Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

14. Penny

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

penny

“How many shots was that?” Declan grumbles, stumbling into the back seat of his Range Rover.

It’s well past closing. The bartenders kicked us out, even though we pleaded to stay. Declan even used his signature puppy-dog eyes. It didn’t work. It’s okay. We still did too many tequila shots, had too many Long Islands, and surprisingly—we weren’t cut off.

It’s probably because the famous Declan Lowes was the one buying.

Now we have to wait for our Uber, so we slide into the Range Rover for warmth. It’s spacious enough that we could probably just sleep in here if we needed to. It doesn’t sound half bad with the warmth of the liquor running through my veins.

“Too many,” I say, and I’m desperate to keep this buzz going. I’m scared of what will happen when I stop.

I shut the door behind me and scramble across the console, half-falling into the front seat. I try to ignore Declan’s hands on my hips, helping me stay upright. They’re firm, and steadying, and I’m drunk and in need of comfort.

Bad idea.

I slide back into the seat next to him, tucking the wine behind my back, and I smile wickedly.

“Oh no,” he grumbles, pulling his hat over his eyes. He shuffles into the crook of the seat and the door, putting distance between us. “I don’t like that look. I don’t like it at all.”

“I have a present.”

“Please, no.”

I pull the wine bottle out from behind my back. It’s a pinot grigio, and it’s a screw cap. I hadn’t been sure I was going to find the confidence to walk into the party, and I needed to be able to drink if I didn’t.

I wiggle my eyebrows at Declan, who lets out a long, tired breath, but there is a hint of amusement on those full lips of his. Those dimples poke out, giving him away.

“You can outdrink a football player, you know that?” he groans, snatching the bottle from my hand and twisting the cap off.

“No, but I know for a fact that I can outdrink a hockey player.”

He pauses, the cap in his fingers. He shoots me a look of warning, but I just flash him an innocent smile, and that’s enough for him to ignore the dig. He lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks. It’s a long, greedy gulp, one that has my mouth watering with jealousy.

He passes it to me without a word.

Yes, please. More alcohol.

I take a large swig, happy for cool October’s. The wine isn’t cold, but it has chilled enough to be drinkable after being left in the car .

“Where are you staying?” he asks.

That question is the equivalent of ice water being poured on my head. I don’t want to think about reality right now, about the fact that I don’t have a home to call my own anymore.

I shrug. “I was planning on rotating between my parents’ and Avery’s. I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

“What about work?” he asks.

“I can work remotely.”

“Ah.”

My heart feels heavy. The grief is a dark, dark whisper in my mind. I don’t want to think about it. I’m in this Range Rover with Declan to forget .

“When do you go back?” I ask, taking another sip. “The big, bad professional hockey player can’t take too much time off, can he?”

Declan’s lip twitches. He rolls his eyes, snatching the bottle from my hands. “I leave in a few days.”

Something in me deflates. I watch the column of his throat as he drinks, and I'm more than aware of his eyes burning into the side of my face. Declan leaving is not something rare. He’s been leaving since we were, like, twenty-one. But tonight was nice. I healed a bit in that bar. I don’t want him to go when I only just got him back.

It’s silent between us for a moment.

“You could come visit me, you know. We don’t have to always wait until we’re both home.”

And now that Gavin isn’t in the picture, I have more of a free schedule. Now that Gavin isn’t in the picture, I can take a trip to see my friends without having to worry about if he’ll want to come.

Once Declan moved countries, it became a lot more difficult to plan trips to see him. We’d gone to Ottawa a few times when he played there, but since he moved to Pittsburgh, I haven’t been able to make it to one.

He’s been in Pittsburgh for a while.

I force a smile, meeting his eyes with a soft nod. Neither of us speaks when Declan passes the bottle back. Gavin’s unsaid name sits like a weight between us, heavy and daunting.

I reach for the wine, and my fingers brush against Declan’s. A jolt rushes through me, and for a split second, I wonder what it would be like to grab that hand, to hold it—but it’s just the echo of my broken heart trying desperately to repair itself, ready to reach for anyone’s hand.

I slide the bottle from his grip. He watches me with heavy lids, his head resting still against the crack between the door and the seat. The dark glow of his amber eyes is unyielding.

“He never deserved you.”

I slowly lower the bottle to my lap. Without moving closer, Declan reaches across the space between us and places his hand on my calf, his thumb brushing against my ankle.

My heart thumps erratically in my chest. This is Declan. He’s touched me like this one million times over the years. Settle down, you pathetic organ.

“Can we not talk about him?”

I don’t even want to think about him.

Declan’s jaw tenses, his grip tightening a bit on my leg. Okay, I have never, ever seen him look at me like this. I don’t know if it’s the tequila, or if it’s because we had a great time tonight after fighting for how many months, but he’s looking at me like we’re something beyond friends. Like he wants me.

That is terrifying.

What’s more terrifying is the flutter in my stomach, the want that I feel in return.

My eyes dart to his mouth, where his tongue wets his plump bottom lip. His own gaze tracks mine, and he gives my leg another squeeze.

“When he comes crawling back,” Declan says, his voice suddenly gravelly and quiet. I force myself to meet his eyes. “And he will. Don’t you fucking dare give him another shot.”

I swallow. Hard. I suddenly feel very claustrophobic in this very large car. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a greedy drink. I might down the whole bottle just so I have something to do with my hands.

And for the love of god, can we please stop talking about Gavin?

“You aren’t a girl you walk away from. Anyone stupid enough to do so doesn’t deserve anything more from you. Got it?”

We look at each other. Not knowing what to say, and suddenly feeling way too drunk to trust myself, I hand the bottle of wine back to him without another word.

His eyes dart to it, and he huffs a laugh. He pushes himself upward, closing the space that we’ve managed to keep between us. He slides his hand over mine to take the bottle from me. Bold and unflinching, and I can’t breathe.

He’s so close that I can count the freckles that dance along his nose. Four, if you’re wondering. I can see the flecks of light brown in his dark stubble, the streaks of black in his eyes.

God, he’s pretty.

His eyes flicker to my lips.

“Declan,” I whisper.

He nods, eyes still glued to my mouth.

His gaze drifts over my shoulder at the very same second that headlights sweep past the windows. Something deflates inside of me when Declan leans back and takes a swig of the wine instead of leaning any closer. He lets out a long breath, whatever that was between us disintegrating .

“The Uber is here.”

Saved by the Uber driver.

He throws open the door and climbs out of the vehicle while I’m still trying to compose myself. My stomach is a mess. My broken heart is twitching, as if coming back to life at the idea of his hands on me. Maybe being here with him wasn’t a good idea after all.

Because what the fuck was that ?

My heart is racing, and that spot between my legs feels a little different from how it felt ten minutes ago.

I turn to let myself out. Hopefully the cold wind will slap me in the face and smack some sense into me. Whatever that was, I can’t do that again— we can’t do that again. For many reasons. None of them come to mind right now, but I know they’re good.

The door to the Range Rover swings open before I can even find the handle with my fumbling fingers.

Declan waves politely to the Uber driver. He holds out his hand and helps me out of the car. His fingers slip to my waist the second that my feet are on the ground.

“Where are you staying tonight?” he asks, his thumb brushing my back.

What?

I blink, looking up at him. “Avery’s?”

His eyes flash. “No. Don’t go to Avery’s.”

“Declan.”

We absolutely cannot go down this road. It’s a bad idea. A very bad idea.

He knows that, too. We haven’t spoken in nearly a year. We’ve been fighting , for heaven’s sake. The last thing we should be doing is flirting and looking at each other the way we’re very much looking at each other right now.

“You can stay at the hotel with me if you want. I have a suite with a second room. Or go to your parents. Just… don’t go to Avery’s. Not tonight.”

Suspicion curls in my gut. I narrow my eyes, slowing my steps. “Why ?”

“Just trust me,” he mutters, guiding me to the Uber.

He opens the door for me, not meeting my eyes as I climb inside. I watch him through the window while he walks around the back of the car. His face is suddenly unreadable, emotionless.

A bad feeling is starting to fester in my heart.

Declan confirms the address of the hotel with the driver. His gaze slowly finds mine, shooting me a look as if to ask if that’s alright.

I nod once, watching him carefully. He said to trust him and after tonight, I’m willing to more than ever. There’s something going on, and I’m not sure what that is, but I know that whatever is making him so uncomfortable would likely make me feel worse.

I can go to his hotel. Declan and I have shared beds, couches, and even floors before. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends, unless we were fighting, in which we were pretty much still friends. Plus, he said there was a second room. It’s basically like getting a hotel to myself.

This is fine.

As the car pulls away from the bar, tingling discomfort prickles at the back of my neck. The drive is silent with none of us speaking; not even the driver tries to make conversation. He probably feels the tension brewing between us, and I’m not sure if it’s good tension or if it’s a warning.

Declan and I are on opposite sides of the back seat, not touching and not looking at each other. He’s peering out the window and I’m staring straight ahead. Our hands are in our laps, our gazes focused on anywhere but one another .

It’s a stark contrast to the back seat of the Range Rover.

Reluctantly, I slip my hand into the pocket of my coat to grab my phone. A surge of anger hits me when there is not a single notification from Gavin, not even when he knew I was driving eight hours to come home.

To get away from him.

Because he broke up with me.

I was freshly dumped. I was emotional. I drove eight hours to find some peace and he didn't even check in?

He really meant it. He doesn’t love me.

My brow furrows seeing fifteen missed calls from Avery and five missed Facetimes. My heart drops to my toes.

Something happened.

If I hadn’t been drinking, I think I’d have guessed it then.

Declan’s hand suddenly covers the screen of my phone.

I glance up at him, meeting his eyes, and I immediately know that something is wrong. There’s a reason he doesn’t want me going back to Avery’s tonight, and he doesn’t want to tell me what that is, but it’s big.

Declan presses his lips together in a tight line.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight, alright? Call her in the morning.”

“Declan,” I warn, my voice laced with worry. “Did something happen to Avery?”

“She’s fine,” he reassures me, curling his fingers around my phone and pulling it from my hands. He places it back in my lap softly. “Just… call her in the morning.”

I nod slowly, feeling uneasy. He’d tell me if Avery was in trouble. He knows better than to keep something like that from me. That’s a death sentence. Whatever is going on is not important enough to ruin the happy little picture of numbness that we created tonight.

I have to trust him .

The Uber pulls into the hotel parking lot. Declan fishes a one hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and hands it to the man, who looks confused by the gesture. The ride had to have been cheaper than ten dollars, and that was prepaid.

Declan just gave him a nice, hundred-dollar tip.

“Happy Thanksgiving, man.”

He nods at me.

I climb out of the car, feeling more unsteady on my legs than I had a moment ago. Declan rounds the vehicle and places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me into the hotel.

The lobby is quiet. Apart from an older gentleman reading a paper on one of the puffy orange chairs, the only people mulling about are the staff. Nobody bothers us as we walk to the elevators.

Declan jabs the button, glancing at me over his shoulder.

“I promise you have your own room,” he says, seeming to mistake my unease for being in his hotel room alone with him. “I haven’t even cracked the door open. It’s pristine, and the mini bar is stocked. I won’t even send you the bill for all the wine you’re about to drink.”

I laugh, smiling gently at him as the elevator doors open.

Through the mirrors on the wall, I see a look of uncertainty etched across his face. He places that hand back on the small of my back to slide by me and press the button for the fifteenth floor.

The elevator crawls upward in silence. My phone feels like a weight in my hands. I resist every urge to check.

Trust him.

When we get to his suite, Declan puts his keycard in, propping the door open with one hand to let me through first. I slide past him, ignoring the warmth I feel from his body as mine brushes his.

It’s Declan and it’s a bad idea .

He flicks on the lights as I kick off my shoes, walking into a suite that is way too big for one person to enjoy. There is a decent sized kitchen with cherry-wood cabinets and a lavish looking island in the center, adorned with black countertops that do not even remotely go with the floors. The living room is attached, albeit a bit more lackluster than the kitchen. It looks like they renovated only half of the room. It’s big, but it’s nothing fancy.

This is probably the fanciest this city has to offer though.

I shrug off my jacket, tossing it onto the back of the couch. Declan is already bent over, half-inside of the mini bar. He pulls out a beer and one small bottle of wine.

That’ll probably cost him fifty bucks.

He cracks open the wine, his eyes meeting mine, and places it on the island, nodding at it.

I slowly walk over, sliding onto the chair across from him. I take a small sip of the dry white wine and bite back the shiver that hits my spine. It’s cold, but it is not sweet enough to go down nicely.

It’s not great, but I’m not complaining about free wine. Especially since we left the other bottle in Declan’s car.

“Nice room.”

His lip quirks upward, eyes shadowed by his hat. “I’m a big shot now, huh?”

“I can tell.” The artwork is terrible, and those couches are bright orange and tacky, looking more uncomfortable than the floor. But it’s a suite, and college-aged Declan and Penny would have never been able to fork out money for one of these. “They’re treating you well across the border, I see.”

Declan smiles against the rim of his beer. “They treat me just fine.”

“Do you ever miss home?” I ask.

I don’t know if I’ve ever actually asked him that question.

He stares at me for a second. Instead of answering, he yanks off his hood and hat, running his hand through his thick, dark hair. When he finally looks back at me, he just shrugs.

“Yeah, but I like living away. It’s nice to have broken out of the bubble.”

I nod slowly, but I don’t feel the same. Maybe that’s why I’ve never asked, because I knew our answers would be vastly different.

I miss the bubble.

I miss feeling cared about, no matter which street you turned down. Unlike Declan, I am definitely not universally adored in whichever city I moved to. I suffocated in isolation with a boyfriend who didn’t even pay me half of the attention that strangers pay Dec.

Wow. Another hard realization that comes with removing those rose-coloured glasses.

“You miss it.”

Tears burn behind my eyes. I do miss it. I miss them . I miss my family. My friends. Familiar streets. Familiar views. A safety net. Arms to run to.

I miss it all.

“I just miss being happy.”

Declan’s face softens in a way that makes my heart ache. I mean ache. I can feel it in the depths of my chest, taking root and wrapping around my heart like a python. It’s squeezing my ribs to the point of pain, threatening to shatter me into a million little pieces.

Those hazel eyes fill with sympathy. I really don’t like seeing that look on his face, knowing that he feels bad for me. It somehow feels worse than anything Declan’s ever said or done to me over the years. Every argument and harsh word pales in comparison to how much that look destroys me .

“Pen,” he says softly, and his tone is laced with that same, icky tenderness.

“I’ll live.” I force out a laugh, reaching for my wine. I take a drink from the bottle, avoiding his stare, but I feel it all over me. “It’s not the end of the world, right?”

It feels like it is. Everything feels like the end of the world lately. It’s just a break-up. I keep trying to tell myself that. Yet, it feels like the entire foundation of my world has broken and I’m about to fall through the cracks.

“You can come home,” he says, attempting to soothe the wound I just ripped open in front of him.

I roll my eyes, hoping to convince him that this conversation is not destroying me more and more with each passing second.

I know I can move home, but I have already left. Coming back feels like I failed in some twisted way. I got out. Almost everyone else that I grew up with is stuck here, the friends they made in college already back in bigger cities. This town is no longer even on their radar unless they’re talking about the glory days.

Nobody wanted to stay here. Those who did were missing out.

But I left years ago, and I feel like I’m the one who has been missing out.

I have watched my friends' lives go by on social media. Birthdays, promotions, and many, many road trips. I have watched countless Friendsgivings and holiday weekends from a phone screen. I stared at their smiles and watched their videos, listening to every word they spoke to me through voice notes—drunk, happy, and connected.

I am the only one who ever felt disconnected. I watched from my beloved house, next to the boyfriend that falls asleep easily every night while I toss and turn. Living for the moments where my friends lived without me.

It’s where I wanted to be. It’s always where I want to be.

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he continues, as if he can read my mind.

“I’ll have to deal with the aftermath sooner or later, won’t I?” I say with a sigh, taking another drink.

“Deal with it now,” he says. “Or wait until my next block of time off. I’ll help you come home.”

“He won’t make it that easy,” I admit, my voice a soft whisper.

His brow furrows. “What the fuck do you mean? He broke up with you.”

“He’ll make this harder than it has to be,” I mutter. “It’s just how he is.”

And he will. He’ll make me jump through hoops. I’ll agree to something that was his idea and he’ll change his mind because it feels too easy. He’ll expect every move I make to be a mind game because that’s how he lives his life. I’ll ask to take the blender and he’ll complain that he paid for half of it. I’ll want something that he gifted me, and he’ll rationalize why it’s actually his.

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Declan snaps. “I’ll go down there myself if I have to. He’s done fucking around with you, Pen. It’s over. He’s giving you what you’re owed and you’re moving on. There aren't going to be any games.”

I swallow the lump of sadness in my throat. Talking about this makes it seem so real. When it starts to feel real, the numbness kind of seeps away. I need the numbness.

All of that is easier said than done. Gavin’s a taker. He’s been taking and taking since we’ve been together. He takes my generosity, my loyalty, my love, and he absorbs it and lets it flow through him—watering himself until he blooms.

I can count the number of nights I have had to take a shower just so I could cry in peace, a hole in my chest, the knowledge that something vital was missing, because if he saw me crying, he’d sigh theatrically and act like I was being dramatic.

And I held on. I held on with all my might.

Why was I so desperate to convince myself that he deserved to be loved when he didn’t even want to be?

“Hey.”

I blink, forcing the tears away. Declan’s watching me carefully, his fingers toying with the label of his beer.

“I just feel so stupid,” I huff a laugh, quickly wiping my eyes.

“You aren’t stupid. He’s a fucking idiot,” he reminds me. “You tried. You gave it your all. You don’t get to have regrets when you pour your blood, sweat, and tears into it. Let him live with that. That’s his burden, not yours.”

I smile a sad smile, nodding—even though it doesn’t feel okay, and it doesn’t feel like the regrets will ever wash away. If I nod enough, maybe I’ll start believing it.

Isn’t that what the spiritual girls do now? Manifestation? I’ll manifest that I’m okay. It can’t feel any worse than this does now.

I hurriedly wipe the tears away as they fall.

Declan is right. I did all I could on my end. To my own detriment, really. I stayed too long. I gave up so many years fighting for somebody that never really fought for me. I’m not even sure he wanted me to fight for him.

And now I’ll be alone. Officially. It is both the most terrifying and relieving feeling in the world.

“You always deserved a bigger love than that. An earth-shattering, life-changing love. That was never it.”

I never expected the smooth talking, ridiculously charming, Declan Lowes, who has no interest in settling down with anyone , to be such a romantic.

I tip my wine back into my mouth, greedily gulping it down. How can one be so sobered by grief and regret that it washes away the buzz of tequila? Someone needs to study that. I’d rather have my room spinning and be puking in Declan’s hotel toilet right now than be feeling this.

We clearly need to sue The Swan Dive for watering down their liquor because, what the fuck is this?

“He’ll regret waking up every morning without you next to him. Trust me.”

I almost laugh, but my thoughts are spiraling out of control.

“You know, he never even told me I look pretty.”

Shut up.

Penelope Anne Sweeten, shut the hell up.

These are secrets you take to the grave. Horrible, monstrous secrets that make you look like a chump. Avery doesn’t even know these details. She’s made comments of course, knowing Gavin the best out of everyone, but she doesn’t know the depths of how bad it got.

Like how he never even cared to compliment me.

I would constantly fight nobody for his attention, fight the shadows for his affection. I was competing with nobody and still losing.

Shut up, Penny.

“What?” Declan bites out.

I nod, tearing my eyes from the wine bottle. He’s expressionless as he watches me, his jaw ticking.

“I’d dress up for parties or work events. I’d spend hours on my hair and makeup. I’d buy the perfect dress, desperate for him to look at me like he used to. Each time, he’d come out in a suit, and I’d tell him how handsome he looked. Each time, he’d say thank you and fix his hair, or his tie, or his watch.”

And each time, he chiseled off a piece of my heart. It would destroy me. The disappointment should have stopped hurting after the tenth time, but it never did. I could never tell if he did it on purpose to hurt me or if he just genuinely never felt the urge to compliment me.

How sad is that, either way?

Declan’s eyes are flaring. His jaw is so tense that his neck looks strained. He’s glaring at me, but I know that anger is aimed at someone else. Someone eight hours away.

“You know you’re beautiful, right?” he says in a deep, gravelly voice after a long moment of silence. “You’ve always been beautiful. Fuck, even if you were hideous, that heart of yours is the sexiest thing in the world.”

My cheeks heat. Oh god, I’m not prepared to hear compliments rolling off his tongue.

I swallow, my eyes burning again.

That might be the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me and it’s from somebody who doesn’t owe me anything. Not a kind word.

I lower my gaze back to the wine bottle, which seems to piss Declan off. He pushes himself from the countertop and storms around the island. It takes him all but three seconds to wind up beside me. Too close. With one, swift movement, his hand slams on the back of my chair and he spins it around until I’m facing him.

He cups my face in his big palms, making my breath hitch. I’m forced to look up at him, his hazel eyes burning and furious.

And, oh god, a whirlwind happens in my stomach. I stare up at him, vulnerable and broken, and I see nothing but kindness pouring from his cup into mine—desperation even. He wants to put me back together. He’s furious that I was even broken in the first place.

“You are beautiful, Pen. Not pretty. Beautiful .”

I hold my breath. I don’t know why. My heart feels like it’s going to explode in my chest or fall out of my body all together. I’m so confused. I’m feeling these feelings that I shouldn’t be, and I can’t figure out if it’s because of the pain or because of something else.

What I would have given to hear that from the mouth of someone who did not deserve to be the object of my longing.

My eyes burn as Declan scans my face carefully, his thumbs brushing across my cheeks.

I kind of really want to kiss him.

That’s kind of a really bad idea.

“You should have never had to wonder if he thought so. Not for a single fucking day. Got that?”

“Dec,” I whisper, breathlessly. It comes out like a plea.

Where the fuck did this come from? One night of heavy drinking, emotions running high, and now this little jerk that I had been forced to befriend after years of bickering with him is making sweet declarations, looking at me like he wants to touch me everywhere, including my heart.

Worst of all, my heart.

“What?” he asks, his voice quiet. His throat bobs, and he gently shakes my head between his hands. “Do you want me to step back and let you go to bed?”

He feels this too, the shift. It’s everywhere.

Alarm bells ring in my head.

Yes.

That’s exactly what I should be doing. This is a bad idea. He hasn’t explicitly said anything, but I know that look, and I’ve felt this feeling in my stomach before. I want him , and that is terrifying .

We can’t.

His eyes show me nothing, just a softness that I can’t explain. I want to stare at them, just like this, all night. I want to pick out every fleck of darkness surrounded by gold. Count them. Memorize them. But I also want to see them on fire with desire. I want to know what they look like when he’s pleasing a woman. When he’s pleasing me.

But I am broken. I’m not whole right now. And broken people shouldn’t use somebody else to repair what they didn’t shatter. He doesn’t deserve to get cut on one of my many splintered pieces because it might spare me some pain. It isn’t worth the risk.

I swallow, our gazes burning into each other.

We both know the right answer here.

“I should.”

Declan nods slowly, and he takes a step back, immediately giving me the space I asked for. He drops his hands and I hate how I instantly miss his warmth.

He runs a hand over his bottom jaw, letting out a long, frustrated breath. Or maybe it’s relief. I’m not quite sure what I feel right now, either. It’s one of those two things. I think I ruptured something in his brain because he can’t stop nodding up and down, even as he turns away from me.

Maybe he’s trying this whole manifesting thing too. He’s manifesting that he’s okay with stepping away.

Add that to my list, too.

I slide from the stool, and he points to the door on the other side of the living room without even looking at me.

“Goodnight, Dec. Thank you for tonight,” I whisper, slinking past him.

“You know I’ve got you,” he says with a nod, but he still can’t look at me. “Night, Lucky.”

My arm brushes his and I ignore the way it sends a warm, electric current through my body. Downward. To a spot that shouldn’t be ignited by his skin.