Chapter 3
Chapter Three
SUTTON
Itell myself it's temporary.
“Maybe you should just take everything,” Keira says. “I mean, you’re not really going to move back in here, are you? This place is a deathtrap. You have a perfectly good room in a very nice house.”
I shove the rest of my panties into the garbage bag. That’s how I’m moving. The fire department has given residents an hour to get our shit and get out. The building is officially condemned until further notice. That could be a week or a year.
I have a feeling it’s going to be razed to the ground. They’ll build a fancy new building with rents too high for the scholarship kids.
Just another way for Avalon to clean house. Get rid of the poor people from their pretty little town.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m poor.” I sigh. “I don’t have much. A box of trash bags is all I need to move.”
“I’m sorry. I really wish I could be roomies with you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Four months. I can make it.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I cannot imagine how weird it must be.”
I pull open my dresser drawer and start throwing socks into the bag.
"It's beyond weird. This morning, I stood in that kitchen drinking coffee like I still belonged there.
Ashton was talking to me about some exam, and I'm nodding along, and the whole time I'm thinking—this is insane. I don't live here anymore."
"And Declan?"
"Declan barely looked at me." The words come out more bitter than I intend. I grab another handful of clothes. "Which is fair. I mean, what did I expect? That he'd be thrilled to have me back?"
"You guys didn't talk at all?"
"I tried. Last night. He shut me down." I move to the closet and start yanking hangers down. "He said, 'Not tonight,' and walked away. Then this morning he acted like I was just another piece of furniture."
"Maybe he needs time."
"Maybe he hates me." I grab a sweater, ball it up, and shove it into the bag so hard it rips. "I wouldn't blame him."
Keira sits on the edge of my bed, watching me tear through my belongings like a tornado. "You don't really believe that."
"I don't know what I believe anymore." I pause. "I ran into him on campus earlier. Told him I'd be out tomorrow. You know what he said?"
"What?"
"That I should take my time. That the room is mine for the rest of the semester if I want it." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "He was so calm about it. So detached. Like it doesn't matter to him one way or the other."
"Maybe he's trying to be nice."
"Or maybe he genuinely doesn't care." I throw the shirt in the bag. "Which is what I wanted, right? Clean break. Move on. Except now that he's actually doing it, I feel like a husk of a human. I’m hollow."
Keira is quiet for a moment. "You miss him."
"Of course I miss him. But that doesn't change anything." I grab my textbooks from the desk and stack them in a box. "I made my choice. I left. I don't get to feel sorry for myself now."
"Sutton—"
"I'm fine," I cut her off. "Really. It's just awkward right now. Once I find a new place, everything will go back to normal."
"What if you can't find a new place? You know how tough it is to get housing here, especially since the first semester is already starting.”
I know that. I know I’m in the hockey house until I graduate. I’ve accepted that fact.
“I’ll be fine. I always am. I’m like a cat; I always land on my feet.”
But even as I say it, I'm not sure I believe it.
“Five minutes!” A man’s voice echoes down the hall.
“This is such a disaster,” I mutter.
“Have you talked to your dad?”
“I texted and told him I was fine. He didn’t ask questions.”
“Your dad is so cool. I wish my dad were like him. If I call my dad, he asks how much I need.”
“I hope you’re not trying to get your poor homeless friend to feel sorry for you because you are stupid rich.”
She bursts into laughter. “Right. Sorry.”
We drag four stuffed bags downstairs and into my car. It’s sad. But I tell myself there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m heading in the right direction. I just have to keep going.
I get home—home. The hockey house is home again. Pierce sees me through the window and comes outside to help me drag my stuff upstairs.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Not just for the help carrying my shit back in.”
“Seems kind of silly it ever got dragged out, right?”
“I’m sorry I left without talking to you guys. I just wanted to make a clean break.”
Pierce leans against my doorframe while I shove the last bag into the corner. His arms are crossed, but he’s got that big brother expression.
"Can I ask you something?" he says.
I turn to face him. "Sure."
"Was it us? Did we do something that made you want to leave?"
The question catches me off guard. I can see the genuine worry in his eyes, and it makes me feel like a complete jerk. Pierce has always been like this—the steady one, the protector. He's been nothing but kind to me since the day I moved in.
"God, no." I sit on the edge of the bed. "Pierce, you guys were great. You are great. This had nothing to do with you, Ashton, Crew, or Holden. I loved hanging out here with you guys. You guys never made me feel unwelcome or in the way. You took me in. Made me feel like one of you."
"Then what was it?"
I pick at a loose thread on the comforter. "I wanted to give Declan space. Room to grow without me hanging around like some reminder of what didn't work out."
"That's bullshit."
My head snaps up. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He pushes off the doorframe and comes to sit beside me. Not too close, but close enough, his muscular thigh rubs against mine. "You left because you were scared. And that's okay. But don't pretend it was some noble sacrifice for Declan's benefit."
I want to argue, but the words stick in my throat because he's right. At least partially.
"Maybe," I admit quietly. "But I also meant what I said. He deserves to figure out what he wants without me in the picture. I’m like the fog over the glass that looks to his future. I had to step aside so he could see clearly. I don’t want to be in the way.”
"And what about what you want?"
"What I want doesn't matter."
"Like hell it doesn't." Pierce's voice is firm but not unkind. "Sutton, you matter. Your wants matter. You can't just sacrifice yourself on the altar of what you think is best for everyone else."
I swallow hard against the emotion rising in my throat. This is why Pierce feels like a brother to me. He sees through my bullshit and calls me on it, but he does it with love.
"Pierce, I know what my future is. I have a job. I am clear-eyed, and that’s why I had to get out of his way.
I want him to have the same clarity as I do.
I figured my stuff out years ago. He never got the chance to make that choice for himself.
His dad has been pulling his strings, and then I was in the way. ”
He nods like he expected that answer. "For what it's worth, leaving didn't make things easier on Declan."
My stomach twists. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, he's not taking the breakup well. None of us wanted to tell you because it's not our place, but since you're back..." He trails off, studying my face. "He's been a mess, Sutton. He hides it well, especially around you, but the rest of us see it."
"He seems fine to me. Cold, but fine."
"That's the point. He's trying to protect himself. Can you blame him?"
I can't. Of course I can't. I did the same thing when I left.
"Has there been any news?" I ask, changing the subject before I start crying again. "About the Seattle team?"
Pierce's expression shifts. Becomes guarded. "You should talk to Declan about that."
My heart sinks. "He won't talk to me. You know that. Come on, Pierce. Just tell me. Let me feel like this sacrifice was worth it."
He doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Finally, he sighs.
"Seattle went very, very well."
I try not to react, but my body has other plans. I physically jerk. I knew this was coming. I knew Declan had the talent, the drive, and everything needed to make it. But hearing it confirmed makes it real in a way I wasn't prepared for.
"How well?" My voice sounds hollow.
"Well enough that I heard an offer is on the table."
An offer. A real offer. The NHL is within reach. I'm not there to celebrate with him. I pushed him away right before the biggest moment of his life, but if I hadn’t pushed him away, he might not have had the opportunity.
"When?" I manage.
"I don't know all the details. As I said, you should talk to him."
"What kind of offer?"
"Sutton—"
"Please. Just tell me what you know."
Pierce runs a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't know specifics. But from what Ashton mentioned, it sounded promising.”
I nod. “Good. Good for him. I know he’s going to love it.”
“Maybe.”
"Has he signed anything?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.
"No. At least not that I know of."
"Why not?"
Pierce gives me a look that says I should know the answer to that question. "You'd have to ask him."
"He won't talk to me," I repeat.
"Maybe you're not trying hard enough."
"I tried last night. He shut me down."
"So try again. And again. And keep trying until he listens." Pierce stands, looking down at me with a soft smile. "Look, I don't know why you think you’re in the way. That's your business. But I know Declan, and I know he doesn't let people in easily. You got in. That means something."
"It meant something," I correct. "Past tense."
"You sure about that?"
I'm not sure about anything anymore. I'm sitting in a room I swore I'd never sleep in again, talking about a man I swore I'd get over.
"I don't know," I admit.
Pierce nods. "That's honest. Come on, let's go start dinner. I'm starving, and if we don't get something going, the guys will order pizza for the third night in a row. Since you left, the chore wheel has been a little…off."
I follow him downstairs, grateful for the change of subject.
Pierce pulls a package of chicken out of the fridge. "Let’s make that lemon garlic thing you used to do."
"I can do that.”
"Good. Because I've been craving it for weeks and none of us can get it right."
"We'll put you back on the chore chart," Pierce says casually, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"The chore chart."
"Yeah. You're living here; you're pulling your weight. That was the deal before, and it's the deal now."
Something about that simple statement makes my eyes sting. The chore chart. It means I'm part of this household again. Part of the team.
"Yeah," I say, my voice thick. "Okay."