Chapter 13 Neve
THIRTEEN
NEVE
It’s not as cold as it was when Jackson died.
I haven’t looked into any funeral information for him.
I have no idea if a funeral is even scheduled.
The quick article in Drayton Times said flowers could be sent to his father.
No mention of his mother, allegedly the woman whose house I stayed at with the pool while she was in Costa Rica.
I don’t know if any of that was true, when he confessed it to me the morning after our hookup.
I don’t know anything about his life, but I feel a weird pang thinking of his death.
It’s not grief and maybe I should feel guilty about it, but I don’t.
Mostly it’s the image of his body in my head. The tang of blood in the air.
It’s strange. Unfamiliar. The only thing I could compare it to is not having a dad in my life since he left when I was a child, but I’ve lived with that for over a decade now, and Jackson was no fucking father figure.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?
” Cynthia asks me as Tas speaks to someone on her phone, her smile free and her eyes a little glassy under the outdoor lights of the arena.
“It’ll be fun, and…” Cynthia leans in conspiratorially to whisper in my ear.
“You might find out more about your mystery, murdery men.”
My spine stiffens as students pour out around us, so many fans still here despite the fact the game ended twenty minutes or so ago.
4-1, Dragons.
I wonder if that means Sylvan won’t come for me like he said he would. Maybe he’ll be too busy getting a girl like Tasia to suck his dick.
I wonder what it is that Faust allegedly has to give to me. A knife in my ribs, too?
“No, that’s okay, go ahead. I’m going to get an Uber. I’m tired.” I pull my phone from the pocket of my long, deep brown wool coat and open up the app, despite the fact I’m not going to use it.
Watching Faust and Sylvan on the ice gave me a rush, knowing I might see them after, in our private conversation. Having everyone in the arena cheer and chant their name, not to mention the fact Faust assisted in every single goal, it was a high.
I know it’s silly, and this is exactly how famous men get laid by beautiful women. I understand the psyche. But the second rum and Diet I had probably didn’t help the electric tingling in my blood.
And with what feels like most of Drayton U plus their parents here, a false feeling of safety sweeps over me. Like nothing could hurt me here.
Even if a man just died outside these walls.
No more police tape to mark his outline as far as I’m aware, no more cop cars, nothing to say he existed that night, and then in a matter of minutes, he didn’t.
“I liked sitting beside you, Neve!” Tas’s voice joins Cynthia’s pleas to get me to the afterparty they’re headed to.
“Besides, I’m sure most of the boys will be there.
” Tas winks at me, and I admire the fact her mascara hasn’t smudged, but then I have a visual gut-punch image of Sylvan fucking her in my head and feel like I want to throw up. Or punch her. Or both.
Nope. No.
I smile at both of them but hold up my phone, like a reminder I’m “taking an Uber.”
“I’ve done enough drinking for the weekend.” I give Cynthia a meaningful look, her brown eyes sparkling under the lights as people politely edge around us, heading to their cars, waiting for rides. Somewhere in the cold October night, a chant starts up.
My stomach flips when I realize what they’re chanting.
“Faust! Faust! Faust!” Giving his name two syllables instead of the one it actually has.
A quiet “Boo!” goes off in the crowd, no doubt from a Hamilton man, but he’s drowned out in jeers soon enough.
“Let me know if you need me to pick you up tonight,” I tell my roommate. “Or if you need anything at all.” Like help burying a body.
She nods to me as Tas squeals.
“The limo is here!”
I glance over her shoulder and see it. A fucking limo, making its way through the packed parking lot.
A few people honk their horns at the intrusion; other people rush over like the players themselves might be inside.
Cynthia frowns as she glances over her shoulder. “Was that necessary?” she asks Tas.
But Tas just laughs. “Dad gives me enough to take one every night. Come on.” She links her arm with a reluctant Cyn and I want to grab my friend back by her red peacoat, but Cynthia’s smile returns and it looks genuine as she finds my face again.
“Be careful,” she mouths.
“Have fun!” I shoo her off as Tas drags her away, a few other girls headed toward the limo, too, which makes me feel better. It doesn’t look like any guys are hopping in.
But as soon as my best friend ducks under Tas’s lean arm and disappears into the limousine, I turn around and start slowly making my way through the crowd to the entrance doors for Sky.
They’re propped open, ensuring the exits don’t get jammed up, but I see a lot of people still inside, some lined up at food stands.
I’m not sure when they close or how long I have, but I can see my breath outside and it’s reminding me too much of Wednesday night to the point I’m thinking about walking over to the library, then getting an Uber from there.
About a two minute walk, but there won’t be a chance of me missing my ride or having it stolen.
For now, I’ll play this game Sylvan is coordinating.
When I’m inside the arena again and tucked into a corner of the entrance hall away from people ordering hot dogs and shouting to each other about the game, staff emptying trash cans and picking up game day towels and gum wrappers from the floor, I unlock my phone and swipe down to see my notifications.
My throat feels tight—I’m lucky it didn’t bruise, as hard as Will squeezed it. Explaining to Cyn would’ve been too much.
There’s a text though. Just received.
S.C.
I see you.
I take a breath in through my nose and look up, but before I can find him, a guy who is vaguely familiar is right in front of me.
“Neve!” He comes in for a hug, but I shoot out my free hand and stop him. He smells like beer, and it’s making me think of Jackson, and I can’t remember where the hell I know this guy from anyway, but I don’t want him all in my face.
“What’s your name again?” I ask, my voice clipped. The alcohol is wearing off and I’m hungry and moody and I don’t know where the hell Sylvan is, but I certainly can’t see him with the broad, black-haired boy in my face.
A look of hurt creases his brow but he quickly recovers.
“Edmond, from our Abnormal Psych course? Dr. Patrick?”
Recognition clicks in my head, but Edmond and I have exchanged nothing more than a handful of words all semester, and most of those were in discussion about Jung and Freud and what they would think of modern-day psychopaths. It’s not like we actually know each other.
“Right,” I say coolly. Edmond and I are not on hugging terms. I don’t need any more men intruding in my life.
“Anyway, what a game, hey?” This is the accent most Americans think of when they imagine someone from Canada.
I nod once. “Yep.” I’m growing more anxious, wondering where Sylvan is spying on me from and why he hasn’t revealed himself yet.
Too royal to walk among the rest of us peasants?
Does he not want anyone to see us talking?
That actually makes sense, considering what happened Wednesday night and how police could be lurking, but I’m done waiting around like some sort of simpering fan while he hides in the shadows.
“I hope you have a good night, Edmond.” I smile tightly, then push past him when he doesn’t back up.
The crowd in the entranceway is dwindling and out of the corner of my eye, I see a few staff members telling people it’s time to leave.
The food stands have all shut down and no one is waiting in line anymore.
But Edmond reaches out and catches my wrist, which sends a bolt of irritation rushing through me. I turn to tell him to fuck off when a body knocks past me, and shoves Edmond backward.
Spinning completely, I’m shocked to see Faust Darling’s broad back to me while he says, voice low and calm, “Don’t touch her again.”
I can’t see Edmond at all beyond Faust’s black sweater, and I’m surprised the hockey player smells so damn good, like a crisp fall night, pine and woods and soap.
His dark hair is raked back, wet at the ends, and I see the golden and silver chains around his throat that I must have missed the night we met.
Edmond says something in a faint voice, then adds, “Good game, man,” but he’s edging out from behind Faust as he speaks.
Edmond glances at me with wide eyes and mutters, “Sorry, Neve,” under his breath. I don’t turn to look at him as he slinks past me, no doubt ready to get the fuck out of here. Two assholes in one night are probably two too many for him, and Sylvan hasn’t even showed up yet.
Slowly, Faust turns to me.
His deep brown eyes are so dark, they almost meld with his pupil. He’s got a silver ring around them, a contrast to all the depth, and there’s a bead of water on the end of his broad nose, probably from his wet hair.
He’s fucking handsome and ridiculously well-dressed, in a white collared shirt beneath his black sweater. He’s wearing what looks like tailored pants but I think they’re joggers meant to appear more formal, and he has on blacked-out Air Jordans.
The chains on his neck dips down under his collar beneath his white olive skin.
I swallow hard and glance down at the leather duffel he’s got clenched between the fingers of his right hand.
“You did good.” It’s the only words that come out of my mouth and I realize I’m echoing what Edmond said, but he wasn’t wrong. It was a good game.