Chapter 7 #2
I grab my wallet and keys before heading for the door. The elevator takes forever. The lobby is mostly empty when I finally step outside. Then I nearly collide with Angela.
She looks just as surprised. “Kai?”
I stop.
Angela is carrying two grocery bags and still wearing her work badge. A few strands of dark hair have escaped her ponytail. She looks tired. Then she looks at me and immediately freezes.
The pause lasts exactly one second.
Then a grin appears.
A dangerous grin.
The kind that means I'm about to regret something.
“Well, well, well…”
I instantly become suspicious. “What?”
“You look handsome.”
Heat climbs into my face immediately. “Thank you.”
Her grin widens. “Oh, this is fun.”
“Please, stop.”
“I haven't even said anything.”
“You were about to.”
Angela laughs. The sound echoes through the lobby. God. I should've taken the stairs.
“Going somewhere?”
“No.” The answer comes automatically.
Then I realize how stupid it sounds.
Angela raises an eyebrow.
I sigh. “Yes. It's just drinks.”
“With?”
“Teammates.”
The grin grows.
I already know where this conversation is heading. “Angie, please.”
Angela looks delighted. “Oh my God. Is there a guy?”
“There is not a guy.” The lie leaves my mouth entirely too fast.
“Kai Hayes.”
I point at her. “Don't.”
She laughs harder. “Have fun tonight.”
I shake my head. Then smile anyway. “You too.”
The black SUV is parked near the curb. I can already see Dante through the passenger-side window.
He's waving. Aggressively. Like somebody trying to guide airplanes.
I walk toward the vehicle.
The second I open the rear door, Dante starts talking. “Who was that?”
I blink. “What?”
“The pretty girl.”
I freeze halfway into the seat.
Ash is behind the wheel. His hands rest on the steering wheel. His expression is completely neutral. Which immediately makes me suspicious.
“That was my neighbor.”
Dante turns around. “Neighbor?”
“Yeah.”
“The one who was talking to you?”
“Yes.”
“She's gorgeous.”
I laugh. “Yeah?”
“I'm serious.”
“Okay.”
“Is she single?”
The question catches me off guard. “Um...Yeah, I think so.”
Dante points at me. “Set me up.”
I stare at him. “Why are you asking me like I own her?”
“You know her.”
“That's not how women work.”
“Please, man! She's so bad!”
I laugh again. The sound surprises me.
Apparently, it surprises Dante too.
His eyes widen immediately. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I didn't know you could laugh.”
“Yes, Lopez. I sometimes do, in fact, laugh.”
“You should do it more.”
I roll my eyes. Then glance toward Ash. He's still focused on the road. Still silent.
Interesting.
Dante keeps talking. I keep answering. The city lights blur past the windows. Every now and then I catch Ash looking at me in the rearview mirror. The first few times I assume I'm imagining it.
Then it happens again.
And again.
Eventually I stop looking altogether.
Because every time our eyes meet, something uncomfortable happens in my stomach. And I'm starting to suspect I know exactly why.
The bar is exactly what I expected from Dante.
Dark. Loud. Covered wall-to-wall in hockey memorabilia.
Signed jerseys hang behind the bar. Old sticks are mounted above booths.
Framed photographs cover nearly every available surface.
Several televisions line the walls, each showing a different game, highlight reel, or sports panel arguing about something that will be forgotten by tomorrow morning.
The second I step through the door, my stomach tightens.
A few people glance up.
Nobody reacts.
Nobody points.
Nobody stares.
Still, my eyes move automatically.
Scanning.
Searching.
Looking for recognition.
Looking for the moment somebody's expression changes.
Looking for the moment someone remembers who I am.
The habit is so ingrained now that I barely notice myself doing it anymore.
“Relax,” Ash murmurs.
The word is quiet enough that only I hear it. A warm hand settles briefly against the small of my back.
The touch freezes me for half a second because it feels protective. Like I'm his.
Ash leans slightly closer. “I won't let anybody bother you.”
The statement is delivered with the same certainty he uses when discussing hockey strategy. As though fighting strangers in bars is a completely reasonable contingency plan. Before I can respond, the touch disappears.
The moment ends.
Ash keeps walking. I find myself watching him for a second longer than necessary. Something feels different tonight. Less playful. The realization follows me all the way to the booth.
Dante, meanwhile, seems completely oblivious. “Jimmy!”
He waves enthusiastically toward the bartender.
A heavily tattooed man behind the bar raises a hand. “You're alive.”
“Barely.”
“That's unfortunate.”
“I know.”
The bartender starts pouring drinks before Dante even orders. Apparently, this is a regular occurrence.
Within minutes, beers appear in front of us. Dante immediately starts talking. The man treats silence like a personal enemy. Normally that would exhaust me. Tonight it's oddly comforting.
Maybe because it means I don't have to carry the conversation.
Maybe because Dante seems genuinely interested in people.
Or maybe because for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm being examined.
I'm just sitting in a booth. Drinking a beer.
Talking about nonsense like a normal person.
The realization feels strange. Good. But strange.
Dante points at me. “So besides reading and hockey, what do you do?”
I think about it. Then immediately realize how depressing the answer sounds. “Mostly reading and hockey.”
He stares. “That's it?”
“That's it.”
“What about movies?”
“I watch movies.”
“What kind?”
I shrug. “Whatever is on.”
Dante looks horrified. The reaction makes me laugh.
“You don't have a favorite genre?”
“I don't think so.”
“That is insane.”
His attention shifts toward Ash.
“Meanwhile this guy is some kind of psychopath.”
Ash finally looks up from his drink. “I don't think that's fair.”
“You voluntarily watch horror movies.”
“Lots of people do.”
“Normal people don't.”
“Why do you like them so much?” I ask.
The answer comes surprisingly quickly. “They're relaxing.”
Dante immediately starts laughing.
Ash doesn't look embarrassed. “Most horror movies have rules.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “The monster is the monster. Everybody knows who the bad guy is.”
Something about the answer makes me pause.
Ash takes another sip of his beer. “Real life isn't like that.”
The words settle heavily between us. For a second, the noise of the bar seems to fade.
“Real life is messier.”
I think about William.
About all the people who spent months arguing over who the monster was.
Dante ruins the moment immediately. “I like action movies.”
“Of course you do,” I half-snort as I take a drink.
“What do you mean?” Dante asks.
“You look like somebody whose favorite movie is explosions.”
Dante points at me. “See? He's funny. Nobody told me Hayes was funny.”
Heat immediately crawls up my neck. “I'm not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I'm really not.”
Ash's mouth twitches. The expression lasts less than a second.
Still. It's enough.
Dante glances toward the bar. “I'm getting food.”
Before either of us can stop him, he's already standing. A minute later he's gone, leaving me alone with Ash. The silence settles between us.
I take a sip of my beer.
Ash keeps his eyes on the television mounted above the bar. A hockey game is playing. I watch him watch it. His jaw is tight. His shoulders look tense. The longer I look, the more certain I become that something is bothering him.
“Your friend is nice.”
Ash nods. “Mhm.”
I wait.
Nothing else comes. A couple days ago, he wouldn't shut up. Now he's barely speaking.
I nudge his leg beneath the table.
The movement finally earns his attention. “What?”
“What is your problem?”