Chapter 39 Faust
THIRTY-NINE
FAUST
“The guy who died…”
“The most recent one.” I glance at the dark hot chocolate Neve forced me to order. The one I paid for, alongside hers.
A two minute walk from her apartment above Midnight Blackwell’s Used Books Emporium, we’re tucked away in Afterlife, the coffee shop and dessert bar that I’ve never once stepped foot into. Thursday night, it’s more crowded than I assumed it would be when she texted me to tell me to meet her here.
Her roommate was in and she didn’t want to bother her. For some reason, I was fairly certain she meant she wanted to hide whatever she had to say to me from her.
Neve tucks a lock of blond hair behind her ear, then curls her fingers into her gray Drayton U hoodie.
She needs a hockey one. Better yet, I want to see her in that jersey again. With my name on the back. The one that cost us a game because Sylvan couldn’t stand it.
“Mitchell,” I add, when she doesn’t say anything.
She looks over her shoulder, like someone will hear me, but there’s no one in the booth behind her. Turning back to face me, she inhales deep.
The scent of ice cream and funnel cake and espresso fills the air, but her I catch the scent of more than anything. Incense. It must be her perfume, but there’s something beneath it that I know is all her own.
I want to press my nose to her neck but I clench my hands in my lap and look at her instead, just waiting for her to speak.
Her throat rolls as she swallows, and even that turns me on.
Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, tendrils falling around her face that she keeps trying to rake back, although a heartbeat later they fall into the same place.
Her eyes are glinting with some sort of feverish excitement, or maybe the fact that she drained the hot chocolate in front of her, with a milk mustache that I absolutely refuse to tell her about to prove it.
She’s not wearing any makeup that I can tell, and all I can imagine is making her come the way Sylvan did.
But better.
Still, with men dropping dead around campus, two of which had a connection to her, I doubt that’s the first thing on her mind. And yeah, maybe I want to keep her safe more than I want to fuck her.
I’ve never felt that before. Not with anyone more than my mother, and that was in a very different way.
Neve leans in, across the table, and lifts her eyes to mine.
Her palms are pressed down in front of me, and I have the wild urge to grasp her fingers in my own, but I don’t dare.
Whatever she wants to say, it’s serious.
“I saw him. The night before he died.”
I sit up straighter, the back of my neck prickling. In my head, I see Sylvan at practice. Missing shots. Half-ass skating toward the puck when it was an easy possession.
What was he thinking about?
And those blue-purple bruises beneath his eyes on his pale skin. Lack of sleep, but why? What’s he so worried about? The promised freshman, what the fuck does he have to be tossing and turning over?
Then again, maybe his bruises match mine.
Maybe he’s not the only one not sleeping.
Neve keeps going. “I was talking to my brother after class. Someone bumped into me. Hard. Left a bruise, on my shoulder.”
My blood heats and I clench my fingers into fists beneath the table. I can throw a fucking punch, and right now, I’d love to do nothing more than that. Anyone who touches her could die.
“I dropped my phone.” She clears her throat. “It was him.” The next word is barely a whisper. “Mitchell.”
Did someone see her get hit?
What if I had seen it? Someone knocking into her that hard? What would I do for her?
And what if I’d already murdered two people?
It wouldn’t be a big deal, would it? To hurt someone who hurt this girl I can’t stop thinking about?
The one who ordered sugar free hot chocolate with skim milk, and I know that had to taste like water dipped in cocoa.
The one with soft hair, hazel eyes, a hoop in her nose, fire in her personality.
The girl who sagged in my arms as she came, like she trusted me.
Who let Sylvan touch her, but not like she trusted him.
I have this feeling I’m the one who made her brave enough to let him get her off.
And maybe she’s right to feel that way.
Because she’s not done confessing, is she?
“I didn’t think too much of it. Kept talking to my brother. Then I was starving…” She glances away as she says that.
For some reason, I don’t like it.
She should never be fucking starving, and I’m not so sure it was just a figure of speech.
“So I went to the Greek place. And when I sat down, got off with Nolan, Sylvan texted me.” Her voice is a whisper.
She’s still not looking at me. “He knew I was there. But he wasn’t.
” Slowly, she meets my eye again. “That means he was out, on campus, when… Mitchell,” she says the victim’s name like it hurts her, “ran into me. And maybe when he was murdered.”
I prop my elbows on the table and clasp my hands together as I turn to look at that wall. If I keep my eyes on her, I’m going to break something.
Sylvan thinks that between us, he’s got the hot temper.
He has no fucking idea.
If he’s stalking her, playing some sort of sick fucking game with her, he’ll die next.
But is he really capable of that? Three murders in between practice and conditioning and lifting and scrimmage and brand deals and games? Not to mention we’ve all got to maintain a pristine attendance record for classes and a B average, or else we risk getting cut from the team.
How the fuck does he have time to stalk Neve and whack people off?
In my head, I see his dimpled smile. The easy way he always has something to say to every guy on the team.
How bizarrely respectful he is to me, to Coach.
He’s never one we need to have a word with.
Wynon has never singled him out to yell at him—even I can’t say that.
He shows up early, usually leaves second-to-last.
I think of him standing outside the shower. In the shadows.
Creepy, handsome fucker.
“You think he could’ve done it.” Neve’s words aren’t an accusation. They feel like a weight between us instead. I can pick it up and throw it aside like it’s nothing—not true, or I can let it settle between us—true.
I don’t know the answer, though. It’s not like I’ve seen him walking around covered in blood. And that first night we met Neve, running away from her loser boyfriend? When would Sylvan have had time to stab him? He wasn’t carrying a blade. Or was he?
“My brother didn’t know him, by the way. Sylvan.”
I nod once. I never expected he did, but it was worth exploring, if only to see if his name was notorious outside of the rink.
I blow out a breath, glance at her empty water-chocolate, then meet her gaze. “You eat dinner?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s close to midnight.”
That’s not quite true, but it’s also not an answer. I don’t say anything. I just look at her. Those big eyes, the little line between her brows that seems to pop up when she’s stressed, which it feels like she always is lately.
Who was she before?
Oh, that’s right. Fucking idiots who didn’t deserve her attention.
She glares at me when I let my silence speak for itself. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” The words sound bitter.
“So, no?” I press. “You didn’t eat dinner?”
Her cheeks flush hot and I don’t look away first.
She does, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie.
I’m getting her one of mine tomorrow before we leave for the game. Sylvan can blow his shot again for all I care.
Don’t be fucking stupid.
That relentless voice in the back of my head that tells me constantly when I’m not doing good enough, pushing hard enough, nearly exhausting myself to ensure Mom is taken care of for eternity. Rachel, too.
They don’t need the money at the moment, but who wants to rely on their ex-husband the rest of their life?
And maybe there’s someone else I’m thinking I want to take care of, too.
“I’m not hungry. Seeing a corpse for the first time will do that to you, I guess.” She mutters the words under her breath but for once, it’s not an angry reflection. At least, that’s not all it is.
I push all thoughts of Jackson from my mind.
It’s not the wound in his side, or his wide eyes staring up at nothing that bothers me.
It’s the fact she stood right there, so close to him.
I know I shouldn’t care. But I’m consumed.
She can keep her skipped meals, but I know one thing for certain.
“You can come to my place, or I’m staying with you tonight.” I lean back in the booth and lift one shoulder nonchalantly.
She narrows her gaze at me, lifting her chin in defiance. “I just said I don’t need—”
“Yeah.” I smile at her; an expression I don’t feel, because this shit should be the last thing on my mind. “I heard you. I just don’t care.” I tap my knuckles to the table. “Hurry up, because I need a snack.”