Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

7. Penny

CHAPTER SEVEN

penny

One week.

I’ve managed to expertly avoid Declan for one whole week. Do you know how hard of a task that is when we’re both in town at the same time? It’s damn near impossible.

Neither of us has reached out to one another, which is a small blessing. It’s easier to ignore Declan’s charm when he isn’t offering it to you.

Gavin and I seem to have mulled things over, too. That soothes my wounds a bit. We’ve been texting about little things, and checking in with one another throughout the day. I knew the tension had evaporated when we started sending each other funny videos again like our little spat never happened at all.

It’s not all bad.

See, Declan?

Avery promised me she’d let me know when Declan was coming over to the house. If he was there, I’d stay with my parents. If he wasn’t around, I’d stay with Avery. It’s been pretty foolproof, with only a couple of minor issues. But both times that Declan just showed up unannounced, I just retreated to the spare room and locked the door.

He never knocked. We seem to have agreed that our friendship is on pause.

I open a picture of the homemade bread that Gavin just made when the incessant sound of honking seeps through my windows from somewhere down the road.

It doesn’t even take me a second to wonder. I know exactly who is bearing down on their horn like that, heading right toward me.

Oh no.

I still, my body going rigid. Instinct takes over before I can make a logical decision.

I know exactly what this is after the second beep.

The honking gets louder. It gets even closer. He gets closer.

Dread slides through my body and clenches my heart in its fist.

I drop my phone to the bed.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

The Goodbye Parade.

Declan is leaving today. He’s going back to Pittsburgh and won’t return until fall, at the earliest. He has to make his rounds. It’s part of our stupid pact. He has to drive around the city and give every single one of us a stupid hug goodbye.

It’s tradition.

The honking continues until a door slams shut right outside my window.

Damnit.

This is bullshit, actually. I have known for years that he and Tiffany have a silent, unspoken agreement that Declan’s goodbye parade goes right past her house without stopping. He honks, but that’s about it. It’s an arrangement that works for them both. I’d wager ninety percent of the time, she isn’t even home to know if he beeped his way on by.

I rush to the window of my childhood bedroom, pulling back the blinds just enough to catch a glimpse of him strolling up the lawn of my parents’ yard with that easy swagger he’s possessed since the day I met him.

He looks perfectly put together to board a plane, which is remarkably annoying. Tight, navy blue athletic shirt that hugs his biceps and a nice, but casual pair of golf pants that fit him perfectly. I, on the other hand, look like a bag of trash in my Bowser pajama pants, and the furthest I’m traveling is to the fridge for ice cream in a few hours.

Declan’s dark hair is tossed backward, unnervingly effortless, covering the tips of his ears. He pulls the black sunglasses off his nose and folds them onto the collar of his shirt as he climbs the front steps.

As if he feels me staring, his head snaps up to my bedroom window.

Like a mature, respectable woman, I drop to the ground in a heap of limbs and feel my pride shatter under the weight of me. I mutter a string of descriptive expletives, cringing at myself, hoping to whatever god exists that he didn’t just see that. My ego is hanging on by a thread at this point.

I should have stayed at Avery’s. I could have locked the door to the spare room and had her tell him that I wasn’t coming down. She would have barricaded the door if I asked her to, tradition or not. My mother, on the other hand, is not going to just let me ignore Declan and the stupid goodbye parade.

She is possessed by him, his nice muscles, his stupid dimples, and the way he says “ Sandy !” like Danny from Grease every single time he sees her.

Three loud knocks rap on the front door .

Shit.

My mom practically runs to the door to greet him and sure enough, he says her name like he always does, and Sandy Sweeten begins cooing over Declan like he’s a saint. She doesn’t know that the only thing he is the saint of is being a dickhead, though I doubt that would change the way she looks at him.

She ushers him inside, laughing at something he said, to which his deep voice responds in a sweet tone that he saves specifically for all mothers, I'm sure of it.

After a long moment of pleasantries, my mom calls my name up the stairs. She thinks this tradition is the cutest thing on planet Earth. She loves it more than we do. She’s going to ensure Declan can follow through with it, even if she has to drag me out of my bed by my hair.

I think this tradition is trash, and I’m officially going to start a petition to end it.

In retrospect, I probably should have told her what happened between us. If Declan showed up, she would have been more likely to act like I wasn’t here. I doubt she’d leave me to the wolves if she knew what he said to me and how hurt I am over it.

How did I forget about this stupid parade when I’ve had to do it one hundred times myself?

I scramble to my closet and quickly throw on an old sweater. I’m not wearing a bra and I’m in my token PJ pants. It’s not my favourite look for a confrontation. You’d have to pry these pants from my cold, dead hands to take them from me, but they are absolutely hideous. He’s seen them enough times that he’ll barely notice them. I’m not changing out of my favourite pants for his company, anyway.

Someone left them at one of our parties in college, and I went around asking every single person I’ve ever met if they belonged to them. I never found their owner, so I took it personally. How dare someone leave poor, sweet Bowser at a stranger's house? They became mine, and even with holes now in the fabric, these pants are a part of me.

Bowser will protect me. Declan’s got no chance against me with him on my side.

I have no intention of going down there, but I have zero faith that my mother will send him away.

She’ll probably?—

“Oh, I bet you she’s napping. Go on up there, sweetie. She'll kill me if I let you leave without waking her.”

I stare at my door in horror.

No, Mother, I’ll kill you if you let him up here when I have recently decided that I hate him.

I spring to my feet and curse my parents for never giving me a lock on my door when I was a teenager craving privacy. I jump back into my bed as softly as possible, hurriedly swiping at my phone. I turn on a video to pretend I didn’t hear his grand arrival.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sweeten. We don’t want to poke the bear, right?”

I let out a long, irritated breath.

I catch the sarcasm. My mother doesn’t, but he knows there’s a chance that I’ll hear.

Jerk.

His footsteps trudge up the stairs like a death march.

I’m a mixture of boiling anger and nerves. I wanted to be able to leave town and take the time that I needed to get over this. It’ll be easier when we’re in different countries. I simply want there to be no reason for me and Declan to have to speak for a while. He needs to realize that I am deadly serious when I tell him to stop impeding on my life.

He knocks softly on the door to my bedroom. Four times, to be exact.

I ignore every single one of them.

I don’t even know what I’m watching. Some true crime episode that I’ve already seen, judging by the fact that I only had four minutes left of the video before I opened it and had to hurry to restart it. I don’t know who died, and I don’t know if they lit up a room or not—I can’t focus on anything but the doorknob turning and the creak of the door as it opens, welcoming the devil into my room.

I don’t even look up.

Declan hesitates. His stare burns into my face. After a moment, likely when he realizes that I am not going to greet him like I’m happy to see him, he treads further into my bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

“So, you are awake.”

I slide my eyes from the screen to his face.

He shoots me a pleading look.

“Come on, Pen. You’d ignore The Goodbye Parade?”

Oh, come on.

He’s doing the puppy dog eyes. You’d think they’d look silly on a man nearing the age of thirty, but Declan’s perfected that look, and he keeps it in his back pocket for the direst of situations. Even looking at it right now, I almost want to smile like it’s a golden retriever in my bedroom and not Judas.

My heart warms a bit that he’s willing to whip out that look for this , meaning this is critical to him, but just as quickly, I throw it back into the freezer and lock the door.

“That parade is for my friends.”

Hurt flashes across his face, but he walks to the edge of my bed anyway. He doesn’t sit. He reaches down and fiddles with the end of my blanket. I’m quickly assaulted by the smell of pine and mint, and for a moment, I debate letting this go .

It’s Declan. He’s been here since the beginning of my adult life. He’s familiar and comfortable, and he cares about me. Even if he shows it poorly, I know that deep down, he loves me and only wants what’s best for me.

Deep, deep, down. Like, in the trenches of hell.

But it’s Declan. He should know better than to stomp all over the lines that I have drawn in the sand. How many warnings can I give before I have to respect myself and my own boundaries? I haven’t exactly hidden my feelings. I have made it very clear where I stand on his constant need to intrude and just say whatever the hell is on his mind.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re friends.”

I glare at him, throwing my phone onto the bed. “Are we?”

Those hazel eyes study my face carefully.

“Penny, I meant every word that I said to you. I’m not taking it back. Let me be clear, though, none of it changes the way I look at you. My judgment was all on Gavin.”

My throat bobs. “I told you years ago that you needed to keep your unwanted opinions to yourself. I don’t need to know that you hate my boyfriend. What does that do for me? How does that help me?”

Declan blinks, shooting me a look of disbelief. “It lets you know that I’m on your side. I want you to be happy. That wasn't an attack. It was a plea to get you to consider that there might be something else out there for you. Something better. ”

No.

I can’t listen to this. I can’t have a repeat performance of that night at The Swan Dive . I’ll lose my mind. I already know how he feels. He laid it out clearly, and it’s obvious that he has no remorse for doing so. There’s no need for him to double down just to make a point.

I shake my head, ignoring him.

“I told you what would happen, Dec. I meant it. I don’t have to put up with your negativity toward the most important things in my life. I refuse to put up with it.”

His dark brows furrow. He holds out his hands like he can’t make sense of any of this.

“So, what? We’re just not friends anymore? Like you’re a fucking teenager with zero ability to communicate?” He laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “No wonder your relationship is thriving.”

My eyes widen.

There it is. As usual. Straight for the kill.

Regret is quick to flash over his face, but it’s done. It left his mouth and hit my ears, and now they’re roaring. He can’t take it back.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his low blows and his moronic opinions that nobody ever asks for and that nobody wants to hear.

I pull myself out of bed and force myself into his space. I take a bold step toward him, wanting my approach to look serious and maybe even a bit threatening, but he’s so damn tall that it’s hard to pull that off.

And I’m wearing Bowser pajama pants.

“I communicate to you very clearly. I set a boundary, and I let you cross it multiple times. I let you make me uncomfortable multiple times. This was the last time. There is always a breaking point, and you finally smashed right through it. Congrats!”

He stares down his nose at me, burying his hands in his pockets. Those full lips turn downward into a scowl. I don’t like that look on that face. It’s so different from his arrogant, irritating smile that has definitely lit up every room he’s walked into.

“I was trying to convince you to fight for yourself,” he says. Even though he says it softly, it feels like a slap to the face. “ Because you seem to have forgotten how to do that. But I see that I was wrong. You haven’t forgotten, have you? You just can’t fight for yourself when it comes to him.”

Stop. Talking.

Please.

I don’t want to self-detonate and ruin our friendship worse than it’s already been damaged. Don’t push me into a corner, Dec. Please . We both know how I react when that happens.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper. If I could set him on fire with my eyes, he’d be cremated by now.

“I think I do, and I think that’s why you’re so upset.”

There’s a long pause as we regard each other. There are insults on the tip of my tongue, things that I want to say to make this an even fight, but I swallow each and every word.

I won't stoop to his level. Not today. I don’t want to hurt him, even if he wants me to fight back. I’ll stomach my pride and let him feel like he won this, so long as I get what I want. Him leaving.

“You have a flight to catch. Better get going.”

Declan just stares at me. It’s a cold look, like he’s looking at a monster he can’t make sense of. No, it’s like he’s looking at someone that he has lost all respect for.

I can’t lie, that stings worse than his words do.

He dips his chin, reaching up to scratch the underside of his jaw. I know then that I’ve won this particular battle, even if he doesn’t. He’s conceding.

Declan turns to leave without another word, just a flash of those eyes laced with disappointment.

In me.

It’s that look that drives the knife in deeper. Suddenly, I’m mad he isn’t saying more. As if that look awakened another beast inside of me, I am remarkably not done here. He hurt me , not the other way around. I have to make sure that he remembers that.

Why? I don’t know. But logic goes out the window when someone aims an entire battalion at everything I care about.

I glare at his back.

“Next time we’re in town at the same time, don’t bother swinging by to say goodbye. Skip the hello, too.”

I don’t mean that. I’m proving a point, yes, but I really don’t mean that.

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob. He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes are soft again.

A surge of conflicting feelings swoops into my stomach in a new, terrifying wave. I’m being cruel, but he needs to hear it. He needs to start taking me seriously.

Still, I want to take it back.

I don’t.

“Whatever you want, P.”

Then, he’s gone and I’m staring at the door as my heart plummets. I hear him say a happy goodbye to my parents like this conversation never happened, and a few seconds later, the door to his Range Rover slams shut.

His tires spin as he pulls from the curb, accelerating down the road as if he couldn’t wait to put the distance that I wanted between us.