Chapter 5
Chapter Five
DECLAN
Ifeel like an animal. Every one of my senses is on high alert. All the anger and frustration that’s been building all week is coming out in my gameplay.
I get to beat the shit out of players and the puck, and it’s all legal. I know Coach thinks I’m playing better because of the camp over the break. Camp taught me a few things, but this is all raw fury.
That's the only good thing I have to say about the last two weeks. I've been playing the best hockey of my life. Not pretty hockey. Not controlled. The other kind. The kind that comes from having nothing left to protect. I’m not trying to be careful.
Ashton takes a hard hit into the boards.
“What the fuck, Hayes?” He skates toward me. “You couldn’t block that?”
“Oops.”
Yeah, I saw the picture. Actually, I saw the video. My best friend, who encouraged me to end things with my girlfriend, was seen hugging said girlfriend days later.
“Dick,” Ashton mutters.
I skate away. The rest of the game goes by in a blur.
We win by two.
Ashton finds me on the bus ride back, drops into the seat next to mine, and doesn't say anything for twenty minutes. Finally, he exhales and turns to face me.
"I gave Sutton a hug because she was upset," he says. "That's it. Nothing else happened. Nothing else was going to happen. For one, she’s not my type. And second, dude, you’re my best friend. I would never do that."
I stare out the window at the dark highway.
"She loves you," he continues. "That hasn't changed. She's miserable."
I believe him. I do. Ashton's not the kind of guy who goes after his best friend's ex. He's not the kind of guy who lies to my face. But knowing that doesn't make the anger go away. It just redirects it.
"You told me to let her go," I say quietly.
"I never said that."
"You said she was building up to something. You saw it coming, and you didn't warn me."
"Because I didn't know what she was going to do. I suspected she was pulling away, but I didn't know she'd move out while we were gone." He runs a hand through his hair. "And yeah, maybe I should have said something. But would you have gone to camp if you knew she was going to move out?"
No. I wouldn't have. But that's not the point.
"She asked if you got an offer yet," Ashton says and pulls out a bag of Doritos from his bag. He takes a couple and offers me some. I shake my head.
“She asked you, but not me,” I say.
He shrugs. "She wanted to know if you enjoyed Seattle. If it was good for you."
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth—that you kicked ass. That you loved being on the ice." He pauses. "She was happy about it. Like, genuinely happy. Even though it was killing her."
I don't know what to do with that information. Part of me wants to use it as ammunition—see, she does still care. But the other part recognizes it for what it is. Confirmation. She meant what she said. She wants me to go. She's not coming back.
"I'm not mad at you," I say finally. It's true, mostly. "I'm just mad."
"I know."
"She won't talk to me. She won't let me fix this."
"Maybe there's nothing to fix." Ashton's quiet, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe she's right, and you need to let her make this call."
"So what, I just accept it? She gets to blow up my life, and I'm supposed to smile and say thanks?"
"No. You're supposed to feel like shit for a while. And then you're supposed to decide what you want." He looks at me. "Seattle's going to call, Declan. You know they are. And when they do, you need to know your answer."
I lean my head against the window. The glass is cold against my face.
“This is all about convincing me to sign a contract.”
“I didn’t collude with her, but I’m sorry, I think she’s right.”
“Fuck off.”
“Sorry, man. I’m here for you, but you need to look at the bigger picture.”
I close my eyes and let his words sink in. She’s telling me to go. My best friend is telling me.
Maybe they know something I don’t.
We get back to the house at ten. I want a shower and eight hours and silence, in that order.
"Party," Crew announces. "We won. There's a party at Twelve’s. It's already happening. We're just not there yet."
"I'm going to bed," I say.
Twelve is another senior on the team. He lives in a frat house that throws more parties than any other house on campus. It’s exactly why I don’t live in the house.
"No, you're not,” Crew says. “You’re going out.”
"Crew."
"You're not going to bed." He turns around, walking backward toward the stairs, pointing at me. "You've been a ghost for a week. You're going. We’re getting wasted. You're going to let the win feel like a win. That's all. It's not complicated."
"He makes a good point," Pierce says.
"An hour," Holden adds, already heading upstairs. "That's all anyone's asking."
I look at Ashton, who has been suspiciously quiet through all of this.
"Don't look at me," he says. "You're going. We all deserve to blow off some steam.
I go upstairs, shower, change, and come back down. Everyone is ready to go. I think very briefly about just not going back downstairs. What are they going to do, drag me out of the house?
Unlikely.
But I’m sick of wallowing.
The party is already in full swing when we walk through the door. Music pounds through the speakers, bodies fill every available space, and someone's already broken something if the shattered glass in the corner is any indication.
"Shots!" Crew yells over the noise, heading straight for the kitchen.
I follow because what else am I going to do? Stand in the corner and brood? I've been doing that too long. Maybe Crew's right. Maybe I need to let loose and forget the whole thing.
The kitchen is just as crowded as the living room. Crew's already pouring tequila into a row of shot glasses. He hands them out to anyone who holds out a hand.
"To winning," he says, raising his glass.
"To winning," we echo.
The liquor burns going down. Probably should have had a chaser on hand. I grab a beer from the cooler and crack it open, taking a long drink.
Ashton appears at my elbow. "You good?"
"Fantastic."
"That's the spirit." He leans against the counter, watching the chaos unfold around us. A girl is dancing on the coffee table in the next room. "You know what your problem is?"
"I'm sure you're about to tell me."
"You're half-in on everything." He takes a drink of his beer. "You're half-in with hockey. Which means you could only be half-in with Sutton.”
"That's bullshit."
"Is it?" He looks at me. "You loved Seattle. I was there. I saw you. You were lit up in a way I haven't seen in months. Maybe years. And it has nothing to do with your dad or living up to some legacy. It's about you and the game. That's it."
I stare at the label on my beer bottle, peeling at the corner with my thumbnail.
"I'm sorry about Sutton," Ashton continues. "I really am. But at some point, you have to stop using her as an excuse not to choose. You have to actually make a decision about what you want your life to look like."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"Too bad. You need to hear it." He straightens up. "Seattle's going to call. When they do, you need to know your answer. Not the answer you think you're supposed to give. Not the answer that makes everyone else happy. Your answer."
Crew appears with another round of shots. "Why are we having serious conversations at a party? That's against the rules."
"We're done," Ashton says, taking a shot glass. "Right, Hayes?"
"Right."
We do the shots. Then another. The liquor is doing its job, making everything softer around the edges. The music gets louder, or maybe I just stop caring about the noise. People keep coming up to congratulate us on the win. I accept high-fives and nod at things I'm not really listening to.
I want to get drunk. I want to forget about the way Sutton looked at me on the quad, like she'd already moved on. I want to forget that I'm supposed to be making life-altering decisions when I can barely get through a day without wondering what she's doing.
"Another?" Crew asks, holding up the bottle.
"Yeah," I say. "Another. And don’t stop. Just make sure I drink some water before bed.”
Crew grins. “I got you.”
I’d regret it in the morning.
I didn’t care.