Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

55. Penny

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

penny

Big gestures are fucking stupid.

They’re dumb, and whoever came up with this concept is dumber. Maybe in relationships, this would be fun. Even then, only if you are on good terms and you just want to show your partner that you love them. It seems fake and awfully manipulative when you’re surprising someone after you just went to war with them for over a year.

Sorry I broke your heart, let me stand under your window with a boombox.

Sorry I was a terrible friend and treated you like garbage, let me show up in Pittsburgh and force you to talk to me. Oh, and thanks for the orgasms.

Seth managed to get in contact with one of Declan’s teammates. His teammate made sure to save me a ticket and get me back to the player’s area with no problems—I just said my name and was allowed straight through. Not going to lie, it felt a little illegal, but here I am.

I almost forgot why I was here while I was watching Declan play. It has been far too long since I’ve seen this man on skates in the flesh. My seats were in the nosebleeds, but it didn’t matter. I always knew where he was. The whole arena did. He’s unmissable.

I never forgot how good he was but seeing it again with my own eyes made me really miss the view. There’s nothing like the pride that surges through me when I watch him play. His magic is infectious, and it’s hard not to cheer him on. Even when you hate him.

I don’t hate him, by the way. Only temporarily. Sometimes.

Thankfully, Pittsburgh won. So, at the very least, he’ll be in a good mood until he sees me. If I'm lucky, that mood might carry over a bit longer. Maybe he won’t take one look at me and turn right back around, reminding me that he said he never wanted to speak to me again.

A fool’s hope, but I am banking on it. If I lose my nerve, I’ll turn on my heel and leave the arena—pretending I was never here, leaving before I say all the things that I need to get off my chest.

I need to keep my grip on that hope.

I lean against the wall opposite of the change room door, smiling politely at the players as they leave the locker room. They all do the same thing. They clock me, their brows furrow with confusion, but then they manage a respectful nod and carry along.

I’m a new face, but they aren’t sure who I belong to. Hell, I might be a crazed fan that somehow broke in and wants a glimpse of them.

As time dwindles on and the minutes tick by, I fear Declan has caught wind that I’m here and snuck out some hidden back door to avoid having to deal with me. I probably would be jumping out of the bathroom window by now if the roles were reversed.

The arena has nearly cleared out. The custodians are starting to clean the building and I’m still standing in this hallway.

Alone.

I am just about to turn and leave, admitting defeat, though it hurts like a bitch, when the locker room door swings open again. Two big bodies enter the hallway, side by side, bags hanging from their shoulders.

It’s that exact moment that I realize I am not prepared to see him.

No matter what I say to convince myself that this is where I am supposed to be, I am not remotely ready to say my piece and put myself out there. Even though I recited it one hundred times on the plane ride over, it hardly matters when I see him in the flesh.

I can’t remember any of my memorized speech now, not when I’m looking at that cheeky smile and those dimples beneath that stubble. Not when those amber eyes lighten as he laughs at something his teammate says.

I am especially not prepared for Declan Lowes in a perfectly tailored suit.

His teammate with the short, buzzed blond hair and crystal blue eyes barely flinches when Declan glances my way and stops short, freezing in the middle of the doorway.

The door smacks him in the back, and he does not move.

I avert my attention to his teammate to avoid reading too much into the way he’s looking at me. I can’t overthink. This isn’t the time. Overthinking is what landed me here. Overthinking ruined everything.

The blonde man with the sleek green suit waltzes right across the hall, leaving Declan to simmer in his shock all alone. He sticks out his hand, flashing a beaming, ‘toothpaste commercial’ smile.

“Penny?” he asks. I nod and shake his hand, trying to act like I’m confident about what I’m doing here. I am not. “Carter. Nice to finally meet you.”

So, this has been my partner in crime over the last week. He’s just as cute as Avery said he was. She wasn’t lying about his eyes, either. Seth told me he’d sweep me off my feet if Declan decided not to hear me out.

It’s funny. A man this handsome does absolutely nothing for me anymore. That power has been stripped away and given to one person.

I smile. Carter has had to put up with a lot of crap from me over the last week. Rambling, incoherent blurbs of too much information. Panic. Stress. Heartache. Carter Forkerro probably thinks that I’m a pathetic, love-sick puppy, but I don’t care.

I am.

“You too, Carter. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

“Don’t you mention it,” he says, waving me off. He peers over his shoulder, to where Declan is still frozen to the spot. His grin grows wider with each passing second. “See you in the morning, big guy. Have a good night.”

Declan manages a curt nod, but his eyes are burning into me. I don’t think he’s looked away. I don’t know if he’s heard a thing we’ve said.

“See you, Penny.”

“Bye, Carter.”

Carter flashes me a wink, one that I can read easily after knowing him for all of thirty seconds. Relax. It’ll all be okay. It’s going to work out . With that shit-eating smile still on his face, he vanishes out of the arena doors.

I force my eyes back to Declan, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Well, it’s just us now. Him and I. There’s no more interruptions or hockey player hands to shake. There are no games to play, just ones we have to finish. Ones where the boards have been open so long, our pieces have begun to collect dust.

We have to tackle this. There’s no way out but through.

His dark brow furrows deeper.

I’m scared that I’m taking too long. The longer I wait, the more his shock might shift to anger and then I don’t know if I’ll get the chance that I’ve been preparing for. He made it clear that he didn’t want me here before. Now I just show up? Maybe this was a bad move.

No.

Hope. I need hope.

I smile shyly, feeling less confident than I have in decades. I’m scared. I miss him. This is my last chance. I can feel it.

“Hi.”

He blinks, as if hearing my voice confirms that this is not a mirage. His face remains stoic, but he finally moves. He adjusts his bag on his shoulder, jaw ticking.

“What are you doing here, Lucky?” His tone is indifferent, but he’s talking.

That’s a start.

My heart flutters at the nickname. I hadn’t realized how much I hate when he calls me Penny. I want all the nicknames in the world, so long as they are from his lips.

“I’m here to talk. Can we talk, Dec?” I manage, taking a weary step toward him. My voice sounds shaky at best. I don’t want him to clock my nerves, but I’m showing him my entire hand here.

He stares at me. I can’t read him, and I hate it. After a beat of silence, and a long second of those hazel eyes burning into my face, he slips his bag off his shoulder and drops it to the floor inside of the change room. He pushes the door open wide with one hand and nods at me to follow him.

I don’t question him. I’ll take whatever he can give me. Wherever he wants to have this conversation is where we’ll have the conversation. In his car? Fine. In the locker room? Okay. Behind a dumpster? I’ll do it.

I slide under his arm and slowly tread into the locker room, taking only a few steps before nervously turning around.

I wish I could fast forward through this part and just figure out what happens at the end.

The door drifts shut behind us. He turns to face me, hardly able to meet my eyes. Running his hand through his dark waves, his gaze skirts past me to the benches. He seems just as torn on how to handle this as I am. Neither of us really know where to go.

I’m not here to fight or to debate what happened between us. I’m here to say one thing, something I should have said months ago. So, to make this easier for the both of us, I just say it.

Rip off the bandage and hold onto hope.

“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.

Declan’s gaze snaps back to mine. His brow furrows in the middle again.

He says nothing.

Something in me breaks.

I shift uncomfortably.

“I was an asshole to you,” I continue, nervously stepping forward. He doesn’t move away. That’s good. “I was going through something, and I panicked, and I pushed you away when I shouldn’t have. I should have answered you, Dec. At the very least, I should have responded to you. I shouldn’t have left, and I should have had this conversation months ago. You deserved it then.”

Declan’s throat bobs, his eyes glued to my face. I see how much he needed this. It breaks my heart that I waited so long to give it to him .

“You were my friend, and we crossed a line at the worst possible time, and I couldn’t handle it. I felt guilty. I was scared of the repercussions. I feared losing you more than I feared hurting you. That wasn’t your fault, that was mine.”

He seems to snap back into his own body then.

He blinks, shaking his head. Running a hand over his face, he takes a few, hesitant steps toward me.

He’s closing the distance between us. He’s meeting me halfway.

“If there’s one thing that I have realized through all this, it’s that I did all of the wrong things at the wrong time. You were going through the worst of it. I should have been thinking clearly for both of us.”

“It happened. We both chose it,” I remind him gently. “We had to deal with it one way or another, and you did it perfectly. You texted, you called, you checked in. I handled it poorly and I hurt you. That is on me .”

His face softens and relief explodes through me. He’s close enough to touch now, but I can’t bring myself to close that last, little gap. Hearing his voice laced with no anger, it brings that pain to the forefront.

This could have been solved if I had just let him talk to me. It could have been solved before it imploded. I just had to apologize. I just had to explain myself.

“I wanted to be there for you,” he says, his voice gravelly. His eyes are melting into mine, pleading with me to believe him. “That’s all that I was trying to do. I hope that you know that.”

He reaches forward and gently brushes his fingers against my elbow, making the first move. It should have been me, but I laid myself too bare already. I’m not brave. Never have been. I know my limits.

So does he .

He’ll be brave for the both of us.

I needed to feel his fingers on my skin again. I needed that connection.

“I know,” I say quietly. “I realized how badly I wanted you to be there, too. It was terrifying. I don’t want to make excuses, but I couldn’t lose you and him in the same blink. I wouldn’t have survived it.”

His brow furrows deeper, eyes flickering back up to mine. The hand at my elbow lifts, instead reaching to pull a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

I think I stop breathing when I meet his eyes again—not entirely sure when he got so close.

“You wouldn’t have lost me.”

All the oxygen in the room diminishes when he looks at me like that.

“I did lose you.”

“No,” he mumbles, shaking his head. His eyes search my face. He moves closer, wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck. “No, you didn’t.”

I inhale in a shaky, fragmented breath.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I force out again before I lose the nerve. He needs to know how much I mean it, because I do.

My eyes are burning and I’m slowly teetering on losing it. This is hard. I don’t like being vulnerable and I don’t like knowing that there is still a chance he’ll turn me away. Especially with Declan looking at me like that .

“I know you didn’t,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten behind my neck, and he pulls me into him. “Come here.”

I’m suddenly pressed to his chest. I shut my eyes, my hands shaking as I inhale his scent—trees, mint, home. His hand slides down my hair, and I realize how starved I have been for the way he cares for me.

The freshly stitched portions of my heart begin to tear with each stroke of Declan’s hand. In a good way, I think. Like he’s undoing my mangled handy work and is putting me together the right way. It hurts, but I know that it’s the guilt and regret that hurts, not anything happening now.

I take in a shaky breath. He hears it and he accepts it, holding me tighter. He leans down to press his lips to my hair, just a soft brush of his mouth, and snakes his hands under my armpits.

“It’s okay,” he whispers.

Declan forces my arms upward, leaving me no option but to wind them around his neck. So, I do. I wrap myself around him and I hold on for dear life, hiding in his embrace. I try to focus on his hands sliding up and down my back. I try my best to let him ground me.

I’m here now. With him. He’s holding me. I’m holding him. He knows that I’m sorry, and that’s all I wanted.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t answer that call,” he whispers into my hair. I hear the same pain in my heart reflected in his voice.

I know why he didn’t answer, and it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be there.

“I know,” I say, my voice catching. I shut my eyes. I can’t think of that night.

“And I’m sorry that I acted that way when I got there,” he continues, his hand trailing down my spine.

I can’t think about this right now. It almost killed me then. I was no better. We both know that. Neither of us were angels that night, but we were also not in our right minds. I hold nothing against him from the night the world nearly ended.

“I was scared,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “I have never been that scared in my life. I felt guilty, that’s all that was. I should have answered your calls, and I knew that.”

He pulls back, forcing me to look up at him. I keep my arms around his neck, and he keeps me in his grip, hands stilling on my back. We’re so close that our noses could touch if either of us pushed forward just enough.

“He’s okay,” I remind him softly. I don't stop to think, I just cup his face in my hand because I want to.

Declan smiles gently, and though I can see the hurt in his eyes, it’s lessening. His gaze trails over every inch of my face. It doesn’t linger, even where I want it to. This thing still exists between us. That ugly, brutal pain. Neither of us are healed from it. I’m not sure we ever will be, but this is a start. A good one.

“I know,” he mutters, his thumb brushing against my back. It’s then that his eyes drop to my lips, and my lungs stop working. “Where are you staying?”

“I got a hotel,” I say. His eyes flicker back to mine. He smiles a bit wider, like he knows he’s been caught looking at my mouth.

He nods slowly, considering this. “Get a refund.”

“What?”

“We have a lot to talk about, P. I don’t want to half-ass this. If we’re having this conversation, I want to hash it all out. You and me. As long as it takes.”

His eyes burn into mine, daring me to challenge that. That’s his deal, plain and simple. Either I take it and we fix this, or I don’t, and we go back to how it’s been.

I swallow, my heart clenching at the idea. “As long as it takes.”