to his chest, and his arm around my waist.
"I missed this," he murmurs into my hair. "Just holding you."
"I missed it, too."
His hand slides under my shirt, resting on my stomach. Not sexual. Just intimate. Connected.
"Sutton?" His voice is quiet in the dark.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay? You've seemed—I don't know—off."
"I'm fine. Just tired. Lots on my mind."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really. Not tonight."
He's quiet for a moment. "Is it about us?”
"It's not about anything in particular. I'm just trying to deal with everything that's happened." I turn in his arms to face him. "But I'm okay. I promise."
He searches my face in the dim light.
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"
"Of course."
Another lie. They're getting easier.
"Okay." He kisses my forehead. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
The words are true even if everything else feels like a lie.
He holds me closer, and I press my face into his chest, breathing him in.
This might be one of our last nights like this before everything changes.
I should tell him. Should be honest about the housing application. About my doubts and the conversation with my dad.
But I can't.
Not yet.
Not when he's holding me like this. Not when we're finally having a moment of peace. I know the truth will shatter everything. We have a few weeks. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying each other and being happy for a few weeks.
So I stay silent.
I let him hold me. Let him believe we're okay. Let him think this is sustainable.
Because the alternative is having the conversation I'm not ready for.
"Goodnight," he whispers.
"Goodnight."
I lie awake long after his breathing evens out into sleep.
His arm is still around me. He’s holding onto me like he’s afraid I might escape.
But I'm already halfway gone.
His arm tightens around me in his sleep, like he can sense me pulling away even unconsciously.
I close my eyes and try not to cry.
Because I love him. God, I love him so much.
But love might not be enough.
My dad was right. I can't ask him to sacrifice everything while I sacrifice nothing.
And I'm not willing to sacrifice my carefully planned future.
Not even for him.
The realization makes me feel selfish. Heartless. Like I'm the villain in our story.
But I also know it's honest.
I decide I'll tell him after dev camp. Let him focus on that opportunity without worrying about us. Then when he gets back, I'll tell him about the apartment I hope like hell I get. I cannot be under the same roof with him. It’s clouding both our judgments.
After camp, and with me not sharing a bed with him every night, we’ll be able to figure things out.