Her face goes pale. "I never said I wasn't hurt."
"You moved out while I was gone. You ghosted me." I'm aware that people are watching now. I don't care. "So forgive me if I'm a little confused about why you're standing here looking at me like I'm the asshole."
"You are the asshole!" Her voice cracks. "You're making a scene at a party because I'm talking to someone. Someone who, by the way, is just being nice to me."
"Nice." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Right. That's what we're calling it."
Connor steps forward. I finally look at him. He's got that expression guys get when they're trying to decide if intervening is worth getting punched. "Maybe we should all just cool down."
"Maybe you should shut the fuck up." I turn back to Sutton. "A week. It’s been a week, and you're already moving on?"
"You practically had a girl's hand down your pants in the living room!"
"She was touching my arm!"
"She was touching a lot more than your arm, Declan. Don't lie to me."
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die. Because she's right. Amber wasn't just touching my arm. And I was letting it happen, planning to let a lot more happen.
"That's what I thought," Sutton says quietly.
Connor puts his hand on her back. “Want me to get you out of here?”
“Touch her again, asshole, and I’ll rip your fucking arm off.”
“Knock your shit off,” Sutton hisses. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel guilty for trying to move on when that's exactly what you’re doing.”
“She’s no one!”
“Hey,” Amber says.
I roll my eyes. I wasn’t even aware she had come in. She’s standing right beside me.
“We’re done, Declan,” Sutton whispers. “We’re both moving on.”
"By hooking up with the first guy who shows you attention?"
Connor moves. Steps in front of Sutton like he’s protecting her from me. The move pisses me off, and the last little hold on my temper snaps.
I swing.
My fist connects with Connor's jaw before I even register that I've moved. The impact sends a shock up my arm, but I barely feel it. My broken finger feels like I just snapped it in two.
I don’t care. All I feel is rage. It drowns out everything else.
Connor stumbles back, his hand going to his face. "What the fuck?"
He recovers faster than I expect and comes at me. His fist catches my cheekbone, snapping my head to the side. The pain is sharp and immediate, but it clears something in my head. Good. I want to feel something other than this emptiness.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tell myself not to mess with lacrosse guys. Dude’s a hell of a fighter.
I tackle him. We crash into the pool table, sending balls scattering across the felt. Someone's screaming. Multiple people. I get another hit in, this one to his ribs. He grunts and shoves me back, his elbow catching my temple.
"Stop it!" Sutton's voice cuts through the chaos. "Both of you, stop!"
But I can't stop. I don't want to stop. Connor throws another punch that glances off my shoulder. I grab his shirt and slam him against the wall. His head hits the plaster with a satisfying thud.
Then, hands are on me. Multiple sets of hands, pulling me back. I fight against them, but there are too many of them. Ashton's voice is in my ear.
