Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
SUTTON
Ican feel their eyes on me as I walk across campus on Monday morning.
I slide into my seat in the back of my seminar and pull out my laptop, hoping that looking busy will discourage anyone from approaching me.
The professor starts talking, but I can't focus. My phone keeps buzzing in my bag. People keep tagging me on social media. I don’t know why. Like the first hundred tags weren’t enough? I was there. I don’t need to relive it.
This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. The drama. The attention. The feeling that everyone on campus has an opinion about my life.
I make it through the class relatively unscathed, but as soon as I step into the hallway, I see them. The stares. Some sympathetic, some judgmental, all of them making my skin crawl.
I practically run to my next class.
By lunch, I'm exhausted—not from the coursework, but from the constant scrutiny. I grab a sandwich from the campus café and eat it in my car, parked in the far corner of the lot where no one will find me.
My phone rings. It's my dad. He rarely calls me during the week.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey, kiddo. How are classes going?"
"Fine. Good. What’s up?"
"I'm in the area," he says finally. "Thought I'd swing by and take you to dinner. You free tonight?"
In the area. Right. My dad lives two hours away and never comes to Avalon unless there's a game. He heard about Saturday.
"Dad, I’m fine. It’s over. You don’t need to drive over here."
"I'm already here. Text me your address."
He hangs up before I can argue.
I really don’t want him to see my shitty apartment. I told him it was a nice place. He’s going to worry. And then he’ll feel bad that I’m staying in such a shitty place.
But he’s going to find out anyway.
I text him the address.
He shows up at six. I was going to meet him outside, but again, he’s stubborn, and he’ll know something is up.
I open the door, and I see the expression. He's looking past me at the apartment. The peeling paint. The ancient radiator. The smell that no amount of candles can cover.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey." He steps inside, and I watch as he takes it all in. "This is where you're living?"
"It's temporary, just until graduation."
He nods slowly, but I can see the wheels turning. He wants to say something—probably wants to offer to pay for something better—but he knows I won't accept. We've had this argument before.
"Let's get dinner," he says instead. "My treat."
We go to a steakhouse on the edge of town. It's nicer than anywhere I've eaten in weeks, and I suddenly feel underdressed in my jeans and sweater.
"So," he says after the waiter leaves. "You want to tell me what happened Saturday?"
"It's not a big deal."
"Sutton."
I sigh. "Declan got into a fight at a party. That's it."
"Over you."
"It wasn't about me."
"The videos say otherwise."
Of course, he's seen the videos. Everyone's seen the videos.
"He's dealing with some stuff," I say quietly. "The breakup. The pressure from his dad. Seattle. It all just came to a head."
"And you feel responsible."
It's not a question.
"I ended things with him so he could focus on his future. Instead, he's throwing it away. So yeah, I feel responsible."
“You can't control what other people do. You knew the breakup was going to be hard. I’m sorry you’re dealing with his bad choices.”
"He punched someone because of me."
"You ended things because you thought it was the right call. I think you did the right thing. He can’t see that right now. But you can't carry the weight of every choice he makes after that. You're not his keeper, kiddo."
I know he's right. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things.
"I just want him to be okay," I whisper.
"I know."
We finish dinner mostly in silence. Dad pays, walks me back to my car, and pulls me into a hug.
"Call me if you need anything," he says. "And I mean anything. Even if it's just to talk."
"I will."
"I'm serious, Sutton. Don't try to tough this out alone."
"I won't."
He watches me get in my car and doesn't leave until I've pulled out of the parking lot.
I drive back to my building feeling marginally better.
But when I turn onto my street, I see the fire trucks.
My building is surrounded by them. Red lights flashing. Firefighters in full gear are moving in and out. Smoke is billowing from one of the upper floors—not mine, but close enough.
I park down the block and run toward the building, but a firefighter stops me.
"You live here?"
"Yes. Third floor. What happened?"
"Electrical fire on the fourth floor. The building's not safe right now. You can't go in."
"What about my stuff?"
"We'll let you know when it's safe to retrieve your belongings. For now, you need to find somewhere else to stay. This place is probably going to be red-tagged."
“What does that mean?”
“Until the place is brought up to code, no one can live here.”
I stare at him. This can't be real. This isn’t happening.
I want to cry. The universe hates me.
I pull out my phone and call Keira.
"Hey, what's up?"
"There's a fire in my building. I can't get in. Can I crash with you tonight?"
There's a pause. "Shit, Sutton. I wish I could, but my roommate is being a total bitch right now. We got into this huge fight, and she said that if I have anyone over, she'll report me to the RA. She and Crew got into it this morning after he slept over again."
"It's okay. I'll figure something out."
"Are you sure? I can try to talk to her."
"No, it's fine. Really. I'll be okay."
"Text me and let me know where you end up."
"I will."
I hang up and look around. Other residents from the building are standing on the sidewalk, some on their phones, others just watching the firefighters work. A few are crying.
I walk back to my car and sit in the driver's seat, staring at the steering wheel.
This is rock bottom. It has to be because I can't imagine things getting worse than this.
I'm homeless. I have nowhere to go. I don't have any other friends I'm close enough with to ask for a place to crash.
I could get a hotel room, but that would eat into the money I've been saving. Money that I need for expenses. I have no clothes except for the stuff in my trunk. Thank God I have my laptop and gear. But nothing else.
I sit in my car and try not to cry.
I'm scrolling through hotel options on my phone when someone knocks on my window.
I jump, my heart racing, and look up.
Declan is standing outside my car.
Of course he is, because this day wasn't already complicated enough.
I roll down the window. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard about the fire. Are you okay?"
"How did you hear about the fire?"
"Keira told Crew. Crew told Ashton. Ashton told me." He looks past me at the building, at the smoke still visible against the darkening sky. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"
"I'm fine."
"Sutton."
"I said I'm fine."
He crouches down so he's eye-level with me. His face is still bruised from Saturday. He looks tired. Worn down.
"You were about to sleep in your car," he says quietly.
"Maybe."
"Come stay at the house."
"No."
"Sutton, you need help."
"I'm not staying at your house, Declan. That's the worst idea I've ever heard."
"Why? Because it would be awkward? Because we'd actually have to talk to each other?" He runs a hand through his hair. "Your building is on fire. You have nowhere to go. It's not complicated."
"Everything about this is complicated."
"Then let's keep it simple. Just for tonight. One night, and then you can figure out something else." He stands up. "Please. I'm not letting you sleep in your car."
I can’t. That’s walking back into the fire.
But what else am I going to do?