"Nope. Not listening. Get home safe. I'll be there in like ten minutes. And then I’m going to lecture you about walking alone drunk at night. I’m so pissed at you right now.”
She hangs up before I can assure her I’m fine.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and keep walking. The streets are mostly empty. A few cars pass, their headlights cutting through the darkness. Someone's walking their dog on the other side of the street. I can hear the sounds of other parties—typical Saturday night.
The image of Declan's face keeps replaying in my mind. The fury in his eyes and the way he looked at Connor like he wantedto kill him. And then the punch. God, the sound of his fist connecting with Connor's jaw is going to haunt me.
This is exactly what I was trying to avoid—him throwing away everything he's worked for because of me. Everyone is going to see it. They're all going to know it was because of me. I can’t seem to make it stop. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
I should have stayed home. I should have listened to that voice in my head that said going to that party was a terrible idea. But no, I let Keira convince me. I let myself think that maybe I could handle seeing him.
I was wrong.
My building comes into view, and I've never been so relieved to see those ugly brick walls. I fumble with my keys, my fingers numb from the cold, and finally get the door open.
My apartment is on the third floor. No elevator, just stairs that creak with every step. By the time I reach my door, I'm exhausted. Not physically—though the cold definitely took it out of me—but emotionally. I feel wrung out.
I unlock my door and step inside. The garlic smell hits me immediately, and I almost laugh. Of course. Of course, this shitty apartment with its shitty smell would be waiting for me after the worst night of my life.
I kick off my shoes and go straight to the bathroom. My eyes are red and puffy, and my hair is a windblown mess. I look like I've been through a war.
I guess, in a way, I have.
I wash my face, scrubbing away the makeup and the tears. The warm water feels good against my cold skin.
A knock on my door makes me jump. That was fast. I check the peephole—Keira, looking worried and windblown.
I open the door, and she rushes in, immediately pulling me into a hug. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. Don't lie to me." She pulls back, studying my face. "What happened? Crew and I were…well, you know what we were doing. And then suddenly everyone's running to the pool room, talking about a fight."
I move to the couch and sink into the cushions. The springs protest loudly. "Connor and I were shooting pool. Declan saw us and lost it."
"Lost it how?"
"He punched Connor in the face." I drop my head into my hands. "Just walked up and hit him. Connor hit back, they fought, and Ashton and some other guys broke it up. It was a whole thing."
Keira sits beside me, her hand on my back. "Shit."
"Everyone was recording. It's probably all over social media by now." I look at her. "He's going to ruin his chances with Seattle. All because he saw some guy standing too close to me."
"Sutton, that man has it bad for you. Like, really bad. He's not going to let you go without a fight."
"This isn't romantic, Keira. This is him destroying his future."
"Maybe." She leans back against the couch. "Or maybe it's him finally being honest about what he wants. You ended things because you thought he needed to choose hockey. But what if he's choosing you?"
"By punching people at parties? That's not choosing me. That's him being reckless and stupid." My voice breaks. "And I can't watch him throw everything away. I don’t know where this penchant for punching has come from, but I don’t think I like it."
"You broke up with him to give him the freedom to choose Seattle. Fine. But you can't control what he does with that freedom. If he wants to be an idiot and get into fights, that's on him. Not you."
“I don’t know why this has to be so hard. I’m trying to help him. And failing miserably.”
"You can't protect him from himself, Sutton. And you can't carry the weight of every choice he makes. He’s crashing out. From what I know of him, he’s been flying straight pretty much his whole life. Everyone is going to have a break. He’s having his. It’s not about you."
I want to argue. I want to tell her she's wrong, that this is somehow my fault, but deep down, I know she’s right. Declan is making bad choices. That’s on him.
