Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
FAUST
Ihear it again.
The metal rungs holding up the shower curtain screeching across the pole of the stall.
But I’m not afraid.
Not this time.
I cross my arms over my chest and dip my head down into the hot stream of water, letting it blast away the cold from the rink. I should’ve been home hours ago. Tomorrow is an away game, tonight’s practice was short, the ice bath after should’ve been the end of it.
But I wanted to skate.
Not to practice.
To escape.
After being questioned this morning, seeing Neve’s pale face in the station, her silence when I drove her back to her place to drop her off, I needed time to clear my head.
I can only think of one person who would be stalking me this late, and I imagine it’s the same one who did last week, too.
Is he a murderer? Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? And that’s a fraction of the money he could be throwing away if he ruined his future prospects by getting himself locked up behind bars.
“What do you want, Connor?” I ask as I tip my head up, standing firmly under the water, arms still crossed.
Last night was the best night of sleep I’ve had in years. No grueling practice or skate session needed to tire me out. No staying up all night hearing whispers in the dark.
Just her soft breathing. The warmth of her body. She has no idea I watched her in her sleep, but it didn’t take long until it pulled me under too.
Her.
In my bed.
And I didn’t even fuck her.
There’s silence from beyond the curtain.
It barely moved, and when I lift my eyes to it, I see nothing in the shadows. Only the dim lights from deeper in the locker room are on, and for the first time, a chill tiptoes down my spine.
I curl my hands into loose fists but keep them around my core.
If it’s Connor, I can’t exactly give him a concussion the night before an away game. Besides, it’s East York University. They’re good.
Even I can admit I need Sylvan in top shape.
I sigh, loudly, then say, “You want to fuck her.” It’s only meant to provoke him.
And it fucking works. “So do you.” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet. Almost ashamed.
I still don’t see him, and I feel on edge with him lurking, likely fully clothed, while I’m in the shower.
But I’m his captain, and I can’t be afraid.
Besides, it’s not really him I fear.
It’s… her, in my bed last night, and him admitting he’d want to take her from me.
“Leave her alone.” I lather my body in soap, the scent of pine cutting through the bleach from the cleaners they use in the locker room.
He’s quiet.
Once I’ve rinsed everything and put the soap back on the ledge—no one else uses this shower, perks of being me—I turn the water off, grab the towel that’s inside the stall, and towel dry my hair. Then I pat water off from my face, my chest, my thighs.
After I’ve wrapped the towel around my waist, I stand in the stall, facing the barely-open curtain. We need proper doors for these things, but I guess we’re lucky to have stalls. I’ve had far less privacy at far more rinks.
“What if I can’t?” Sylvan asks softly.
It sounds like a real question.
I counter with another one. An invasion he doesn’t expect. “Why doesn’t your family ever come to games?”
Silence.
Then, I hear footsteps.
Later, the door slams shut to the inner locker rooms.
A frown curves my lips, and I should be smiling.
That’s his weakness.
Now what am I going to do with it?