Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DONOVAN
My mask isn’t in my locker stall.
I noticed its spot was empty when I arrived at the arena, but set about doing my workout in the gym, figuring it hadn’t been unpacked yet from the road trip we returned from last night.
But it’s still not there. Everyone else’s gear is in its place, and the rest of my stuff is hung where it should be.
It’s all here except for the empty shelf my helmet should be on.
“Hey?” I call out, wandering down the hallway toward the equipment manager’s office.
Blake’s head pops out around the corner, the sound of skates being sharpened meeting my ears the closer I get. “What’s up, Donny?”
“Where’s my mask? You have it?”
Blake meets me with confusion. “No? It was unpacked into your locker last night.”
“It’s not there.”
His confusion deepens and he steps out from the small room his office is in. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s not there. The shelf is empty.”
He gives me a strange look, like he thinks I’m either lying or I’ve lost my mind, before heading for the locker room, and I trail behind, knowing that he’s gonna find exactly what I discovered earlier.
“It’s not here,” he says, as I pull up behind him in the locker room.
“Yeah, like I said.”
“No, it was here. I swear. Ronnie set up your stall himself, and the helmet was right there on the shelf. Where’d it go?”
I stare at the empty shelf before turning to see the same confusion written in Blake’s eyes. “Well, it didn’t just grow legs and walk away. Someone has it.”
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry. I’ll see if I can track it down.”
I nod as he rushes from the room, pulling his phone from his pocket and sending a frantic text as he goes. Alone in the silence of the dressing room, darker thoughts flit through my mind.
If it can’t be found here but was here yesterday, and Ronnie, a long time employee of the equipment staff, unpacked it himself, then the only conclusion I can come up with is that someone took it on purpose.
Someone who wanted it.
Or someone who wanted to unsettle me.
I groan under my breath as Kyle Penton’s face crosses my mind. Grabbing my phone, I open Instagram and find a new message sitting there for me to read. I open it, anticipating some kind of gloating comment about having my helmet, but what I see isn’t exactly what I expect.
You should have listened. I’m done asking nicely, Myers.
Frowning, I close out of the message and shoot off a text to Oakley, letting him know that I’ve received another threat and my helmet is missing.
He doesn’t respond right away, probably because he’s on the ice or in the gym, which is fine, but it doesn’t do anything to ease the tension rising inside me.
So I call Shiloh.
Hearing his voice will help, I’m sure.
“Hi,” he says, answering the call on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
He laughs softly. “You text, Donovan. You never call. If you’re actually talking on the phone, I assume something’s wrong.”
“My mask is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yeah, apparently it was here last night, but it’s gone and nobody knows where it went.” I hesitate for a moment, frowning at the thought of what I’m going to have to wear. “If it isn’t found, I’m back to the green one.”
“Absolutely not.” His disgust is palpable on the other end of the call, and I almost smile.
“I won’t have a choice, Loh.”
“Meet me at my place after practice. I’ll fix it.”
I’m taken aback by the offer a bit. “I don’t expect that. I just called to hear your voice.”
He’s silent for a moment, and I can imagine he’s smiling that tender little smile he gets when I say things to him that he likes to hear. “No… I don’t think I could live with myself if I had to see you in that abomination again. Bring it to my place. I’ll either fix it or burn it.”
“Okay,” I reply, with a smile of my own. A quick glance up and down the hallway tells me I’m alone here, so I take a chance. “I love you.”
“Oh,” he breathes, and again I picture his tender little smile. “I love you too.”
I get off the phone just as Blake wanders around the corner, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Donny. We’ll find it, but right now nobody knows where it went.”
“Thanks,” I reply, offering a smile even though inside I’m as prickly as a hedgehog.
The green mask, it is. I guess I’ll have that for the foreseeable future.
Thankfully, I also have Shiloh.
“God, I could kill whoever painted this.” Shiloh breathes as he stares at the green goalie mask with the wonky snake on it. He picks the mask up off the table in front of him with a clear look of disgust on his face, like it’s going to somehow transfer the ugly over to him.
“Yeah,” I comment, still irritated that my Godzilla mask has gone missing.
Irritated and slightly worried, if I’m being honest. The message I sent to the anonymous account with a demand to bring it back has been read, but I’ve received no response.
I’m not famous enough at all for some rabid fan to take my shit, so it had to have been him.
And by him, I mean Kyle.
My heart starts pounding a bit frantically in my chest as I consider that my space was violated and something precious was taken from me.
It’s a different feeling than when I realized Shiloh had helped himself to my apartment and my hoodie, though I can’t explain why in any way that would make sense.
“You okay?” Shiloh asks, breaking into my train of thought.
I nod, telling myself to settle down. To focus on him instead of spiraling off inside my head about Kyle and his probable thievery.
Shiloh doesn’t need to know my suspicions because that will just open a whole can of worms that isn’t his issue to deal with.
It’s not mine either, if I’m being honest. It all boils down to Oakley, and I don’t dare tell Shiloh that.
It would only give him more reason to despise my best friend, and it would be really nice if they could someday get along.
I glance down, frowning at the hideous mask in Shiloh’s perfect hands. “Do you really think you can do something with it?”
He’s silent for a moment before he nods curtly. “Yeah, I can fix it. Grab the sandpaper and help me scrape this clear coat off.”
He plunks the mask down on the table like he’s happy to not be touching it anymore, and we get started sanding down the surface.
I can’t help but smile to myself as Shiloh makes small huffs of disgust while we work, his nose wrinkling and mouth turning down into an almost comical frown.
He really fucking hates this artwork, and I don’t dare let him know that his reactions are quite adorable to me.
I don’t need that scowl of disgust on his face turned my way.
“I didn’t think it could get worse, but look at it.
Absolutely hideous,” Shiloh announces, as soon as the clear coat has been scuffed away, taking some of the green paint along with it in places.
He leans over and clicks on an incredibly bright lamp that’s attached to the table with an adjustable clamp.
Lifting the mask again, he turns it over in his hands, examining each area closely beneath the wash of brilliant light. His final assessment? “Gross.”
He’s not entirely wrong. Removing the clear coat has revealed shaky lines and blotchy colors that even I can see aren’t right. You get what you pay for, I suppose. “You can do something cool with it, right?”
He shoots me an incredulous look, like he’s offended I’d ever ask that question. “Of course I can.”
“Do you want me to go?” I ask as he slams it back down on the table and moves to a wooden crate that sits along the wall beside the table.
He digs through it, pulling out paints in shades of green and gold, along with a handful of brushes, before humming under his breath like he’s thinking.
I’m about to ask my question again in case he didn’t hear me when he makes a small noise like he’s made a decision.
His lips curl into a smile as he dives back into the box of paint, pulling out a shade of red that reminds me of blood.
“You can watch,” he says, moving back to the table and turning to place his lips briefly on mine. “But… from over there maybe.”
I nod and head for the chair he’s directed me to, just out of his way but close enough that I can capture every moment of him as he works.
When he’s done painting big sections of the mask using the shades of green he chose, he plucks a thin black brush from his collection.
He eyes the bristles for a moment with a small frown, then places the tip into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the end like he means to wet them down.
I watch in awe, slightly aroused, as he takes it from between his lips and examines the end again before nodding to himself.
Clearly content with how the brush looks now, Shiloh dips the bristles he shaped into a fine point with his tongue into the black paint before moving to the mask again.
He carefully lays a thin line along one of the splotches, then another, and I start to see what he’s creating.
It’s the same base image of a snake’s head, but somehow so much better than just that.
It comes to life as he adds lines here and there, outlining scales and teeth, and adding in a wicked forked tongue using the red he grabbed last.
He’s so fucking talented.
I may not know shit about art itself, but I know Shiloh, and I know he’s damn good at this.
His body moves like a dancer as he adjusts the mask on the table, strong forearms flexing and muscles straining as he reaches to dab bits of black here and there, making the vision in his head match what he’s putting into the artwork in front of him.
How fucking lucky am I that this gorgeous creature is mine?
That he saw me and instead of slitting my throat, decided to just claim my whole heart for himself instead?