Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
DECLAN
Amber's hand slides down my arm. One of her fake nails scrapes over the top of my hand. I know a seduction. She’s been working pretty damn hard for the last hour. She wants me in bed. I know her from a couple of parties. I don’t remember much about her, and I think that’s the appeal.
She's been talking for the last ten minutes, but I haven't retained a single word. Something about her sorority formal, or maybe it was her spring break plans. I don't know. I don't care.
"You're not listening to me," she says, but she's smiling, like my inattention is charming somehow.
"Sorry. Long night."
"I can help with that." She steps closer, and there's no mistaking what she's offering. Her body presses against mine, all curves and heat and intention. "We could go somewhere quieter."
I should say no. Every part of me knows I should say no. But there's this other voice in my head—the one that's been getting louder since I walked into this party—that says why not? Why the hell not? Sutton moved on. She made her choice. I'm allowed to make mine.
"Yeah," I hear myself say. "Sure."
Her smile widens. Victory. She knows she's won something, even if I'm not entirely sure what game we're playing.
She takes my hand and starts leading me away from the fireplace and the crowd in general.
We're moving toward the hallway. Her hand is gripping mine like I’m a child who might make a run for it.
My chest tightens. I saw Sutton earlier, standing with Keira near the hallway.
I pretended not to notice. Pretended I was too busy with Amber to care that she was here, in the same house and breathing the same air.
I want her to see that I’ve moved on. She didn’t destroy me.
But she's gone now. Probably left after watching Amber’s little display. I could have stopped her, but when I noticed Sutton noticing, I let it happen.
Petty? Yes. Do I care? Nope.
Amber pulls me down the hallway, past groups of people who are too drunk to notice us.
The music is still pounding, but it's getting quieter the farther we walk.
She's navigating this house like she knows exactly where she's going.
Maybe she does. Maybe this isn't her first time leading a guy away from a party.
Hell, I know it isn’t the first time. Again, I don’t care. I don’t want to marry the woman. I’m not going to ask her for her number.
"There's a room upstairs," she says over her shoulder. "Or we could find somewhere down here."
Yep, she’s been here before.
I don't answer. I'm on autopilot, letting her pull me along because it's easier than thinking. Easier than standing still and feeling everything I've been trying not to feel.
We're passing an open doorway when I hear it.
Laughter. Her laughter.
I stop walking so abruptly that Amber stumbles, looking back at me with confusion. But I'm not looking at her. I'm looking into the pool room.
And there she is.
Sutton. Bent over the pool table, lining up a shot.
And behind her—way too fucking close behind her—is some guy with sandy blond hair and a smile that makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
His hand is on her lower back. He's leaning over her, supposedly showing her how to hold the cue, but I know that move. Every guy knows that move.
And I know for a fact that Sutton Webb knows how to shoot pool. Her dad taught her when she was twelve. She's told me the story a dozen times.
My blood practically boils. All the anger and hurt boil over.
"Declan?" Amber's voice sounds distant. "Are you okay?"
I drop her hand and walk into the pool room.
The couple making out in the corner doesn't notice. The guys watching the other pool game glance up, then look away. They know me. Everyone knows the dirty details of my relationship with Sutton.
One of the guys playing pool pales. I know him. He’s on the JV team. He knows me and witnessed my temper earlier in the week.
Sutton straightens up, turning toward me. Her eyes go wide. The guy behind her—Connor, I think his name is—steps back, but not far enough.
"Having fun?" My voice comes out cold. I sound casual. But inside, I'm anything but cool or calm. My body is vibrating with my anger.
"Declan." She says my name like a warning. "Don't."
"Don't what?" I move closer, ignoring the way my hands are shaking. "Don't interrupt your little tutorial? Sorry, didn't realize you suddenly forgot how to play pool."
Connor's expression shifts from casual to wary. "Hey, man. We're just hanging out.”
"I'm not talking to you." I don't even look at him. My eyes are locked on Sutton. "What are you doing?"
"Playing pool." Her chin lifts, defensive. "What does it look like?"
"It looks like you're letting some random asshole put his hands all over you."
"I wasn't putting my hands on her," Connor says.
"You don't get to do this," she says, and now her voice is rising, too. "You don't get to show up here with some girl draped all over you like a second skin and then act like I'm doing something wrong."
"That's different."
"How? How is that different?"
"Because I wasn't the one who ended things!" The words explode out of me. The room goes quiet. Even the couple in the corner stops making out. "You don't get to walk away and then act like you're the one who's hurt."
Her face goes pale. "I never said I wasn't hurt."
"You moved out while I was gone. You ghosted me." I'm aware that people are watching now. I don't care. "So forgive me if I'm a little confused about why you're standing here looking at me like I'm the asshole."
"You are the asshole!" Her voice cracks. "You're making a scene at a party because I'm talking to someone. Someone who, by the way, is just being nice to me."
"Nice." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Right. That's what we're calling it."
Connor steps forward. I finally look at him. He's got that expression guys get when they're trying to decide if intervening is worth getting punched. "Maybe we should all just cool down."
"Maybe you should shut the fuck up." I turn back to Sutton. "A week. It’s been a week, and you're already moving on?"
"You practically had a girl's hand down your pants in the living room!"
"She was touching my arm!"
"She was touching a lot more than your arm, Declan. Don't lie to me."
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die. Because she's right. Amber wasn't just touching my arm. And I was letting it happen, planning to let a lot more happen.
"That's what I thought," Sutton says quietly.
Connor puts his hand on her back. “Want me to get you out of here?”
“Touch her again, asshole, and I’ll rip your fucking arm off.”
“Knock your shit off,” Sutton hisses. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel guilty for trying to move on when that's exactly what you’re doing.”
“She’s no one!”
“Hey,” Amber says.
I roll my eyes. I wasn’t even aware she had come in. She’s standing right beside me.
“We’re done, Declan,” Sutton whispers. “We’re both moving on.”
"By hooking up with the first guy who shows you attention?"
Connor moves. Steps in front of Sutton like he’s protecting her from me. The move pisses me off, and the last little hold on my temper snaps.
I swing.
My fist connects with Connor's jaw before I even register that I've moved. The impact sends a shock up my arm, but I barely feel it. My broken finger feels like I just snapped it in two.
I don’t care. All I feel is rage. It drowns out everything else.
Connor stumbles back, his hand going to his face. "What the fuck?"
He recovers faster than I expect and comes at me. His fist catches my cheekbone, snapping my head to the side. The pain is sharp and immediate, but it clears something in my head. Good. I want to feel something other than this emptiness.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tell myself not to mess with lacrosse guys. Dude’s a hell of a fighter.
I tackle him. We crash into the pool table, sending balls scattering across the felt. Someone's screaming. Multiple people. I get another hit in, this one to his ribs. He grunts and shoves me back, his elbow catching my temple.
"Stop it!" Sutton's voice cuts through the chaos. "Both of you, stop!"
But I can't stop. I don't want to stop. Connor throws another punch that glances off my shoulder. I grab his shirt and slam him against the wall. His head hits the plaster with a satisfying thud.
Then, hands are on me. Multiple sets of hands, pulling me back. I fight against them, but there are too many of them. Ashton's voice is in my ear.
"Declan. Declan, stop. You're done."
I'm breathing hard, my chest heaving. Connor's being held back by his teammates, blood trickling from his nose. His eye is already starting to swell.
And Sutton is standing in the middle of it all, staring at me like she doesn't recognize me.
"What is wrong with you?" Her voice is shaking. Not with fear. With fury. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
“He put his hands on you.”
"I don't care!" She steps closer. “You don't get to do this. You don't get to throw your life away because you're angry. He touched my back. Are you going to punch out everyone who touches me?"
"I'm not throwing anything away."
"Yes, you are!" She gestures wildly at Connor and the room.
People are staring at us with their phones out.
"You think Seattle's going to want you when videos of you brawling at a party show up online?
You think Coach is going to let this slide?
You're going to ruin everything, Declan. Everything you've worked for."
She pushes past me.
“You’re such an idiot,” she hisses. “Ashton, get him home. Sober his ass up.”
And then she’s gone.