Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
SUTTON
The restaurant is busy tonight.
Every table is full, the kitchen is backed up, and I've been on my feet for six straight hours. My lower back is screaming, my feet are killing me, and I've smiled so much my face hurts.
But I need the tips. Desperately.
So I keep refilling waters, taking orders, and pretending the couple at table seven didn't just leave me a three-dollar tip on an eighty-dollar check.
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket. I sneak a quick look between tables.
It's a notification from ESPN. The men's team won their away game.
Relief floods through me. Declan played well, then. He must have.
I wanted to be there so badly. Wanted to see him play and cheer from the stands. I would love to be one of the women down there congratulating their boyfriend.
But I needed this shift. The money from tonight will cover groceries for the next two weeks.
So here I am, serving overpriced pasta to entitled college kids while my boyfriend is four hours away celebrating a win.
I send him a quick message.
Me: Congrats on the win! So proud of you! Call me when you can.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of orders, complaints, and fake smiles. By the time I clock out at ten, my feet are throbbing, and my phone is still silent.
I check it in my car. The game ended two hours ago. He should have texted by now.
Maybe he's still doing press stuff or celebrating with the team.
I tell myself there's a reasonable explanation.
But a small, anxious voice in the back of my mind tries to fill my head with negativity.
I hate that voice. Hate that I can't fully silence it.
Me: Hey, just got off work. Hope everything's okay. Love you!
Still nothing.
The house is eerily quiet when I get home. All the guys are away at the game. It's just me and the creaks and groans of the old building.
I've never been alone here overnight. It feels wrong. Too big. Too empty.
I'm considering just going to bed when there's a knock at the door.
When I open the door, it's Keira standing there in flannel pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, holding pizza and ice cream.
"Girl's night emergency edition," she announces, pushing past me into the house. "You're alone, I'm displaced because my roommate is having loud sex with her boyfriend, and we both need carbs."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Why do you share a place when you can’t stand her?"
She shrugs. “It’s college. It’s the thing to do. Go change into something comfortable while I find plates."
Twenty minutes later, we're on the couch in our pajamas, with the pizza box open between us, and Ben & Jerry’s waiting in the freezer for later.
Keira picks up the remote. “Want to watch the game recap? See your man being all hot and athletic?”
“Sure.”
She pulls up the sports channel on the TV. They’re showing highlights from tonight’s games.
The footage cuts to two players on the ice, both in Avalon jerseys.
Both are throwing punches.
Declan and Holden.
“Oh my god,” Keira and I say at the same time.
We watch in horror as Declan shoves Holden. Holden shoves back. Then they’re grabbing each other’s jerseys, swinging, and shouting something the broadcast can't pick up.
It takes Ashton and two other players to pull them apart. Even then, they're still trying to get at each other, faces red with rage.
"What the hell?" I breathe.
Keira snatches her phone and pulls up the school’s social media group.
"Oh no," she says.
"What?"
She shows me the screen.
The hockey gossip accounts are going wild.
Hayes and Montgomery throw down mid-game! Bree Matthews' drama finally comes to a head?
Sources say the fight was over Hayes' ex, Bree Matthews, who was recently dating Montgomery.
My stomach drops.
I shake my head. “No way. They wouldn’t fight over her.”
"I'm sure there's an explanation," Keira says, but she doesn't sound sure.
We sit in silence, the game recap playing in the background. I keep checking my phone.
Nothing.
"Want to just watch something mindless?" Keira suggests. "Gilmore Girls? Trashy reality TV?"
"Gilmore Girls," I say. Comfort TV. Something familiar and safe.
We make it through three episodes. The pizza is gone. We've moved on to ice cream, eating straight from the containers.
Every few minutes, I check my phone.
Nothing from Declan.
But plenty from social media. The fight is trending. Everyone has an opinion about what really happened.
By the time we head upstairs, it's after two in the morning. We're both exhausted and stuffed with pizza and ice cream, our brains turned to mush from too much TV.
And there is still nothing from Declan.
"Girl slumber party rules," Keira announces, climbing into my bed. "No sad thoughts. No boy drama. Just sleep."
"Deal."
I plug in my phone and set it on my nightstand.
I try not to think about why. Try not to imagine worst-case scenarios.
But my mind won't stop.
I'm almost asleep when my phone buzzes.
I grab it immediately, my heart leaping.
Finally, it has to be Declan. It has to be.
But the notification shows an unknown number.
Unknown: Thought you might want to see this.
There's a photo attached.
It’s probably spam, but I open it anyway.
It's Declan. In a hotel hallway. His arm around someone's waist.
Bree.
She's wearing one of his hoodies—I recognize it because I've worn that same hoodie a dozen times. Her hair is messy. She's smiling up at him.
They're standing outside a hotel room door.
The timestamp shows it was taken forty minutes ago.
I stare at the photo, trying to make sense of it and trying to find an innocent explanation.
Maybe it's not what it looks like.
But his arm is around her waist. His body is angled toward her. They look intimate.
"Sutton?" Keira's voice sounds far away. "What's wrong?"
I can't speak. Can't breathe.
I just hand her the phone.
She looks at the screen, and I watch her face change. Shock. Anger. Disbelief.
"This has to be fake," she says.
"It's not fake." My voice sounds hollow.
"Sutton, I’m sorry."
"He fought with Holden. About Bree. And then this." I take the phone back, staring at the image like it might change if I look long enough.
“There could be an explanation—"
"Like what? His arm just accidentally ended up around her waist? She just happened to be wearing his hoodie?" Tears are burning my eyes. "He hasn't called me all night, Keira. Not once. But he had time for this."
"Maybe you should call him. Ask him what's going on."
I'm crying now, hot, angry tears streaming down my face. "I'm so stupid. So damn stupid. Everyone warned me. But I didn't listen. I thought we were different this time."
"You are different."
"We're not!" I throw my phone across the room. It hits the wall and clatters to the floor.
Keira pulls me into a hug. I sob into her shoulder.
All the fears I've been pushing down come flooding out. The money insecurity. The worry about Seattle. The constant feeling that I'm not enough for his world.
And now this.
Proof that maybe I was right to be worried.
"I should've known," I whisper. "After the fight with Holden. After not calling me. I should've known something was wrong."
The evidence is damning.
Why should I trust what I see? I’ve been in this place before. Back then, I thought I was wrong, but now I think I was right all along.