Chapter 36 Neve
THIRTY-SIX
NEVE
“Have you ever worked for a client in Buffalo?” I ask my brother, cupping my gloved hand over my phone.
Snowflakes spin from the dark sky. When I first moved to Ontario from North Carolina, the winter was a shock.
I couldn’t drive in it, could barely walk in it, and, much to Nolan’s amusement since he lives in Manhattan, I didn’t own a winter coat.
Now, I’m snug in a red Canada Goose, thick, fur-lined gloves, and boots that are both pretty and practical. That last one took me a while to find.
Nolan snorts through the phone.
Tonight’s psych seminar was less aggressive emotionally than last week; a case study on resilient parenting, which is much more optimistic than thinking the guy who gave you an orgasm might be a psychopath.
Or the one who held you up while your knees trembled was scratching softly at your door while he texted you whispered promises to keep you safe.
He never responded to my question.
And I never opened the door.
It’s been a few days now, and I can’t get the image of his beautiful face illuminated from his phone out of my head.
I haven’t seen Faust nor Sylvan, but Faust—ignoring my question—asked if he could take me out Halloween night, after the home game.
What are you doing, Neve? I should block his number. Maybe speak to Detective Lincoln; tell him that if Faust isn’t a murderer, at the very least, he’s in the habit of stalking women he barely knows.
But I haven’t. And why haven’t you, Neve? The therapist inside my head is ruthless.
I’m canceling her appointment.
Speaking of therapy… I’ve not had to deal with Tasia at all since the weekend, although Karter and I exchanged numbers before me and Cyn left her place, and Karter wants to do something with us Saturday night. Considering her soft spot for the girl, I’m sure that will involve Tas.
I’ve been meaning to ask Cynthia how she seems in her pottery course since the weekend, but Cyn has been spending the last few mornings skipping class with Tylone, so there’s not been a lot of time to catch up.
And it’s also why I never told her about the stalker at our door.
Is it, though? Or is it to protect him?
“Where is this coming from?” My brother asks from the phone as I jerk my chin in Edmond’s direction. He’s walked by my side until our paths divert. His on one side of the library, mine on the other.
He waves and I smile, but my focus is on Nolan.
I haven’t told him I was called into the station. Still haven’t told Cyn Will came to our place. It feels like I’m vaguely lying to everyone. Including a fucking cop.
Still no suspects in the murders, but the next big thing has happened on social media—a snow streaker at U of T—and no one is talking about the bodies found anymore.
Typical. We now all have the attention span of a half-dead gnat.
“Just curious since it’s so close to me. If you had a client there, we could meet up.”
“You loathe driving on the highway,” Nolan snipes in a deadpan tone. “And if you want to see me, you know I’d come in a heartbeat.” His voice takes on a softer, smoother edge.
I shrug, unseen by him as I kick some of the salt on the brick walkway with my boot. “Maybe I want to try the highway again.”
“You don’t.”
I laugh a little. “Okay. Yeah. I don’t.”
“So why are you asking me this?”
I roll my eyes under the night sky. A girl passes by clutching books tight, fingertips red since she’s not wearing gloves, her gaze flicking to me briefly before she looks away.
I found people in this area standoffish when I first moved here.
I thought it would be impossible to make friends.
But they’re actually genuine for the most part, just not that fake syrupy Southern kind to everyone.
I don’t think either is better than the other; sometimes the syrup turns into real sugar.
Speaking of… My stomach growls.
I suddenly feel a little dizzy and decide I need a proper meal when I get home. I’ve earned it. This morning I went for a long walk around nearly the entire campus, and aside from caffeine, I’ve been fasting all day.
“Why aren’t you answering?” I counter as gratitude fills my chest at the sight of a big pool of lamp light ahead.
It’s not that I’m scared.
I’m not the only person out here this late.
But it is a little unnerving.
I glance over my shoulder at the same time I hoist my giant, puffy silver and black bag up higher. I like to change them out depending on my mood.
There are a few girls chatting by the library which oddly makes my skin crawl. A guy video calling someone on his phone, showing them the snow in the air as he complains with a smile.
“I dated someone in Buffalo once, if you must know.”
“What? Why did I never hear about that?” We give each other most major life updates. Or maybe it’s just Nolan forcing his way into my life updates, major or not.
But as my brother starts to answer, I turn back around and collide hard with a figure all in black.
He shoulder checks me and I stumble backward, my bag slipping down to my wrist, which hurts, and my phone pitching from my fingertips, clattering on the slushy, salty sidewalk a foot or so from me.
“What the fuck?” The words leave my lips in a half-shriek, and I whip my head around because the guy is still moving.
But even as he walks away without an apology, he’s glaring at me, like it’s my fault, although he was on my side of the sidewalk.
“You fucking asshole.” I can’t bite back the hiss as I stare at him.
Black toque. Oddly bright amber eyes. Pale white skin. His nose is petite, sharp, and he has a tattoo on the side of his neck, exposed because he’s not wearing a scarf. It looks like a badly done American flag.
His brows pull together but he says nothing. Bag still swinging from my wrist, I continue to stare him down.
Ice snakes down my spine, even beneath my warm coat.
He looks menacing, narrowed eyes and clenched jaw.
Then he breaks eye contact and looks away, and I realize I need to grab my phone because no doubt Nolan is shouting through it now asking what the hell happened.
I shift my bag back up my arm, swoop down and snatch up my phone, rubbing the screen on the outside of my jacket to clear the grime.
It doesn’t look cracked, and I see I’m still connected to my brother.
My pulse is fast and even though I know that collision did no lasting damage, I feel strangely shaken.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I hear Nolan say my name in worry. “Dropped my phone.”
“Did someone run into you?” He’s angry, his voice a snarl, and I can picture him tugging at his dirty blond hair, pacing around his sleek, Manhattan apartment. “What happened, Neve?”
I clear my throat, the crisp air biting at my exposed skin as I try to get the expression the guy wore out of my head. “I’m good. Just an accident. Anyway.” I swallow hard. “We were talking about this clandestine lover you had in Buffalo.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Did that guy hurt you?” There’s a dark tone in his words, and I open my mouth to reassure him again, then stop.
Stop talking. Stop walking.
That guy.
I look over my shoulder. Then slowly do an entire spin on the sidewalk.
No one is watching me. No one is spying.
But… “How do you know it was a guy?” My words are soft but bitten with cold.
Nolan is uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. Then another. Then he says, “I don’t think a woman would’ve run into you so hard, you’d drop your phone.” His tone is oddly clinical.
I don’t speak, still frozen on the sidewalk.
Then he sighs dramatically and says, “Besides, aren’t we discussing my secret lover?”
I think of the man outside my door.
That wasn’t Nolan. He’s thinner, tall too, but reedier.
And he’s blond. His stubble isn’t the same color as my stalker’s.
Unless I have many of them.
“Yeah,” I say in answer to his question. “Yeah. We were.”
“It was brief. Over the summer. Nothing worth writing home about.”
“Maybe if you’d spent more time there than here, it would have worked out.” There’s an edge to my voice I don’t bother to dull.
It’s part of the reason I love living in Darkmouth. Nolan rarely visits. He said Casper, the owner, always glares at him and doesn’t seem to like him.
It’s a cocoon for Cynthia and me.
I finally start walking again, but it feels as if multiple pairs of eyes are on me.
“No,” Nolan says coolly. “It wouldn’t have.” There’s a pointedness in his words I don’t like.
My mind flickers to Sylvan.
This is his first year here.
My brother seemed to know a lot about the Dragons.
What if he went to one of his games?
“I’m waiting for details,” I press, passing by a little strip of on-campus restaurants.
They’re all fairly busy and for a second, I think of ducking inside one, just so I’m not alone.
Besides, what am I going to eat at home?
I think there’s like two eggs in the fridge. And right now, I’m actually starving.
“It was some girl who couldn’t open up even if she was sawed in two.”
My mind flickers to Jackson.
Maybe I can survive the night without a meal after all.
But as I glance behind me again, the courtyard seems suddenly empty, and I feel apprehension course through me.
I head down the sidewalk to the row of restaurants and decide to spend some time inside of the Greek place, Bosphorus.
“Well… that’s unfortunate. Since you’re so open to love and everything,” I snark back to my brother, who seems to spend more time hovering over me than living his own life.
I yank open the heavy glass entrance door with one arm, twisting my phone so the bottom is away from my mouth as my eyes meet the host’s.
“Just me,” I say, the door clanging closed behind me and sealing off the ice cold wind with it.
The man smiles, nods, grabs one laminated, folded menu, then gestures for me to follow him.
The lights are dim in here, everything in shades of yellow and orange. It’s not too crowded, and I won’t be the only person by myself. I see a few girls in booths alone, headphones on, eyes on laptops or notepads.