Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
DECLAN
Iwake up to someone shaking my shoulder and a headache that feels like my skull is being split open with an axe. My hand throbs, and there’s an ache in my ribs.
What the hell?
"Get up."
Ashton's voice. Too loud. Everything is too loud.
I groan and try to pull the pillow over my head, but he yanks it away.
"I told you to get up. You need to see this."
"See what?" At least that’s what I try to say. My tongue feels glued to the top of my mouth. "What time is it?"
"Almost noon. And you need to see what's all over social media."
“I don’t care.”
“You’re gonna care.”
I force my eyes open, immediately regretting it when the light stabs directly into my brain. Ashton is standing over me with his phone. He looks pissed.
He shoves the phone in my face. I close one eye to try to focus on the screen.
It’s a video of the fight. I expected as much.
The videographer got it all, from the first word to the last punch. The whole ugly mess.
"Keep scrolling," Ashton says.
I do. There are more videos. Different angles. Another shows Sutton's expression—the horror and disgust written all over it.
The comments are worse than the videos.
Hayes is losing it.
Dude's gonna blow his NHL shot over some girl.
That lacrosse guy just got his face rearranged.
Guess we know who won the breakup lmao.
There are hundreds of them—maybe thousands. The videos have been shared across every platform.
"Fuck." I drop the phone on the bed and press the heels of my hands against my eyes. "Fuck."
"Yeah." Ashton sits on the edge of my bed. "It gets worse."
"How could it possibly get worse?"
"Someone tagged Seattle's official account. And a bunch of sports journalists. It's making the rounds. People are talking about it, Declan. Not just students. Actual reporters."
My stomach turns. For a second, I think I might throw up, but I swallow it down. "Did Coach see it?"
"What do you think?"
I think I'm screwed. That's what I think.
"He called an emergency meeting," Ashton continues. "Monday morning. Eight a.m. You, him, and the athletic director. You didn’t answer, so he called me. He’s pissed."
"Shit."
"Yeah. Shit." He stands up and pulls at his hair. "That was stupid. You had to go and start a fight with some random lacrosse player because you saw him standing too close to Sutton."
"He had his hands on her."
"I don't care if he was bending her over the fucking pool table. You don't get to punch people, Declan. Not when you're this close to getting everything you've worked for."
I know he's right. I know all of this.
"Get your shit together, Hayes. Because if you don't, you'll lose everything. And I'm not just talking about hockey."
He leaves my room. He’s obviously pissed. Last night is a bit of a blur, but I know he’s right.
My phone is on the nightstand. I grab it with the intention of texting Sutton and starting my apology tour. I see three missed calls from my dad. He left two voicemails.
I don't want to listen to them, but I know I have to.
I press play on the first one.
"Declan. Call me back. We need to talk."
His voice is calm. That's how I know he's furious.
The second voicemail is longer.
"I warned you. I told you this girl was going to ruin your life, and you didn't listen.
You had one job—go to camp, impress the scouts, and come home ready to sign.
But instead, you're getting into fights at parties like some kind of thug.
Do you have any idea what you've done? Seattle is watching.
Everyone is watching. And what they're seeing is someone who can't control himself.
Someone who's not worth the investment. Call me back. Now."
I delete both messages without responding. I can't deal with him right now. Not on top of everything else.
Monday morning comes too fast.
I drag myself out of bed at seven. My face looks like hell. There's a bruise blooming along my cheekbone where Connor got me, and my knuckles are scraped and swollen. My broken finger is probably fully broken now. It's purple and swollen. Nothing I can’t play through.
Ashton drives me to campus. Neither of us says much. What is there to say?
“Good luck,” Ashton says. “Text me when you’re done.”
“I will.”
I walk to his office like I'm walking toward my own execution.
I knock once and push the door open.
Coach is behind his desk. Next to him is the athletic director, a woman in her fifties named Dr. Patricia Reeves, whom I've met exactly twice. She looks no happier than Coach.
"Sit," Coach says.
I sit.
For a long moment, neither of them says anything. They just stare at me as if I'm something they scraped off the bottom of their shoes.
Finally, Coach leans forward. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I wasn't."
"That's obvious."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, Mr. Hayes." Dr. Reeves speaks for the first time, her voice sharp. "You assaulted another student at a party. There are witnesses. Video evidence. The other student's parents are considering pressing charges."
My blood runs cold. "Charges?"
"Yes. Charges. As in criminal charges." She pinches her lips together. "You're lucky Connor decided not to involve the police. Yet. But that could change. And if it does, you're not just off the team. You're expelled."
I feel like I can't breathe. This is worse than I thought. So much worse.
"You're on probation," Coach says. "Effective immediately. One more incident—and I mean anything—and you're benched for the rest of the season. No playoffs. No scouts. No NHL. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"I don't think you do." He stands up, walking around the desk to lean against it, arms crossed. “You were this close to getting an offer. But now? Now they're seeing a liability. You think they want that kind of player on their roster?"
"No, sir."
"Damn right they don't." He shakes his head. "I've been coaching for twenty years. I've seen talented kids throw away their futures for stupider reasons. But you? You're smarter than this. Or at least I thought you were."
The disappointment in his voice hurts. It’s worse than the disappointment I usually get from my dad.
"You're going to apologize to Connor," Dr. Reeves says. "Publicly. And you're going to complete twenty hours of community service. Consider it a gift. Because the alternative is suspension."
"I'll do it. Whatever you need."
"Good." She stands. "Don't make me regret giving you this chance, Mr. Hayes. Because you won't get another one."
She leaves. Coach watches her go, then turns back to me.
"Get out of my office. And get your head straight."
I leave his office feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet.
My phone buzzes as I walk across campus.
It's my dad. Again.
I almost don't answer. But I know if I don't, he'll just keep calling.
"Hey, Dad."
"Did you meet with your coach?"
"Yeah. Just finished."
"And?"
"Probation. Community service. One more screw-up, and I'm benched."
"I told you this would happen. I warned you that the girl would ruin your life, but you wouldn't listen. You never listen."
"Dad, it wasn’t her. It was me. Stop blaming her."
“Figure it out, Declan. I told you, I’m done with you. You screw this up, and you are on your own.”
He ends the call. I head to class feeling every eye on me. I can’t seem to make the right choices lately.
Is it Sutton? Am I allowing myself to get caught up?
The breakup was for the best. I just need to accept it.