Chapter 2
Chapter Two
DECLAN
Iwake up knowing she's here.
That's the first thought I have before I'm even fully conscious, before I even open my eyes. It’s strange because I sense her as if her aura bleeds through the walls. I feel her.
Crew's music starts pounding through the wall at a volume no one should have to tolerate before eight in the morning. He knows better, but he doesn’t give a shit. He knows we all have to be up anyway.
Sutton is twenty feet away.
I lie there and stare at the ceiling and let that fact just sit with me for a minute. I honestly didn’t expect to be under the same roof with her again. I had just started coming to terms with the fact that our relationship was over.
And now she’s here.
But she’s not here with me. She doesn’t want to be here. She definitely doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s sheer desperation.
I don't know what I expected. Some kind of clarity in the morning, maybe. Some clean emotional distance that the night would have built between last night and right now.
Instead, I feel exactly the same as I did when I closed my door and stood on the other side of it listening for any sound next door.
I don’t know what I was hoping for. She asked to talk, and I shut her down. That was probably a little petty. I got to walk away from her after she shut me down one too many times.
I should have offered her support. A shirt. Water. Something. But if I showed her any kindness, it made it something more than it was. I was helping out a fellow human—nothing more, nothing less.
That’s how I needed to keep it. I couldn’t let myself believe there could be anything more than that. It would hurt too much.
Crew's playlist shifts to something with too much bass. Old school Dr. Dre. That’s his pump-up music. Means he’s trying to psyche himself up for something. With Crew, that may be as simple as putting on his shoes or preparing for a big test.
I’m not going to hide. I have to face the day with her in it.
I get up.
I tell myself it's a normal morning. If she’s still here, whatever. I don’t have to talk to her. She’ll be gone soon enough.
She's at the counter. Coffee in hand, hair still slightly damp from a shower, wearing leggings and an oversized Avalon Hockey sweatshirt.
She's got her phone in her hand, and she's saying something to Ashton, who's leaning against the opposite counter with his own coffee, looking like he slept just fine.
I hate him a little.
The scene stops me for just a second. For one brief second, I almost fool myself into believing the last couple of weeks were nothing more than a bad dream. She never moved out. She never broke up with me.
"Morning," I say.
"Hey," Ashton says.
Sutton looks up. Our eyes meet for approximately three seconds before she looks back at her phone. I go to the cabinet for a mug.
It's fine. This is fine.
What's not fine is how normal it feels. She's standing in my kitchen talking to my best friend about what sounds like an upcoming forensics exam. The house is loud with morning noise. Everything about it is exactly the way it used to be.
Which is its own special kind of torment.
I pour my coffee and rummage in the freezer for a frozen breakfast sandwich I can nuke.
This requires more concentration than it should. I'm hyperaware of her the way I'm hyperaware of a puck entering my zone. It’s awkward as hell, and I don’t think it’s just me who feels it. The guys are overcompensating with the conversation.
We're all treading carefully. They’re filling the silence so there are no gaps for anything uncomfortable to fall into.
Sutton plays her part. So do I.
“I’ll see you guys at practice,” I say and dump the last of my coffee in the sink.
I escape before anyone can drag me into another round of forced small talk.
Class is a blur. I sit through two hours of sports psychology and retain approximately nothing. My mind keeps drifting back to the house. To Sutton, standing in my kitchen like she never left. To the way she wouldn't look at me.
Or maybe she did look at me, and I didn’t notice because I was doing all I could to not look at her.
And we’re suddenly awkward seventh graders.
Between classes, I'm walking across the quad toward the athletics building when I see her.
She's coming from the opposite direction, backpack slung over one shoulder, phone in her hand. She looks up and sees me at the same moment I see her.
There's nowhere to run. The path is too narrow, too direct. We're on a collision course, and stopping or turning around would be more obvious than just dealing with it.
She walks straight for me.
I brace myself for whatever this is going to be. An argument. An accusation. More weird non-conversation. Something.
"Hey," she says when we're close enough.
"Hey."
She shifts her weight, adjusting the backpack. "I just wanted to let you know—I found a friend to stay with. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."
"Okay." I keep my voice neutral. Detached.
"I know it's awkward. I’m there, so I figured the sooner I'm gone, the better."
"You don't have to rush. Take your time." The words come out more aloof than I intend, but I can't help it. I'm not going to beg her to stay. I'm not going to make this harder on myself than it already is.
She looks surprised. Her eyebrows lift slightly, and she opens her mouth like she's going to say something, then closes it again.
"Seriously," I add. "It's fine. Stay as long as you need. You’re the one who chose to move out. No one asked you to leave. And we’re not going to bother trying to find a new roommate for the last semester. The room is yours."
"Oh. Okay. Well. Thanks." She fidgets with her phone. "I appreciate it. Really."
"No problem."
The silence stretches between us, awkward and heavy.
"I should—" She gestures vaguely toward wherever she's headed.
"Yeah. Me too."
She nods and walks past me. I don't look back.
I force myself to keep walking like nothing happened.
Like my chest doesn't feel like someone is in there trying to carve it out with a spoon.
Like, I didn't just tell my ex-girlfriend to take her time moving out of my house when every second she's there is torture.
Practice is brutal.
Not because of the drills—those are standard. But because the guys won't let it go.
We're running through power play formations when Ashton skates up beside me during a water break.
"So," he says, grinning like an asshole. "How does it feel having your ex back at the house?"
"It's temporary."
"That's not what I asked."
Crew joins us, pulling off his helmet. "Dude, I was in that kitchen this morning, and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. You two were in the same room and acting like the other one didn't exist."
"We're being adults about it," I say.
"That's one word for it," Ashton says. "Painful is another."
“I’m glad you rescued her,” Crew says. “Totally won me some points with Keira.”
“Glad I could help you out.”
“Seriously, that was a big boy move,” Ashton says. “I don’t think I would be that cool to invite the ex who shattered my heart back into my house.”
“She didn’t shatter my heart.”
“Oh, she definitely did,” Crew says.
"Can we focus on hockey?"
"We are focused on hockey," Crew says. "We're just also focused on the fact that you're living with the girl who dumped you and pretending like it's no big deal."
"It's not a big deal."
Ashton laughs. "Right. That's why you bolted from the kitchen this morning like your ass was on fire."
"I had class."
"You had forty-five minutes before class."
I don't have a response for that.
Holden skates over, clearly catching the tail end of the conversation. "We're talking about Sutton?"
"Of course we are," Crew says.
"Man, that's rough." He shakes his head. "How long is she staying?"
"She's leaving tomorrow," I say.
"And you're okay with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you're obviously not over her," Ashton says.
I shoot him a look. "Can we drop this?"
"No," Crew says. "Because this is way more interesting than running drills. How weird is it? Scale of one to ten."
"Eleven," Holden offers helpfully.
"It's fine," I insist. "She needed help. I helped. End of story."
Ashton leans in, lowering his voice. "You know what I think? I think you're hoping she changes her mind."
"I'm not hoping for anything."
"Liar."
Coach blows the whistle before I can respond, which is probably for the best. Because Ashton's right, and I hate that he's right. I hate that they can all see through me so easily.
We line up for the next drill, and I throw myself into it with more aggression than necessary. Maybe if I hit hard enough and skate fast enough, I can outrun the truth.
But the truth follows me around the ice. Sutton's back in my house, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to survive it. I just gave her my approval to stay through the end of the school year.
How in the hell am I going to see her every day and not be pissed at her? Or be sad. How can I move on when I feel chained to the very thing I’m supposed to be forgetting?