Chapter 7 Niko #2
“Gladly. My room looks good, by the way,” he says as I put the vacuum away. “Thanks for pitying me enough to do all of this.”
“Not pity. You deserve it. Don’t any of your Daggers brothers give a fuck?”
Sevan’s expression is hard to read. “They’re all busy. Busy, busy, busy, all the time, and I’m fucking stuck in here reading Auto Repair for Dummies for the fiftieth time.”
“When your legs heal, you’re going to be able to repair a goddamn semi truck.”
He snorts. “I’ll be able to take care of my own car, at least. Feels like I’ll never be able to drive again.”
“Good shit.”
The only thing Sevan loves more than hockey is classic cars. He’s put so much love into his black first generation Mustang that it runs like it’s brand new.
“Speaking of which,” Sevan says, nodding toward his desk. “The keys are in the basket over there. Can you take her out for a drive? It’s not good to let a car sit unused, and it makes me twitchy to see her parked for so long.”
I head over to grab the keys and push them into my pocket. “Got it.”
When I glance out the window nearby, I pause.
Red and blue flashing lights are moving down the street.
Weird.
Wait.
Hold the fuck up.
It’s not just a cop car driving by. It’s a cop car pulling up in front of Onyx House.
“What’s up?” Sevan asks.
“Police just arrived in front of Onyx House.”
“Shit.”
“It’s probably nothing. Maybe a noise complaint.”
“Onyx had some brutal shit going on a month ago, though,” Sevan says, frowning. “People were attacked. Probably nothing, but—”
“I’m going to head over. I’ll be back afterward, ok?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “I have pizza coming and a hot date with a video game. Let me know what’s up over at Onyx, though.”
I squeeze his shoulder before I head out. I rush down the stairs in the Double Daggers house and once I’m out the front door, I see a second police car pulling up outside Onyx.
The snowfall picks up by the time I’m walking over, and the little flurries are illuminated by the red and blue light.
At the front door, two officers are talking with Weston, Roman, and Oliver.
“It was just a prank,” Oliver is saying. “I’m so sorry. I, uh… I wasted your time.”
I haven’t heard Ollie act that way since high school.
Fumbling his words awkwardly, clearly trying to apologize for his existence to the police officers.
When Ollie sees me approaching, he looks at me like he wants to crawl into a hole in the ground. I walk over to his side, standing close to him.
I piece together parts of the story from what the guys describe to the police.
Ollie found something on the front doorstep that freaked him out, and it turned out to be a false alarm.
The officers stay for a couple more minutes taking a couple of notes and confirming that Oliver’s okay, but they soon leave as quickly as they came.
After they’re gone, I ignore the other guys and turn to Oliver.
“Tell me everything. Now,” I ask Oliver.
“I was being a paranoid freak. That’s what happened.”
“No, you did the right thing, Ollie,” Weston tells him. “Can’t be too safe after the attacks earlier in the semester.”
“What happened? Exactly?”
“Nothing. Literally nothing. After the attacks last month I was afraid, but it turns out it’s just a plastic fucking skeleton—”
“Hey. You’re okay,” I tell him, moving closer and putting my arm around his shoulders.
It’s a good way to get physical with Oliver in front of Weston and Roman, hopefully laying the groundwork for a believable dating story.
But it was also pure instinct to put my arm around him.
He seems so ashamed, even though he has no reason to be. His skin is also freezing, and he’s only wearing a short-sleeve grey T-shirt out in the snow.
“Someone put a plastic skeleton on the front doorstep,” Roman explains. “It’s a leftover Halloween decoration, nothing more.”
“It did have a note on it, though,” Weston tells me. “A note that I think might be directed at you, Niko.”
“Let me see it.”
Weston hands me a small piece of lined paper.
And as I read it, I know instantly that it’s aimed at me.
Think of my face next time he fucks you. Congrats on joining Crimson.
It’s easily recognizable as Callum’s cursive handwriting.
He put a fucking skeleton on the porch.
Like a fucking prank you’d expect to see from a fourteen-year-old.
I set my jaw. “This is from my ex. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
“No biggie,” Weston says. “That’s nothing compared to the earlier attacks. We were glad it was only that.”
Weston is trying to reassure me that it isn’t a big deal.
But he’s fucking wrong.
He doesn't even realize how wrong he is.
I pull Oliver a little closer in my arm, draping him in my warmth like I’ve suddenly been tasked with protecting a helpless duckling.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?
I’ve never gotten along with Ollie, but I’ll fucking die before I let Callum do anything to scare him.
Oliver is strong and could protect himself.
Maybe.
Probably.
But my instincts flare up into overdrive as I crush the paper note in my fist.
I silently assess the situation in my mind. Bayville is my hometown and the place where Callum owns a mini-mansion, and it’s over 90 minutes away from the Crimson College campus. That means that Callum made the effort to drive all the way here just to leave me this stupid note.
To send a message.
“Someone a little jealous, Niko?” Roman asks.
“My ex isn’t happy that I left.”
“Brutal. Seems like you’re quite the heartbreaker,” Weston says. “Come on inside. We were about to play some pool.”
I follow them in, sliding my hand lower on Ollie’s back and keeping my palm against him.
Part of me expects him to pull away from my touch, but he lets me keep my hand there at the small of his back as we head in.
When I finally drop my hand away, he turns to give me a look like I’m depriving him.
You’re killing me, Ashford.
“Just a second,” I tell him softly, holding up a finger.
The fireplace is burning steadily at the far wall of the front room. I crumple up Callum’s note and watch the flames instantly take it, forming tiny orange sparks in the air above.
It’s where that relationship belongs.
Burned into ash.
I head back down the hall toward one of the rear rooms where the pool tables are. A few of the guys are cracking open beers, joking and chatting as Oliver leans against a wall with his arms crossed.
He’s staring into the middle distance, clearly still rattled by what happened.
I never paid enough attention to this version of Oliver before.
Out on the ice with me, he always rose to my challenge. He was combative to me when I brought a fight to him.
But this version of him…
He actually does seem sweet.
Like a lost little lamb, embarrassed that he made a big deal out of the note. That’s what Callum does to people. Makes them question their own sanity, manipulating them into thinking they’re the one doing something wrong.
And I’m not going to let that happen to anyone else.
“Ollie. Come with me,” I say as I walk in the room before turning to the other guys. “I’ll join in for pool another time and kick all of your asses. Need to take care of something with Oliver first.”
“Everything okay?” Weston asks.
“Absolutely. See you guys later.”
I walk behind Oliver and put my hand to his back again, guiding him out of the room before anybody else can question us.
“Niko, I’m fine, really—”
“Get your jacket. Let’s go.”
He blinks at me. “And where exactly are we going?”
“You’ll find out once you’re in your jacket and boots and we’re outside. Go.”
I head off toward the front door and push through it.
A minute later he comes out.
He’s wearing a nice tan-colored long winter coat and a red plaid scarf. His hair is a little messy, and his golden highlights stand out against the light brown.
“Fuck, you look good,” I say, not bothering to filter my thoughts. “Do you realize how hot you are?”
“Never. I feel like an idiot. But thanks.”
A few snowflakes fall onto the shoulders of his coat as he shuts the front door.
He’s illuminated by the lanterns on either side of the front door, and when I look down at the snow-covered stone steps, I see a perfect opportunity.
I pull out my phone, open the camera, and snap a picture.
It’s a shot of both of our boots in the snow.
Subtle.
But it very clearly depicts me with another guy, out on a snowy night with each other.
I post it online, because Callum deserves to see that his little prank meant nothing to us.
I hold out my hand. Ollie gives it a glance and then looks back up to meet my eyes.
“Just take my fucking hand,” I tell him.
“It’s not like anyone’s watching us right now.”
“Hand. Now.”
He puts his hand in mine, and as I expected, his fingers are a lot colder than mine. I always run warm, and I tend to be fine with just a hoodie all winter. Ollie needs more warmth.
Our boots crunch lightly in the dusting of snow on the walkway, and I lead him out and onto the street.
Say something.
Anything to get him to stop worrying he’s done something wrong.
“Callum just wanted to get to me,” I explain. “You don’t need to worry. Okay?”
“Sometimes I feel like worrying is my full-time job,” he says softly, like he’s ashamed. “Niko, is Callum… dangerous?”
Yes.
Very.
I’ve seen his collection of guns and weapons, which even includes a fucking medieval spiked mace he paid for with my money.
Callum always acted like his collection was just a hobby.
He even told me he never intends to use any of the weapons.
But I’m not sure I trust that anymore.
“He can be dangerous, but you aren’t in danger,” I tell Oliver. “He’s upset that I finally escaped the prison that was his house.”
Oliver turns to look at me, his breath visible in the air. “Did he hurt you, Niko?”
“No. Not once. I wouldn’t have let him.”
He’s silent for a moment, then finally nods. “Okay.”
He expects more out of me, but what the fuck am I supposed to say?
How can I describe what I went through?