Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

34. Declan

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

declan

I type the code into Seth’s front door and stroll right inside the quiet house.

It’s snowing. A fresh layer of soft powder blankets the steps and the bushes that line them. It snows in Pittsburgh, but Canadian winters are different. They feel different. There is nothing like the holidays in Canada. Winters here are comforting, even when you can’t feel your fingers.

I’m relieved to be back. There was a comfort that came with stepping out of the airport and seeing the soft, fluffy flakes falling from the dark sky. It felt like I was being welcomed home. There was a bit of peace in that.

It’s bullshit, obviously. I have never felt more fucking nervous than walking up these front steps and through this front door. The death march music blares inside my head. It’s snowing and cold, but I know there is something more bitter waiting for me beyond this big, red door.

It doesn’t matter. I can’t let it matter. The holidays have always been important in our friend group. I won’t be the one ruining it. Not for anything. Not because of her or whatever the hell is going on with me.

“Merry fucking Christmas!” I shout as I kick off my shoes. I slam the door for good measure, hoping to wake up every single soul inside of this house. I saw the videos from last night. I read the texts. I know these hooligans were up until the early hours of the morning.

Tough shit. I’m home. It’s time to celebrate. I warned them all that I was going to be on Canadian soil bright and early and they knew to be prepared.

I hear a grumble from the living room.

I chuckle and tread carefully through the hall with my stack of coffees, wading through the dim morning light. I don’t bother trying to be quiet. I’ll be a bull in a China shop at the expense of them all. This is what they get for not being able to wait one night for me to get here before starting the festivities.

I drop the coffees onto the island and turn to the mountain of blankets piled on Seth’s couch. I can make out the outline of a body. You know it was a long night if the stragglers couldn’t even make it home.

I take one, giant breath and shout at the top of my lungs. “I’m home!”

With my black coffee in hand, I round the couch. Even after screaming at the top of my lungs, the blankets don’t move, but I hear a pained groan somewhere underneath them.

I wait for a few seconds, watching the edge of the couch, trying to figure out if this lump is Wyatt or EJ. They’ve got aggressively long legs under there. I can see black socks poking out. It must be Wyatt. He’s the only psycho that would sleep with socks on.

Only one way to find out.

Rolling my eyes, I kick the bottom of the couch. Hard.

Curse words rumble through the room. A second later, Wyatt’s head pops out from under the blanket, blinking through sleep. His short, curly hair is flattened on one side of his head, dark eyes taking a second to focus as he drifts back to reality.

When he comes back to consciousness, a cheesy smile pulls at his lips.

But then the blankets in front of him move. Wyatt pulls them back excitedly, and my heart plummets to my ass. Another head appears just under his. Messy, staticky, blonde hair. Last night’s makeup still on her face. Blue eyes that have hurt me time and time again.

Our eyes lock, hers hard and impenetrable. Her cheeks are flushed, her discomfort clear. She’s been awake longer than I’ve been here. She attempted to stay hidden. She would have suffocated under those blankets if Wyatt hadn’t pulled them off her.

I know that for a fucking fact.

Can’t hide now, Lucky. I see you.

My eyes skirt down their bodies. He’s completely wrapped around her to the point where I couldn’t even tell that there were two of them on the couch. His hand slides across her stomach to reach up and rub the sleep from his eyes. He stretches outward, removing that thigh that he had tossed over her.

My throat is dry, but my gaze is locked on the way he unfolds himself from the last body I've touched.

My eyes dart back to hers. Dread courses through my fucking guts.

Those damn eyes flicker to the ground, her mouth tightening to a hard line. She can’t even look at me.

Well, fuck.

I don’t like what that might insinuate.

Fuck .

I turn, retreating to the kitchen because if I keep looking at them, I’m going to lose my grip on my sanity. I don’t say anything to Wyatt. I don’t even say hello. I’m losing it here. My god, it’s only been five minutes and my clothes feel too tight on my body.

I start rearranging the coffees because I can’t think of anything else to do and my hands are shaking. I’ll do anything to avoid turning back to face that couch.

I hyped myself up to see her. I practiced being civil in my head. The whole flight over, I thought about how I’d act, what I would say to break the ice. I would be lying if I hadn’t been thinking of ways to turn on the charm and hopefully lower her guard so that I could assess the situation.

What I hadn’t been prepared for was seeing her tangled up with Wyatt, her ass pressed against his… fuck .

Why does this feel like I just got punched in the stomach?

“Lowesy!” I hear a scream in the distance. I glance at the wall, listening. It’s EJ, somewhere upstairs. “Do you charge for delivery?”

Not if it gets me out of this fucking mess. I’ll pay him to let me deliver this.

There’s rustling from the couch. I’m not sure if it’s Wyatt or Penny getting up, but I don’t care to find out. I can’t particularly look either of them in the eye right now.

I grab EJ’s Americano and rush out of the kitchen. I try to keep my pace as casual as ever, but I’m practically sprinting up the stairs and away from whatever the fuck I just saw on that couch.

I can’t think about it. My stomach turns when I do.

The door to the spare room is already wide open. This is Penny’s room. It’s where she’s been staying. When she’s not spooning Wyatt, that is .

I round the corner and nearly burst out laughing. The fire burning my skin extinguishes a bit at the sad sight before me.

EJ is fully clothed, face down on the bed. His cheek is pressed to the sheets, drool staining the blanket. His arm hangs off the bed while his fingers clutch a garbage can. There’s a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water on the nightstand beside his head.

I lean against the doorframe, cocking a brow. “Good night?”

He glares at me with blue eyes like ice, but he doesn’t move. I don’t know if he can.

“I’m fairly fucking certain that Seth and Penny carried me to bed last night.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He lets out a long breath and shuts his red-rimmed eyes. “Also fairly certain that I puked in the kitchen sink.”

We’ve all been there. It’s much more enjoyable when you’re not the one suffering through it.

“Sounds like I should make you come get your coffee.”

EJ squeezes his eyes shut tighter, letting out a fake cry. “Please have mercy on me. I’m a good boy. I just do bad things sometimes.”

I bark out a laugh, pushing myself from the door frame. He is anything but a good boy. But I love him for that.

I drop his coffee on the nightstand and place my hand on his head, running my fingers over his blond bedhead. He sighs against the touch, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

“Have you taken the ibuprofen yet? Had some water?”

He grumbles something.

I’ll take that as a no.

I pop open the bottle, fishing out a couple of pills and put my hand under his chin, forcing him upward a bit. He cracks his eyes open, glaring at me, but I see the amusement dancing behind that look. He finds this as hilarious as I do.

I cock a brow, a silent order, wiggling the pills in my hand.

He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

I smirk, feeding him the pills. EJ waits as I grab the water and slowly bring it to his lips, tilting up his chin. He swallows in one gulp and then falls back onto the mattress as if that was the most taxing thing he’s ever done in his life.

This man does hard labour in a mine for a living.

“You pissed in a plant, too.”

I whirl toward the door.

Seth, still in his pajamas, is staring at EJ with a stern look.

EJ groans and tries to smother himself in the bedsheets.

I raise my brows, as if to say: no shit? Seth tries but fails to hide his smile. He shakes his head. EJ did no such thing, but today will be the day that we convince him that he did.

The downfall of being the drunkest one at the party.

“Breakfast in the next two hours, Eej. Be up by then,” Seth tells him.

EJ flings his arm up to give a thumbs up, but nearly knocks over his coffee in the process. I jump forward, stopping it from tumbling onto his head and burning his face. He’s the one who tells me it’s his money maker. All the time. We can’t ruin the money maker.

He only grumbles an apology but makes no further movement to wake himself.

It’s time to leave sleeping beauty to rest. Meeting Seth in the hall, I close the door behind us. Let him take those two hours to sleep this off. He clearly needs it.

Seth’s gaze is loaded once we’re alone in the dark hallway. I scan his face, looking for an answer to the question that I really don’t want to ask.

“EJ needed a bed last night,” he explains quietly, using his oracle powers before I even speak. “Penny graciously let him have hers.”

Yeah. That’s not the fucking issue.

“They’re cuddling on the couch. Her and Wy,” I blurt out, and I can hear how bitter I sound. I want to smack myself.

Seth stares at me for a second, face giving nothing away. He hasn’t been downstairs yet. He hasn’t seen him wrapped around her like he knows her body, like his own is perfectly molded for hers.

It’s not, by the way. I refuse to believe that.

“That isn’t anything new,” Seth reminds me gently.

Yeah, yeah, they used to have sleepovers all the time. They used to fall asleep on the couch like that, too. We were also twenty, and the two of them had never even kissed or touched romantically.

Have they now?

I can’t even consider that. No. There is no way. That’d be over the line.

Would it? I have no authority here, really. But it feels like I want it. This feels different. It feels like a slap in the face now. She feels like… fuck, she feels like she’s mine.

“Right,” I mutter.

Seth gives me a look. This one I can read. “Dec, please.”

“I’m fine,” I say. I’m not. But I’m here, the fucking coffee fairy, and I need to sort out this internal war within myself before I make this worse. I have to show my face downstairs again, so it doesn’t look like I’m trying to hide from her.

I am hiding from her.

Seth studies my face carefully for a long moment.

“I just…” I say, my voice trailing off. He didn’t say anything. Hadn’t asked anything either, yet I’m still talking. It’s part of his weird, oracle games. My words get stuck in my throat. I just didn’t expect it to feel this painful when I saw her . “I don’t know if I can do this, man.”

It comes out in a whisper. It sounds almost like I’m pleading. I hate it, but even saying that aloud sends a rush of gross and unexplainable pain through my body. God, I meant that. I meant that with the entirety of my stupid heart.

I physically cannot see her with another man. I don’t care if it’s Wyatt, if it’s a stranger, or if it’s Gavin. I can’t. I can’t be this severed from her, wondering how she’s feeling, wondering if she’s okay. I can’t be here with her, without actually being here with her—present, talking to each other. Friends.

Seth’s face softens. He’s going to have to host the hoard of us today, and I’m ruining the mood before the sun even rises. I think we were both hoping that these weird feelings toward Penny would be gone by the time I came home for the holidays.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. To make matters worse, the first thing I saw was her sleeping with another guy. I know it’s only Wyatt, but fuck… it confirmed a lot of things that I was hoping weren’t true. I was hoping I was just fixating on the situation and all these feelings, whatever they are, would diminish once we were in the same room again.

Nope. Still there.

“Look,” Seth whispers, glancing back at his bedroom door. “EJ was supposed to go out and grab the alcohol this morning. Clearly, that isn’t going to happen. What do you say we go for a drive? Get out of the house for a bit?”

A wave of relief washes over me.

That sounds like the best idea he’s had in years. Yes. Yes, I want to get the hell out of this house and do a refresh on my brain. I need a do-over. I need a chance to walk back in here, shoulders back and head high, knowing what I am about to face .

“Please.”

“Give me a minute to get changed,” he says quietly, placing his hand on my shoulder. He gives me a gentle shake, maybe to reassure me that I am not going to drop dead if I go back downstairs.

He slips into his bedroom, and I’m nodding after him like he can still see me. I think I’m trying to hype myself up. It’s not working. I glance down the staircase. I feel like a fucking idiot standing here alone, too afraid to face her.

I don’t need Seth as my backup.

I don’t, right?

If I stay up here, she’ll figure out what I’m doing. Avoiding her. I have to find my balls and just pretend like this isn’t bothering me. It’s the only move I’ve got.

I suck in a breath and shake out my shoulders. Only a minute or so, and then Seth will be ready to go. Without thinking too much about it, I head back downstairs and tread carefully into the kitchen.

Act fucking normal, Declan.

Please don’t be cuddling still. Please don’t be hugging or some shit. Give me a chance to survive this, Lucky.

I round the corner to see Wyatt awake and alert, sorting through the coffees with tired eyes. He turns when he sees me, flashing me that famous crooked smile that used to piss me off. It’s taunting, even when he doesn’t mean for it to be. I saw it too many times on the ice to think of it otherwise.

Right now, he’s just happy to see me, but my brain is convincing me he’s taunting me because he slept on the couch with the woman that I’m fucking dying to just talk to again.

“There’s my superstar,” he jokes, opening his arms. I walk into them, acting like I don’t want to punch him in the jaw for where his hands were last night. “It’s a cup year, buddy. It’s a cup year. ”

“Yeah?” I say, because I have nothing else to say. The playoffs are the last thing on my mind right now. Hockey doesn’t matter at the moment.

Never thought I’d hear myself saying that sentence in this lifetime.

I can feel her eyes, but I don’t want to look.

He nods, pulling back with an extra smack between my shoulder blades. He sorts through the coffees again until he finds his black light roast, popping the lid off and tossing it to the side. He slides onto one of the bar stools.

“If you keep playing the way you have been, absolutely.”

Wyatt is usually the one to bust my balls, so it’s nice to hear him genuinely boosting my ego.

I smile tightly, and I glance over my shoulder because I’m an idiot and a sucker for punishment.

She’s sitting up, picking at the ends of the blanket on her lap. Her blonde hair is all crazy and wild, much like I expect it was before she snuck out of my hotel room that night.

Shit.

Her bottom lip is slightly pushed out. I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. I want to smooth it out with my thumb, force a smile. God, she looks so fucking sad. I expected to be angry with her, but I look at her and I just fucking ache .

When I read the coffee order last night, I wasn’t surprised to see one order missing. After what happened in Pittsburgh, Penny wasn’t going to ask anything of me, not even a coffee. That’s not how it’s going to be on my end. It never will. I just can’t be that guy.

“Ready to go?” Seth asks, appearing around the corner. He slides his body between me and the wall and grabs his keys from the little bowl on the island.

I nod, my eyes flickering back to her. Her gaze is locked in on me now, her expression unreadable .

Caught you looking, Lucky.

“Where are you going?” Wyatt asks.

“To grab the alcohol,” Seth says with a sigh.

Wyatt huffs a laugh. “Ernie Junior. Always so dependable.”

It’s only a second, but our eyes are glued to each other. Neither of us can seem to look away. I know she’s going to break this gaze at any moment. She’s going to hide from me. It’s what she does best.

“There’s a hazelnut latte for you there,” I tell her, nodding toward the island. Her face tells me nothing, but I swear her eyes soften just a bit. I swear I see a bit of the pain that I feel. “Extra cinnamon on top.”

I tear my eyes away from her and follow behind Seth wordlessly, my fingers itching to do something. I don’t want to admit how hard my heart is hammering against my ribs. A few words and a half a second of eye contact and I can’t handle it. I start unbuttoning and buttoning my coat, seconds from losing my mind.

“Grab some clamato!” Wyatt calls after us.

The moment I step into the cold winter air, it feels like I can breathe again. I shut the door behind us and trudge down the steps, sucking in all the fresh, Penny-less oxygen that I can.

When we reach Seth’s truck, he meets my eyes over the hood. His glare is scalding.

“You’re fucked,” he tells me. It’s a warning. A clear, distinct warning.

I swallow.

He unlocks the truck and I nearly tear the door off the hinges when I open it.

“Yeah. I’m gathering that.”