Chapter 10
TEN
NEVE
Sylvan says nothing. Will wriggles in his grasp, but Sylvan has his hip pressed against Will’s backside, keeping him in place, his nose smashed against the range.
Will is lucky neither Cynthia nor I used it this morning, although Sylvan wouldn’t have known that. And with the deadly calm look he’s leveling me with, I don’t think he would have cared if he did know.
He cocks his head, a blond strand falling free and landing just above his left eye. He looks arctic.
“What would you like me to do with him?” He asks the question casually. Like we’re discussing where to eat for dinner.
“How do you know where I live?” My voice is raspy and I rub at my throat with my free hand, the other still gripping the knife tight.
Sylvan’s eyes narrow at the sound of me.
Then he yanks Will back by his hair, only to slam his face down again.
This time, I hear something crunch. I think it’s his nose, and it sounds wrong. Blood spurts out on the countertop.
My eyes widen, but I don’t tell Sylvan to stop.
Will would have killed me.
Maybe he killed Jackson, as improbable as it seems.
But then again…
My eyes find Sylvan’s once more.
Maybe he did.
“I think we have a bigger,” he inclines his head toward Will, struggling beneath his grasp, “problem. Don’t you, Neve?”
What the fuck.
“Get him out of my house.”
Sylvan smiles, a dimple flashing in his flawless, pale skin. “This isn’t a house.” He nods toward the entrance. “And you’re the one who locked us in.”
A spark of anger runs through me. “This isn’t a house,” I mock back in his slow, casual tone, but I pitch my voice higher so he sounds like a baby coming from my mouth.
I do it without thinking; a type of teasing I usually only reserve for Cynthia, without as much venom.
But once it’s out, and my brain catches up with what I did, I widen my eyes because now is not the time, and I see that even Sylvan looks caught off guard, his full lips parted, a slight smile tugging on each corner.
Will groans because Sylvan must have loosened his hold on his hair, but a heartbeat passes and the hockey freshman fixes his mistake, rendering Will mostly silent again.
“Get. Him. Out.” I speak the words with careful precision, no more mocking, my grip tightening on the knife as I gesture with it toward Sylvan.
He glances at the weapon. “Careful with that,” he says calmly. But it seems like the playfulness has left his tone.
Good. I’m done playing. Too much has happened in the last twelve hours and I don’t feel as if my brain has caught up with it all yet.
“Get him out. Now, or I’ll call the police.” I keep the knife brandished in one hand, then swoop down and grab my phone I dropped in the scuffle with Will.
Sylvan smiles at me, white teeth flashing. “You don’t want to do that.” But before I can tell him to fuck off, he lifts Will up by his hair and starts dragging him toward the door.
Toward me.
I quickly pivot out of the way, my back to the living room as Will’s eyes widen and I see blood all over his face. He says my name once, his voice hoarse, but Sylvan slaps his palm over his mouth before he can say anything else.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight as I hear the lock flip, then the door being pulled open. My hands are shaky and my throat hurts and I have a fucking knife in my hand and I’m not sure when Cynthia will be back but I don’t want her to walk into all of this and—
I snap my head up with a gasp and see Will’s blood on the countertop. It looks as if it sprayed from his nose which isn’t far off.
Glancing to the door, I see it’s ajar, and I hear low murmuring and quiet whimpers. Sylvan’s voice. Will’s cries.
I take a breath and get to work cleaning up the blood: Setting down the knife, my phone, ripping off a thick cushion of paper towels so I don’t get Will’s germs on me, running them under hot water, then scrubbing the countertops that don’t get a lot of use as is because I sure as hell can’t cook and Cyn’s dad might be a chef but he didn’t pass those genes down to her.
My stomach squeezes as the bright red coats my paper towels and smears along the marble.
One of my favorite things about this place was the Gothic touch, the darkness, the bookshelves that came with it, thanks to Casper.
But the upgrades don’t hurt either. The marble counters, the pristine finishings.
I’ll be damned if a one-night-stand ruins that for my best friend, too.
Gagging, I toss the tissue into the trash under the sink, then scrub my hands with hot water after a nervous glance to the door.
It’s still slightly ajar and when soap bubbles that smell like pine are between my fingers, I think as soon as I rinse and dry my hands, I’m going to spring over there and slam the door closed, then flip the lock.
Fuck Sylvan. Fuck Will.
I need to call Nolan, listen to him yell at me about the lawyer, then call one of those, too. But just as I’ve turned the water off with my wrists and grabbed a Jack Skellington kitchen towel from the silver bar on the oven to dry my hands, the door creaks open again.
I hold my breath, the knife within reach, right by my phone.
And Sylvan walks through, ducking his head so he doesn’t hit it on the entranceway.
He glances at me, the smile gone, and when he closes the door behind him, turning the lock without looking away from me, I notice a fleck of blood on his cheek.
It’s small, a smear, but against his perfectly pale skin, it’s noticeable.
I slowly put the dish towel back, then turn to face him fully, standing closer to the counter opposite the sink so my knife is just right there.
Sylvan doesn’t come closer, his blue-gray eyes locked onto mine.
For the first time, I note the cream-colored sweater he’s wearing under his bomber jacket. With his red boots, that scarf, he knows how to dress better than most men twice his age.
Stop, Neve. None of that is important.
“What if he presses charges against you?” The first words out of my mouth, and those are hoarse too. I resist the urge to bring my fingers to my neck to rub at it.
I see Sylvan’s light brows pull together and his jaw seems to clench, but he only pushes his gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket and holds my gaze.
“He won’t.” A simple answer, but I don’t trust him.
“Did you threaten him?”
He smiles, a soft smirk as he glances at the wall, then back to me, shaking his head a little. “You can consider Will Barbour gone, Neve. He’ll never bother you or cross your path again.”
I swallow hard. I’m not sure I ever even knew his last name. And how the fuck does Sylvan? How did he know who he was at all?
“You’re welcome, by the way.” Sylvan dips his chin, his eyes boring into mine. “If I hadn’t come here, he might’ve killed you. You need to learn better self-defense.”
My cheeks burn hot like my temper. “Sorry for getting assaulted,” I snarl. “How do you know where I live? How did he? How do I know you two aren’t working together in some fucked-up good cop, bad cop situation?”
His expression doesn’t change. “I don’t work with people like Will Barbour. Not my type. But speaking of cops, we need to get our stories straight.”
My stomach drops. “Oh no. I’m not lying to the police for you—”
“For me?” he echoes. “No, baby girl. This is for you.”
Baby girl.
My head spins, and I have to consciously flex my toes in my Uggs to stop the dizziness that’s overwhelming me with his words, an undertone of panic pricking like a tangible thing at my skin.
“What? Am I a suspect?” I glance at my phone. “They didn’t call me or—”
“Not yet,” Sylvan cuts me off. “But they don’t have anyone else, so it’s going to come back to us three.”
Faust Darling. I wonder where he is, why only Sylvan came to accost me, but I don’t ask.
“But I didn’t do it.” I speak quickly, as if I’m doing a trial-run of saying all of this again to detectives. “I didn’t bring a knife, and they have cameras and—”
“There’s no camera there, in that corner.” Sylvan speaks with a coolness that makes me panic more. “Coaches told me that when I had my walk-through tour.”
“But surely the rest would pick up on who else was around the arena. And didn’t we all hear the truck? That’s who they need to—”
“They are, Neve. Take a breath.” It’s an icy command, no smirk on his face.
I do as he says, only because if I don’t, I’ll pass out, and I don’t trust my unconscious body with Sylvan. Not after I watched what he did to Will’s face, even if Will deserved worse.
“Good girl.” Sylvan watches me carefully, and that blush grows like fire along my face, down my neck. His eyes seem to track the movement, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he looks at the stovetop, and when I turn my head, I realize it’s the digital clock he’s checking.
Nearing ten, which means soon, Cynthia’s pottery course will be over and soon enough she’ll be headed here to tell me what she learned about the girl who was “talking to” Sylvan.
For a reckless moment, I think of confiding in him and telling him just that to see what he’ll give me in return.
Either in defense or a preemptive confession, but I bite down on my back teeth and don’t speak.
“I doubt we’ll be called in today. They want to review all the footage, ask other people questions.
Janitors, anyone lingering in the arena.
” Sylvan speaks each word carefully, as if I won’t understand him if he doesn’t.
The patronizing aura of it all pisses me off, but at the same time, I’m completely lost in this situation, and he can keep talking, if only so I don’t have to.
“Tomorrow night, it’s game day. Even the police won’t want to screw that up for us.” His arrogance is astounding, but it doesn’t sound like bravado. It sounds like fact. “Faust has something he needs to give you—”
“What?” I demand, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer.
“You’ll see it tomorrow night, because you’re going to the game.”
“No.” I cross my arms like a shield. “I’ve never been to a Dragons’ game before, and starting now will look wildly suspicious.”
Sylvan smiles. It’s patronizing. “Wildly suspicious, huh?” He exhales through his upturned nose. “Go to the game. Everyone does.”
“Not me.”
“It’s free, with your ID.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then there’s no reason not to go. Besides, you don’t want to be here alone on a Friday night, do you?” There’s the veil of a threat in his words.
“I thought you said Will won’t bother me again.” I hope I hide the anxiousness in my voice.
Sylvan’s smile is gone. “He won’t. Go to the game, please.”
My heart races. It was a cold plea, but it was… oddly polite. Especially for a New Yorker. No wonder the Canadians embraced him.
“When it’s over, Faust and I will meet up with you.”
“Where? I’m not meeting you two behind Sky again.”
“You’ve probably heard a lot of stereotypes, but we’re not all stupid, Neve.”
I swallow hard, but I don’t reply. My type isn’t athletes. They’re too busy to give me the constant attention I need to feel secure in a relationship. Actually, everyone is, which is why I consistently fuck them up. If I don’t make it serious, I’m untouchable.
“Give me your number so I can let you know where to find us.” He glances at my phone on the counter.
I snatch it up, as if he’ll take it from me, and my phone unlocks the screen, but mercifully, my notifications are all hidden.
But the unknown number. The countdown.
Did Will lie about his phone going missing? Or is someone watching me?
“No,” I tell Sylvan, staring up at him, grateful for the distance between us.
His dimples show as he pulls something from his pocket and I tense.
But it’s just a phone, white, no case. Risky.
I squeeze my own cell and the gothic cathedral case wrapped snuggly around it.
“Give me your number, Neve.” His fingers are doing something on his phone, maybe typing in my name, but I’m not giving him my number. He has my address, somehow. If he wants to know my cell, he can find it himself.
“Get out of my apartment.” I keep my voice steady.
He smiles wider at me, his fingers still working on his phone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Then he pushes his phone into his pocket and turns toward the door. Without looking back, he adds, “Lock the door, as soon as I leave.”
He doesn’t need to tell me that.
The minute he’s out, closing it softly behind him without another look back, I’m striding across the kitchen, into the entrance hall, phone in hand. I flip the deadbolt, and I swear I hear his footsteps move away down the corridor as I do, as if he was waiting for me to lock it before he left.
My heart hammers hard in my chest.
I pull down the notification center on my phone, still standing right at the door.
Missed texts from Nolan, one that just came in from Cyn, a weather alert about a snow storm tomorrow.
And an unknown number, too. A text.
I have the wild urge to run after Sylvan, tell him to stay while I read it, which is pathetic and something I’d never actually do.
But I tap the message immediately, worried it’s my stalker again. Or maybe it’s just Will, and he lied to me.
Yet when the message opens on my screen, it’s not the same anonymous number, and it feels like a different tone.
Unknown
Tomorrow night, baby girl. Don’t make me come back here.