"Crew."
"You're not going to bed." He turns around, walking backward toward the stairs, pointing at me. "You've been a ghost for a week. You're going. We’re getting wasted. You're going to let the win feel like a win. That's all. It's not complicated."
"He makes a good point," Pierce says.
"An hour," Holden adds, already heading upstairs. "That's all anyone's asking."
I look at Ashton, who has been suspiciously quiet through all of this.
"Don't look at me," he says. "You're going. We all deserve to blow off some steam.
I go upstairs, shower, change, and come back down. Everyone is ready to go. I think very briefly about just not going back downstairs. What are they going to do, drag me out of the house?
Unlikely.
But I’m sick of wallowing.
The party is already in full swing when we walk through the door. Music pounds through the speakers, bodies fill every available space, and someone's already broken something if the shattered glass in the corner is any indication.
"Shots!" Crew yells over the noise, heading straight for the kitchen.
I follow because what else am I going to do? Stand in the corner and brood? I've been doing that too long. Maybe Crew's right. Maybe I need to let loose and forget the whole thing.
The kitchen is just as crowded as the living room. Crew's already pouring tequila into a row of shot glasses. He hands them out to anyone who holds out a hand.
"To winning," he says, raising his glass.
"To winning," we echo.
The liquor burns going down. Probably should have had a chaser on hand. I grab a beer from the cooler and crack it open, taking a long drink.
Ashton appears at my elbow. "You good?"
"Fantastic."
"That's the spirit." He leans against the counter, watching the chaos unfold around us. A girl is dancing on the coffee table in the next room. "You know what your problem is?"
"I'm sure you're about to tell me."
"You're half-in on everything." He takes a drink of his beer. "You're half-in with hockey. Which means you could only be half-in with Sutton.”
"That's bullshit."
"Is it?" He looks at me. "You loved Seattle. I was there. I saw you. You were lit up in a way I haven't seen in months. Maybe years. And it has nothing to do with your dad or living up to some legacy. It's about you and the game. That's it."
I stare at the label on my beer bottle, peeling at the corner with my thumbnail.
"I'm sorry about Sutton," Ashton continues. "I really am. But at some point, you have to stop using her as an excuse not to choose. You have to actually make a decision about what you want your life to look like."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"Too bad. You need to hear it." He straightens up. "Seattle's going to call. When they do, you need to know your answer. Not the answer you think you're supposed to give. Not the answer that makes everyone else happy. Your answer."
Crew appears with another round of shots. "Why are we having serious conversations at a party? That's against the rules."
"We're done," Ashton says, taking a shot glass. "Right, Hayes?"
"Right."
