55. Sydney
fifty-five
sydney
Penn and I walk into the gymnasium. Purple-and-white-clad students line the bleachers, and I shrink in on myself. He squeezes my hand and leads me to a few open seats. I make myself busy unzipping my coat, fiddling with my hat…
“No one’s looking at us,” he says.
He finally told me about my dad’s “practice” on Monday evening. “So if the hockey players are suddenly going out of their way to be nice, you’ll know why,” he added at the time.
I haven’t experienced that , but it seems like they might be talking about me in a better light? Because not a damn person has glared at me since Monday. No one’s purposefully not held a door or knocked their shoulder into mine.
I crane around. “Do you see them?”
My attempts to get Brandon or Dylan to talk to me has utterly failed. Maddy, however, was quick to sympathize. And after a strongly worded apology from both of us, we’re good again.
I think.
“There’s Maddy.” Penn points to where more students are filtering into the gym. He waves frantically, even standing and bouncing up and down, until she spots him.
Then me.
She joins us, sitting on my other side, and smiles. “Glad you could make it.”
“Yeah.” I focus on breathing and not puking. “Did you tell Dylan or Brandon?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen either of them much. Dyl’s been super busy with practices and her class schedule, and Brandon… playing the avoiding game.”
“Love that.” Penn squeezes my knee. “They’re assholes.”
“Eh.” I shake my head. “They’re just…”
“I told him he was an idiot,” Penn continues. “And now he’s just proving it.”
Maddy smiles.
I… don’t. Because my father is striding into the gym like he’s on a mission, and it only takes him a minute to find me. I swallow hard, glancing at Penn. He’s talking to Maddy now, going on about how my track record with friends is unfortunate.
“Dad,” I blurt out when he gets even with our row. “What are you?—?”
“Have you heard from your mother, Sydney?”
It takes a second for the words to filter. Heard from. Mother. Sydney?
I scramble for my phone, but there’s nothing. Things on it have finally calmed down, and I didn’t even have to change my number.
Maybe the hockey team had something to do with that, too.
“No,” I finally respond. “Why? Did something happen?”
His expression stays stoic, even as he says, “She called me.”
I jump up, but he holds out his hand.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“I need your cell phone, and I need you to stay here,” he continues. “She didn’t say anything—I missed the call.”
But she’s not dead.
“I can help find her.” My voice is small.
“Sydney, please.”
Maddy and Penn are both watching me. I slowly hand over my phone. He takes it and tucks it away. I give him the password—I don’t really have anything to hide—and the question of why is on the tip of my tongue.
But he gives me the answer unprompted. “I’ve contacted the detective who’s been looking into your mom’s disappearance. He drove up from Emerald Cove, and I’m heading to meet him now.”
“I should come?—”
“You should stay,” he interrupts. “It’s okay, Syd, let me handle this.”
His gaze turns imploring.
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “Okay, well… let me know if you find anything.”
“I will,” he promises.
He leaves.
I sit.
“Are you okay?” Penn asks, leaning into me.
“Fine.” I shake it off. “We’re here for Dylan. Right? It’s not about me.”
Maddy snorts. “Sure. You really don’t have to be here if he was asking?—”
“Dad didn’t want me to go with him,” I interrupt. “I think it’s fine, under the circumstances… What is he doing here?”
Oliver Ruiz climbs the steps toward us. His hazel eyes burn into mine, but he keeps going up. One more row anyway. I twist and track his movements. He glares at the group sitting just behind us, and soon they’re all scooting down to make room for him.
“Hey, Ollie.” Penn’s voice is too cheerful. Nearly forced. “What brings you here?”
Oliver says nothing.
“School spirit,” Maddy coughs. “Obviously.”
I snicker.
We don’t see any sign of Brandon, but the volleyball teams come out of the doors on the far side. It’s not St. James, at least. The colors of this opposing team are dark green and gold. The girls are all tall and muscular, some more lean than others. I spot Dylan and smile.
What quickly becomes apparent, however, is that I know nothing about volleyball. Maddy and Penn don’t seem to really know much either. All I know is that they have to get it over the net, stay within the lines…
Yeah, my knowledge is nonexistent.
Either way, I follow along with the FSU crowd and cheer when they do. I jump to my feet when Dylan dives for the ball and gets her hands under it, saving her team from ending the volley. Get it, volley ball? No?
Oliver doesn’t seem to know much either. Whenever I glance back, he’s squinting at the court like he’s trying to puzzle it out. But I’m sure as hell not going to ask him anything about it.
When the game ends, our team comes out ahead.
Thank God.
“Do you want to go say hi?” Maddy asks me.
I force a nod.
We head down to the floor, and Maddy winds effortlessly through the crowd. I stick close behind her, and soon we’re in front of Dylan and some other girls on the team.
“Hey,” Maddy greets her. “You were awesome!”
Dylan thanks her, but her gaze is pulled to me. “You came.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Her tone isn’t exactly warm.
“Because I wanted to see you,” I say. “And if I was in any place to go last week, I would’ve. I’m sorry that I didn’t make it.”
Her brows furrow. “Brandon said you had some sort of episode.”
“Dylan!” Maddy smacks her arm. “Seriously?”
“No, it’s okay.” I take a breath. “I didn’t… I was in a bad headspace. I didn’t leave my room most of the week. Not until my dad and stepmom came over and forced me into action.”
Dylan grimaces. “My mom has depressive episodes that sound a lot like that. I’m sorry, Sydney, I just… I assumed when you didn’t reply to our texts that you just needed some space. This semester has been a lot, but it still hurt.”
I look away.
“Now we know,” Maddy adds. “If you go AWOL, we’ll just break into your apartment.”
That brings a smile to my lips. “Thanks.”
“Coming, Dyl?” one of her teammates calls.
Dylan glances back and waves, then faces us again. “Want to do dinner tomorrow?"
The invitation is aimed at me.
“Absolutely,” I say.
Penn appears at my shoulder. “I’ve got to go.”
“What? Where?"
His expression is pinched. “Some of the guys are planning on hitting up a St. James party. They won their game tonight, which probably means most of the players are going to be there. They want to make a scene… fight.”
Carter . The fact that he goes to SJU parties doesn’t even concern me. While we haven’t had any sort of exclusive talk—how could we, when I’m technically dating two… three… guys—I trust that he’s not doing anything stupid. But if he’s there, he could easily get swept up in a fight.
Especially as captain. He wouldn’t let his guys fight without him.
“I’m going with you?—”
“No.” Penn puts his hands on my shoulders. “Let me get him out of this, okay? The fight’s going to happen either way, but I can make sure he’s not part of it.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“Okay.” I try to remember how to breathe. “Okay, go.”
Penn kisses me. Too fast. “Ollie will take you home.”
“Penn—”
He’s gone. Disappearing through the crowd.
I’m left standing with Maddy and Dylan, feeling… lost. Worried.
More than a little nauseated.
I’ve seen Penn fight. And Oliver, too. But this seems like an intentional raid of a St. James party just to cause a fight. Players looking for blood. And it’s not even following up a game either of them lost against the other.
“You okay?” Dylan asks. “You went pale.”
They didn’t hear.
I wave them off and scan for Oliver. He’s still on the bleachers, high enough to keep eyes on me. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself in my state of delusion.
It’s dumb that I even care about him. That’s what it is, right? That weird thump in my heart whenever I see or think about Oliver Ruiz. It feels different than how my body reacts to Penn or Carter.
Carter Masters has always felt like some version of home. Safety. Even when he’s chasing me down in a parking garage or slicing my skin open with his knife, I trust him. The fling we had two years ago seems almost silly now. We were hot and heavy, from zero to one hundred. I secretly think it scared both of us, and that’s why we ended.
But the trust wasn’t broken… not until we set off the chain of events that landed me at Framingham State University.
How was I supposed to know those plays wouldn’t remain anonymous? How was Carter supposed to know that word about them would spread like wildfire?
And Penn… I find comfort in the way he’s never demanded more from me than what I’m capable of giving. Even in the beginning, when he threw cash at me before he fucked me. When more money mysteriously appeared in my drawer with the rest of my cash, my stockpile seeming to grow after every nighttime visit.
His threats didn’t curb my desire. The way he’s always watching out for me makes me feel seen, more than anything. Plus, his kinks are unexpected. Toe-curling at times.
He makes me believe that he will protect me in whatever way I need. And Oliver…
I don’t want to think about Oliver.
Oliver, who brought me to a rage room after terrifying me with a fake kidnapping, who stopped Bear from raping me, who then went on to… to simulate that very scenario again. But worse.
Oliver, who carefully laced up my skates for me. Who looks at me like he sees straight down into my soul. Who makes me think I’m not just broken pieces.
“Are we going out?” Maddy asks.
I shake my head slowly. The truth is, I’m so tired still. Always. I try to find Oliver again, but he’s moved from where he was before. I catch the top of his head, the corner of his ear, and my lips quirk.
Recognizing him from just that?
“I’m going to head home.” I hug her. Then Dylan, who’s still lingered even though the rest of her teammates are filing back toward the locker room. “Good job, Dyl. Proud of you.”
“Oh, stop it.” She hugs me back, though. “Thanks for coming.”
I make my way toward Oliver. He meets me halfway, his gaze dark. In all the times he’s escorted me from my apartment to campus and back again, we haven’t so much as spoken. I open my mouth to break that barrier, but nothing comes out.
I close my mouth again.
It’s snowing. I zip up my coat and pull my winter hat from my pocket. Oliver has a black beanie that he tugs on, then shoves his hands in his pockets. We walk side by side through campus and off of it. It’s dark out, and the side streets are only lit by the intermittent lamps. The snow is more visible in their glow, fat flakes that float lazily to the ground.
The roads and sidewalks are coated in a thin layer of snow, with more piling on every minute.
I take a deep breath and pause at the top of my street. I tip my head back and close my eyes.
In the winter, especially when it snows, the sky doesn’t get fully dark. It’s like the night gets stuck at that sort of twilight hour, and it’s like that now. It’s enough to cast the world in shadow.
“Come on,” Oliver says.
I crack an eye open. “Why? So you can go join your teammates fighting at the St. James party?”
He sighs. “No, because it’s cold.”
“I think it’s quite nice.”
“Nice if you like not having feeling in your toes.”
“I prefer to be comfortably numb all over, thank you,” I snip.
He doesn’t have a response to that.
After another few drawn-out seconds, I lower my arms and continue on. He follows me to the steps of the brownstone.
I shouldn’t invite him up.
But…
“You know what I’ve been craving?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow.
“That hot chocolate you made.” I bite my lip. “I have the milk, and, um, the brick of chocolate…”
He frowns. “Where did you get it?”
“Well...” I blush. “I asked Perri and she found it for me.”
It was no big deal… it didn’t feel like it, anyway.
But that was weeks ago. Weeks ago. And then everything happened, and I shoved any thought of Oliver coming over right out of my head.
He nods, although he’s still not smiling. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile in forever.
“Okay,” he agrees.
He comes upstairs with me, his breath even and as quiet as his footsteps behind me. I unlock the door and push it open, stepping inside.
I stop so suddenly, he bumps into me.
The light switch didn’t work. But even then, in the gloom, it’s easy to see that something isn’t quite right. My apartment is in disarray?—
“Sydney, move !” Oliver shoves me sideways. A second later, someone comes out of the shadows and tackles him.
I scream.
The door slams shut. Oliver and the intruder, wearing all black—including a ski mask—grapple on the floor. They twist, trading blows. It seems like Oliver is going to win. He comes out on top, straddling the intruder.
Movement across the apartment draws my attention.
I scream again as a second one charges forward. He picks up something from the counter. Belatedly, I catch the gleaming ceramic of the mug.
He smashes it over Oliver’s head.
They shove at him, and Oliver scrambles backward. His gaze goes to me, frantic and wide-eyed.
“Sydney,” he yells. “ Run !”
There’s two of them. Two huge men. They both advance on Oliver, who lurches to his feet. He’s drawing them away from the door.
I pat my pockets frantically, belatedly remembering that I don’t have my phone.
“Go!” he yells again.
One of them turns for me.
I rush to the door. Their fingers snag in my hair, my jacket hood. I’m yanked backward, and it takes me precious seconds to unzip my coat and slide free. My scalp burns, but I ignore it and shoot forward again.
The impact of flesh reaches my ears, but I can’t look back.
Someone shouts. I’m halfway down the stairs when I risk a glance behind me. The second man hasn’t followed—which means he stayed to help his buddy.
I get to the second floor and rush to an apartment, banging my fists on the door.
“Somebody help!” I scream. “Help me!”
No one answers, so I go to the second apartment.
“Please!” I beg. “My— I was attacked, there are intruders in my apartment!”
The door opens. A woman, older than college aged, steps aside and ushers me in. She closes and locks the door behind me.
“Do you have a phone? We need to call nine-one-one?—”
“Here.” She grabs her phone from her purse, dialing and pressing it to her ear. “Which apartment?”
“Three B. There are two men wearing ski masks. My friend is still up there, they were?—”
“Yes. My name is Elle Thorpe,” she says, her tone brisk as she talks to the dispatcher. “I need to report an intrusion in my building. An upstairs neighbor. Her friend was attacked…” She gives the operator her information, my apartment number. “No, sir, we are locked in my apartment.”
I glance around the apartment. It’s neat and tidy, if not a bit odd. There’s a framed painting of a llama staring down at me from the closest wall. I can’t tell if it’s satirical or seriously her vibe. There are even little llama figurines surrounding one of those bowls that’s for mail and whatever else.
Interesting .
Elle presses her eye to the peephole.
“The two are coming down the stairs now. Two men. Bigger guys. They’re wearing ski masks. Okay. Thank you.” She hangs up, then faces me. “Police are on their way. And an ambulance.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “They’re gone? I need to get up there?—”
“They don’t advise it,” she murmurs. “Just sit tight. You’re safe here.”
“He could need help.” I move to the door, and she steps out of my way. I slip out, racing up the stairs. My door is open.
Inside, on the floor, is Oliver. And he’s not moving.