“Dinner’s ready!” Pierce calls out.
I could go hide in my room.
But that chicken smells good.
I drop my bag in the living room and go to investigate.
Seeing her in my kitchen again hurts. It makes me want all the things she took from me when she bailed.
“Grab a plate,” Pierce says.
The rest of the guys file in, practically tripping over one another to get to the good stuff.
We sit at the table, and once again, they’re filling the silence with mindless chatter.
“You think the girls are going to make the playoffs?” Holden asks Sutton.
She cringes and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. We started out strong, but we’ve lost our mojo. Our goalie is out with a fractured ankle. One of our best defensemen separated her shoulder. We’re dropping like flies.”
“Bummer,” Crew says.
Then we spend another fifteen minutes talking about our season. We’re shoe-ins for the playoffs. If we keep playing the way we have been, we’ll be champions.
Sutton and I manage to sit at the same table, sharing a meal and never once speaking directly to each other. That’s a real skill.
After dinner, everyone bails. Crew has to go see Kiera. Holden and Pierce are going to do laundry, and Ashton just runs.
I’m not an idiot. I see what they’re doing. They’re giving us time alone.
And that’s the last thing I want. Or need.
“We really need to talk and clear the air,” Sutton says as we load the dishwasher.
“No, we don’t.”
“Declan, stop. Can we just talk?”
“Now you want to talk? You bailed without a goodbye, and suddenly it’s time to have a conversation.”
“If you don’t want me here, please tell me. I’ll leave.”
“No, you won’t. You don’t have anywhere to go. I told the guys I was fine with you being here.”
“As long as we don’t talk or see each other, right?”
I shrug. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
She takes a deep breath. “Okay, how about this? I’m going to take two cold beers out back. I’ll be out there waiting. If you join me, we can figure this out. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll take my garbage bags and find somewhere to live. I will not live here with you going out of your way to avoid me. I am not going to make your living arrangement hell.”
She leaves me with the dishes and goes out back.
“Shit.”
I finish the dishes because I’m not going to run out there. I need to pretend I’m thinking.
I grab my coat, go outside, and flop in one of the chairs. She hands me a beer.
“Are you going to sign?” she asks quietly.
