He looks back at me, and God, his eyes are so tired. "Yeah, I do."
I want to argue, to tell him to let it go—that his father's opinion doesn't matter. We can just ignore all of this and move on. But the words die in my throat because they'd be lies. His father's opinion does matter—not because Declan cares what he thinks, but because of everything that comes with it. The connections. The opportunities.
"I'm coming with you," I say, starting to get up.
"No. This is between him and me."
"Are you sure?”
"I need to do this alone."
I lie back down and watch him get dressed. I skipped practice. When my alarm went off, I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed. I told a little white lie.
I couldn’t bring myself to care that much. We weren’t going to make the playoffs. It was my senior year, and while I loved hockey, I could feel myself quickly growing tired of the demands on my time.
He kisses me before he leaves—hard and desperate and too quick.
"I love you," he says against my mouth.
"I love you, too. Be careful."
The door closes behind him, and I'm alone with the weight of what I've set in motion.
I drag myself out of bed, collect clothes from my room, and head to the shower. I don’t want to be the one who tears Declan and his father apart. Rationally, I know it isn’t me. It is all his father’s.
I head to class, going through the motions and checking my phone for an update from Declan.
Nothing.
I know Declan loves me, but what if his father convinces him to break up with me? He almost convinced me to take the money and run. The guy is a good salesman.
I'm standing in line at the campus coffee shop, staring blankly at the menu board, even though I get the same thing every time, when someone grabs my arm.
"Where the hell have you been?"
I turn to find Keira, her plain brown eyes wide with concern and frustration.
"Coffee," I say lamely, gesturing at the line.
"You know what I mean. You didn't call me back last night. You missed practice this morning. Coach is pissed." She studies my face more closely. "You look like shit, by the way."
"Thanks."
"Sutton." Her voice softens. "What happened?"
The barista calls me forward, and I order my usual latte on autopilot. Keira orders, too, then pulls me to a corner table away from other students.
"Talk," she demands once we're seated.
I wrap my hands around the warm cup, needing something to hold onto. "Declan's father came to see me yesterday."
"Yuck. Why?"
"He offered me money—a hundred thousand dollars—and a job interview at Quantico to break up with Declan and move out."
Keira's mouth drops open. "He what?"
"He said I'm a distraction. That I'm ruining Declan's career. He’s convinced we're going to break up anyway when he goes pro, so I might as well take the money now and leave Declan before I can destroy his life."
